Two Roads

by L. M. Augustine

  I can’t do this.

  This is going too far.

  I can’t--

  But then I think of where Ben is now, where he isn’t, and I know I have to--for me. So I pull out a pair of scissors and hold it to the first picture. For another instant, I hesitate. I almost feel like I’m doing something wrong, like ruining something this important to Logan is crossing a line, like this is going to be a big mistake and it’s going to hurt him too much. I almost stop, too, but then the hatred starts remerging and I can’t stop myself. With a single deep breath, I start cutting. And cutting. And cutting.

  I don’t stop until the first picture is almost completely shredded into random pieces that are so small they will certainly never be pieced back together. Then, almost systemically, I gather up all of the pieces and tighten them into a cylindrical shape with a rubber band.

  Next I pull a sharpie, a string, and a small sticky note out of my bag, and with the shredded photograph pinned between my chin and my collarbone, I begin writing.

  This is a ransom note, I write. I have sacrificed the first picture. You have twenty-four hours to put in writing that I am in every way your superior or the second one gets the same fate. I will contact you further for details on the drop.

  - C

  When I finish writing, I slip the pink note in between the rubber band and shredded photo, attach the string, and hang it from the fan. And just like that, I turn on the fan, so the whole cylindrical hostage goes flying in continuous circles around the room. Then I grab the second, untouched picture, sling my purse over my shoulders, and fast-walk out of the room before anyone can see me.

  As soon as I reach the door, right before I leave the room, though, I stop. My gaze drifts back across the mess I made, between the WANTED signs everywhere and the duct tape toilet paper and the photo sacrifice, and I can’t help but smile once again. I did well. I admire my work for probably too long, just standing there, leaning against the door, and imaging the horror on Logan’s face when he comes back to his room tonight.

  He’s going to be so pissed, I think to myself, wishing I could be there to see it.

  The one thing other than poetry that never fails to make me feel better? My rivalry with Logan. Thank god for nerdy college boys.

  Finally, I turn back to the door and start to push it open when I hear a noise on the other side. Like, footsteps. People footsteps.

  Automatically, I freeze. Every muscle in my body tenses up as the doorknob turns ever so slowly… and not from my doing. There’s a click, a grunt, and in steps Logan Waters, his eyes bright and his lips pursed into a full-on, goofy smile.

  And then he lays eyes on me.

  And I lay eyes on him.

  And like a light going off, his grin disappears.

  Oh fucking shit.

  I try not to look as awkward as I feel, so I casually lean against the wall, yawn a little, and nod to him like I’m here every night waiting for him. It doesn’t help, unsurprisingly, because his eyes are full of anger. As he scans the room, I see his jaw working like he’s fighting off the urge to scream at me or something. When his eyes fixate on the torn photo, though, that’s when the rage really shows. His fists clench so tightly I swear he’s going to punch either me or the wall as he turns ever so slowly from the fan back to me. Our eyes lock for the longest moment, and his dagger stare seems to burn into mine. I gulp--really gulp. He looks absolutely furious, and if I didn’t know better I’d think he is about to go on a rampage of sorts.

  Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

  I really did it this time. I went too far. I ruined it.

  My stomach twists as he glowers at me, his eyes seemingly burning holes into mine. I did this to Logan. I made him pissed like this. I won this round.

  I did it.

  So why do I regret it so freaking much already?

  The heat between us right now is intense, and it’s like his glare is burning into me. His hands are trembling, and I know I really did it this time. I know because of the strength of his stare, the fire I feel with him this close to me, the tightness in his abs from the tension, and the deep, aching regret in my stomach.

  “Heya, Logan,” I finally say, winking at him and acting as casual as possible. It’s amazing how easy it is to pretend to be calm even when you feel anything but it. Logan doesn’t seem to notice my wink, though, and he just keeps glaring at me. Me, in my all black clothes and dark eye-makeup. Me, with way too much cleavage showing to be socially acceptable. Me, looking--let’s be honest--like a totally hot punk rocker.

  “Heya, Cali,” he manages to grunt out, smiling a forced-together sweet smile but the rage behind it is evident.

  “You look like you’re going to kill me right now,” I say like it’s nothing, lolling my tongue around in my cheek. I know how much it pisses him off, so I make it as blatant as possible, but this time it only makes me feel shittier.

  This was a mistake.

  This was a huge clusterfuck of a mistake.

  As much as I hate Logan, I should never have gone as far as ruining something that relates to Ben.

  “Odd,” he says, and his voice is this weird mix between a shout and a mutter. It does not sound very happy, either.

  I cock my head to the side. “I’ll say.” We both talk in these clipped, forced voices, like we’re holding knives on each other but are trying to continue a normal conversation anyway.

  After a while, Logan steps forward. “Your presence has been… interesting,” he says in a low voice.

  We’re so close together now that we could practically be kissing each other--a really, really puke-worthy thought. I feel the warmth from his thighs mingling with my body, his arms and his chest just a few inches from mine, and he hesitates, shifting his jaw to the side so that I’ve decided he’s either going to strangle me or kiss me.

  I hope for the former.

