by Blair, E. K.
There’s no shaking the emptiness I feel from the moment I wake up until the moment I fall asleep. I drop tears every morning; I’ve never cried so much in my life. I used to be strong, and now . . . now, I’m just lost. I’m not even sure I know who I am anymore, but I want to find her—me—the girl who used to be filled with happiness and consumed with a freedom that breathed life into her veins.
But those veins are severed, and I don’t know how to begin to heal them.
Maybe this is my first step—moving back here to Miami and returning to school. A part of me still wants to hide away, but I forced myself not to enroll in another online course. I need to be out here among the living, even though I feel lifeless.
It’s strange being back on campus. Everything remains the same except for me. I’ve changed, and I’m even more unsure of my place here than what I was before.
Under the beaming sun, I make my way over to the student center to grab a coffee before my first class of the spring semester. With my head down, I stand in line as the people in front of me order their iced lattes or whatever fulfills their caffeine compulsions. The world moves from all around, voices and laughter surround me, plans for the weekend and which parties are going to be the best are discussed, but I’m on pause, nothing but a frozen image of white noise.
“Kate,” the barista announces when he sets down my coffee.
“Thanks,” I murmur, but the guy has already walked off to busy himself with another drink order. As I make my way outside, I take a sip and burn my tongue. “Shit.”
My taste buds suffer as I walk into my digital marketing class and find a seat toward the back of the room. I slip my bag off my shoulders, situate myself in a desk, and wait for the professor to arrive. But it’s who I see next that steals my attention.
Ady doesn’t notice me when she walks in and finds a seat a few rows down next to a girl she immediately starts chatting with. I watch, nervous of what her reaction will be when she notices me. There are no hard feelings toward her on my end, but I’m sure they exist on hers. I allowed shame to control my actions, and I ditched her entirely, throwing our friendship away because I was too embarrassed to face her. Now that my secret was out, I knew she would also be upset that I’d blatantly lied to her each time she asked me if I was okay.
I’m struggling to understand myself.
I spend the next hour doing nothing to draw any attention to myself as the professor goes over the semester’s syllabus, and when our time is up, I toss my empty coffee cup and beeline it out of the door. It’s childish, I know, but I just can’t face her—not yet.
“Kate,” she calls out as I’m trying to make my feeble escape. “Kate.”
Anxiety rushes through my system. I can do one of two things: keep going and pretend I didn’t hear her or turn around and deal with the ramifications of what I did. If I have any hope of taking that first real step forward, of proving that I’m not a coward, I know what I have to do.
I stop and face my old friend. As she catches up to me, I’m nervous. I have no idea what to expect from her. Anger for my being a total bitch and ignoring her is what I’m anticipating.
“Where have you been?”
“Umm . . .” Words fail me because, where have I been?
Before I can say anything else, she throws her arms around me in a hug that radiates relief. It’s a confusing sentiment, and I reluctantly hug her back.
“I thought you fell off the face of the earth or something.” She sighs heavily when she draws back.
“I, um . . . I’ve been around.”
“No, you haven’t,” she counters. “I called and texted you for months.”
And this I know. She tried to reach out to me every day until she, along with everyone else, gave up and faded away.
She waits for answers as she shakes her head, dumbfounded, and I don’t blame her.
“I’m sorry,” is all I can give because, how the hell do I even attempt to explain this to her? Knowing what she does about Caleb, I can guess how much she probably hates him, so there is no way she will understand. All I can do is wonder if that hate has been cast onto me. It wouldn’t surprise me if that were the case. “I don’t know what to say, I’m just . . . I’m sorry.”
“You disappeared. All of us have been so worried about you.”
It’s an instant reminder of the truth they all know, and the urge to run and hide takes over. “I should probably get going. I have another class I need to get to.”
“Wait.” She grabs my arm as I start to walk away. “Did I do something?”
“No, you didn’t do anything. It’s . . .” I hang my head in defeat before telling her, “It’s complicated.”
Her hand slides down my arm until it’s holding on to my hand. “Will you answer if I call you?”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
My shoulders sag, and I let my hand fall from hers so I can grip the straps of my backpack. “I would understand if you were.”
“Well, I’m not, but do you think we could get together and talk?”
The idea of having to explain myself and answer whatever questions she might have scares me, and I hesitate to respond.
“Come on,” she presses. “We used to be good friends. I’ve missed having you around.”
“I’ve missed you too,” I tell her because it’s the truth.
I miss all my friends, but I’m not sure I could ever look them in the eyes again without feeling a torrential amount of embarrassment. Ady wasn’t there the night of the party, which is probably why I’m able to stand in front of her without crumbling under my mortification. But Brody, Micah, and Trent were. They saw everything.
“I have one more class today. Are you free later?”
Timidly, I nod.
“When I call, promise me you’ll answer, okay?”