  “Very interesting indeed,” I say slowly. “But, you know how I can’t resist my favorite nerd’s room. It’s just such a charming place.” I gesture at all of the destruction I caused, but Logan just glares at me.

  There’s a pause as we both stare at each other, pressed against the wall of his empty room, breathing slowly and heavily, and I try not to notice my closeness to Logan but I notice it all the same. It’s weird, how we’re this close and it still feels totally natural, but I guess that’s what happens when you spend your time stalking and insulting a guy just to make him miserable.

  My breathing comes in slow gulps, and as I watch him in all of his anger and narrowed-eye splendor, his does too. I feel suddenly on fire being this close to him, and I calculate that the only way to get out of here with my life is either to punch him in the face or knock out his legs, both of which I wouldn’t mind doing. I choose neither, though, because I kind of like having him near me. And so I keep standing there, breathing heavily, letting the heat from his body and his rage surround me. Our rivalry is beautiful because it makes us both forget about everything else. It is a constant challenge, an unending competition, and it fuels both of our lives. As much as I hate to admit it, my life would be 100% empty without Logan. We have this strange way of making each other happy by making each other miserable. We’re basically enemies with benefits, but our benefits are the distractions we give each other, the distractions from what happened to Ben.

  We don’t, of course, tell each other any of this, but it’s an unspoken truth between Logan and me--that our mutual hatred is our saving grace from all of our problems. Our rivalry is everything a hot half-year-long fling is and more, just without the sex. Because sex with Logan? I would rather die.

  So here we are. Standing in front of each other. Our eyes locked. I just ruined one of Logan’s most cherished possessions… and he looks angry. Like, genuinely angry. Like, not forgiving kind of angry.

  I realize then that his glare has only sharpened, that the fury in his eyes is burning just as much as before. He isn’t giving in. My heart stops. He isn’t giving in. Logan continues to stand th
ere, breathing in deep, pained breaths, looking like he’s going to lash out at me any second now. He hasn’t let it go, like he usually does. In fact, he looks anything but like he usually does.

  He looks pissed. Purely, genuinely pissed.

  And that’s when I realize that I broke him.

  That I won.

  My muscles freeze up as I look at him, and the knot in my chest just tightens.

  I won.

  He’s looking at me with such ferocity right now because I went to the one place that’s going too far: the place involving Ben.

  But I won. I finally won!

  I should be celebrating. I should be jumping up and down and rubbing it in his face. I should be doing anything but this: looking into his eyes and feeling my heart get ripped apart with his.

  “Logan, I--” I start to say, my voice trembling, not coming up with the right words to say.

  He just shakes his head. “Leave,” he whispers in a low voice.

  I bite my lip. This is not happening. This. is. not. happening. “Please, Logan--”

  But he just points me to the door, having none of it, the anger burning in his every word. “Goodnight, Cali,” he whispers, so brokenly, and then he leads me outside before I can protest.

  I turn around and try to say something, to stop him, to fix this mess, but the door is already clicking shut, and I’m enveloped in the thickest silence in history.

  As soon as I’m out of his apartment, away from the burning heat of his body, I am utterly speechless. I really should feel less crushed than I do, less hurt, less empty.

  I mean, I did it. I won. I finally won.

  So why do I feel like I just lost something?

  ~

  Some days she feels like spilling all of her secrets,

  telling the boy she loves to hate about her guilt

  about how empty she feels

  how she is hopeless

  worthless

  nothing.

  But even then, she’s too scared

  too scared of his judgment

  too scared of everyone’s judgment.

  She fears what she doesn’t know

  and so she says nothing.

  ~

  WHEN I get back to my room, Ruby isn’t there, but I don’t even have the energy to wait for her any longer. I crawl right into my bed, pull the covers over my eyes, and wait until sleep takes me away.

  The next few days are absolutely horrible. I go to my classes, listen to the lectures even though I know I’m going to purposely flunk the exams later, and I don’t once talk to Logan. We pass each other in the stairs once but don’t say a word, don’t even make eye contact, and I know I really did ruin it this time. I would give anything to take back the prank, but I can’t. It’s done, I won, and now I feel worse than ever.

  Ben would be so disappointed in me right now, and that’s the worst part of all.

  I try to apologize to Logan four times over the course of the week, but every time I get the strength to knock on his door I can’t bring myself to say it. I have no idea why Logan’s anger matters so much to me--I mean, it’s always been my goal to upset him, right?--but that night… I know I went too far. And it hurt more than I thought it would, hurt not only him but me. That look in his eyes, that pure fury, it’s like he knew I knew this would hurt him--and I didn’t care. He looked genuinely broken over it, and that just makes me want to crumple up and cry.

  I love our rivalry. I love making him hate me. After all those years he disappeared and ignored me, after his failure to help Ben when he needed it most, Logan deserves it, and hating that bastard and having him hate me back feels good, feels right. But there is a difference between play and flat-out too much, and like a fucking idiot, I screwed it up.

  So the night before my blind date, when Ruby is out with Jaden getting drinks or something, I call Logan. He answers on the fifth ring.

  “Hey Logan?” I say to the silence on the other end.

  “Yeah?” His voice is tired, sad.

  There’s a long pause before I finally muster the strength to continue. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my eyes glistening with tears, and it’s the truth.

  ~

  I WAKE up to Ruby’s snoring with a start the next morning and immediately check my watch. 11:45 a.m. Shit. I have my date in fifteen minutes.

  Jumping to my feet, I throw on some clothes, shove my foot into a pair of brown country boots--it can’t really hurt to keep things interesting--and burst out the door without checking my hair or anything. I probably look like a complete mess in my old white t-shirt and black short shorts from last night, but it’s not like I care.

  As soon as I get in my car, I notice Logan climbing into his coupe across from me, and I immediately tense up. A pang of regret from the other night surges back to me, and as I sit in my car, I feel my heart sink.

  I really did it this time. I really ended our rivalry for good.

  I tell myself I won’t engage him as I put my keys into the ignition, ducking my head down in hopes he doesn’t see me. But it doesn’t work because before I know it he rolls down his window.

  “Going anywhere?” he says, and I feel relieved to hear that his voice is relatively normal. Something else is there, though, and I can feel it. Something so sad it makes me wince.

  I don’t know why, but as much as I hate Logan, I hate hurting him--really hurting him--more. I don’t think about what that means.

  “As a matter of fact, I have a date to go to on. You?” I say, expecting him to give me some long-winded response about such and such Pointless Lecture by such and such Boring As Hell Professor that he just has to attend, and then I’ll drive away while he’s in the middle of another one of his Logan Tangents.

  “I have a date too,” he says instead, which, I admit, surprises me a little. He puts his hand on his steering wheel, and we start to back our cars out together, side by side. “Nervous about yours?” he asks.

  “Nope.” The truth is, I am kind of nervous about this date, even if I’m already well aware it is going to be a bust, but there is no way I’m going to mention that to Logan.

  “Good. If he’s going out with you, I already know he’s either going to suck or you have no chance with him, so you have nothing to be nervous about.” He winks at me to the seal the deal. I respond gracefully and give him the finger, but I can’t help but feel thankful to see the usual rivalry in him return. I can tell he’s hurting, though. I know I am. Anything involving Ben hurts so freaking much. The other night I was too upset and furious thinking about the suicide and both Logan and my complete ignorance when it came to the signs, that I just… I just blew it. And now it stings. Bad. I’d give anything to take back that prank, or really to take back these last four years of my life. But I wouldn’t take back my rivalry with Logan, and that may be the strangest part of all.

  “That’s cute,” I say, shooting him a mock sweet smile. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if your date is with your mom.”

  “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” We continue to slowly back out our cars.

  “As a matter of fact, I would.” And it’s the truth--I just hope someone sends me pictures of Logan going on a date with mother. But let’s face it, it’s not like any other breathing mammal would sit with him on a date for more than forty-five minutes.

  “You’re a real charmer,” Logan says. “Anyway”--he starts to reach for something in front of him--”it was good talking to you.” Then, he hits the gas, laughs, and he tries to zip past me.

  A smile spreads across my lips because I, of course, won’t let him.

  I turn on the ignition and gun at his car, which is probably not the best idea in the world but hey, the whole point of college is to get the bad ideas out of your system, right? So I speed my car right by his, purposely scraping against his rearview mirror, and he shoots me a killer look.

  “Later, loser,” I call, not giving him time to respond, and I feel his car jostle mine as I push past it. He just laughs and d
rives out of the lot behind me, giving in to my mad skills. One point for Cali.

  I watch Logan in my rearview mirror the whole three-minute ride there. I keep waiting for him to turn, to go to some weird nerdy restaurant and greet his even nerdier date, but he just keeps following me, turn after turn. Next I convince myself he’s stalking me, something that is really not beneath him, but I have no idea why anyone would willingly stalk me to this same god-awful sandwich shop.

  He’s still there when I stop at the light across from the shop, still there when I slow in front of it, and as soon as I pull into the parking lot, I glance behind me to see him pulling in after me.

  What the…

  “Is your date seriously here?” I ask Logan dubiously, stepping out of the car and slamming the door behind me. Sunlight streams down from above and I have to cover my eyes with my hands to look at him. Between the smell of pizza emanating from the restaurant, the gentle hum of car engines in the street to my left, and the singing of some birds above us, it’s a pretty nice afternoon. The air is cool and fresh, and I should really be enjoying it more than I am. But with Logan here, it’s hard to enjoy anything.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Logan says, stepping out of his car. “But yes, it seriously is.”

  I squint at him, waiting for him to pull some sort of prank on me, laugh about how this is all just a practical joke of his, but nothing comes. Huh. Maybe he isn’t lying this time. “That’s… strange,” I finally say.

  “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

  He follows me up the stairs to the front door, and I hold the door for him as he enters. Air conditioning blasts us, causing a slight shiver to race down my spine. As soon as I step inside, I scan the shop. The only people here today are the elderly couple talking to each other in the corner of the room. I check the time--12:08. So I guess my date isn’t here. I glance up at Logan, who is also looking confused. And apparently, his isn’t either.