Even though my instinct is telling me to avoid her and everyone else, I give her what she’s seeking. “I promise, but I have to run.”
And with that, I rush across campus to my next class, all the while struggling to dislodge the knot stuck in my throat. The next hour drags on, and I try my best to focus on what the professor is saying, but I don’t hear a word. I’m too lost in my head, replaying everything that happened freshman and sophomore year, and how quickly my life changed. And then I ask myself: If I could go back in time, would I forsake Caleb to keep the life I had before him intact?
It’s a question that pains me to even consider.
I loved Caleb, but I hate the path of destruction he wrought on my life and my soul and my sense of self. Now, here I am—alone—forced to walk through the shambles. It wasn’t as if I was delusional and thought that, at some point, I wouldn’t have to face my old friends. I just didn’t expect it would happen on the first day of class. I don’t know why I didn’t anticipate it knowing Ady and I share the same major.
After class, I have an hour break, which I use to grab a quick lunch from the student center. It’s during this time that my phone chimes.
Ady: Just got back to the condo. Want to come over?
Too much too soon. There’s no way I’m going over there and risking running into Trent or Micah.
Me: I still have another class. I should be home around 3:30. Want to meet me at my place?
Ady: Yeah, that works.
I send her my new address before tossing the rest of my food into the garbage. There’s no question that I need to get this talk over with sooner rather than later, and the pressure of it all just killed my appetite.
I end up ditching out of my last lecture early, thinking the extra time will help settle my nerves before Ady comes over, but pacing around my condo only makes them worse. I wish I could simply sweep the past under the rug and resume our friendship with no questions asked, but I know if the tables were turned, I’d be hurt—to have a friend cut me off so easily. What I did wasn’t okay, and I’ll own it. She didn’t deserve my shitty friendship.
When the knock finally comes, a part of me is relieved to end this agonizing waiting game, but it’s short-lived when I open the door.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I respond, and I can tell this is just as awkward for her as it is for me.
She walks in and looks around my new space. When I take a seat on the sofa, she slowly makes her way over and joins me, asking, “Why did you move out of your old unit?”
It’s a benign question on her part, but not on mine. It has my palms sweating. “Because I moved back home for a while.”
“You moved back home?”
I fidget as I nod.
“So, you haven’t even been in Miami?”
I shake my head. “Not for a year.”
Her brows lift in surprise. “When did you get back?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t even know you left,” she says, and I can see in her eyes she wants to know more, but I’m not sure I can give her more.
“I’m sorry. It was kind of a . . . last-minute decision.” I hope she understands that I’m not ready for her to push and ask why, but I steel myself against it just in case.
“It’s okay.” A beat passes between us, and then it’s her turn to shrug. “Why does this feel so weird?”
“Because it is weird.” I drop my head and then confess, “It’s embarrassing for me.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Hesitantly, I lift my eyes to hers. “I don’t think I can.” When she gives an accepting nod, I apologize again.
“Can I just ask you one thing?” When I don’t move to respond, she continues, “Are you still with Caleb?”
“No.”
Slowly, her lips move in a silent good.
“I couldn’t stay here. I don’t expect you to understand, I just—” No matter how much I don’t want her to ask the questions I’ve been dreading, I still find myself trying to explain.
With softening eyes, she links our fingers together and tells me, “I might understand more than you think.” Her hand trembles, and that in and of itself makes me think she just might.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’ve never talked about this with anyone aside from Micah and my therapist, but I feel like you should know something about me.”
Restlessly, she tugs her hand free and then tucks her long hair behind her ears, and I make myself sit still as she collects herself enough to speak again.
“I never told you the reason I left Tampa and moved in with Micah and Trent, but . . .” She takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly before revealing, “Someone hurt me too.”
The moment her chin quivers, my eyes prick with tears that I quickly blink back.
“I know how hard it is for you to talk about this stuff because it’s hard to talk about what happened to me. It’s been two and a half years, and even though a big part of me wants to tell you, I can’t.”
My next blink sends a rogue drop of sadness down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it away.
“I just want you to know that I understand why you feel the need to keep saying you’re sorry as if you’ve done something wrong when you haven’t.”
“But I did,” I respond, my voice splintering against my pain. “I ran away and hid from everyone.”
“So did I.” Her shoulders drop. “You once asked me why I wasn’t going back home to visit my mom for holidays and things . . . I was hiding from someone I was really close to because I was too ashamed to face him. I’m still hiding.”
A few tears slip down her face as an unspoken understanding settles between us. Knowing that I’m not alone in this anguish that has imprisoned me is so overwhelming that I crack. The moment I drop my head and start weeping quietly in my hands, Ady scoots closer and pulls me into her arms.
Grief seeps through the fractures Caleb left me with, and I hug her back with a tearful, “Thank you.”
She asks nothing else because she gets it. The gift she just gave me, letting me know that I’m not alone and that we share more than I ever thought, is the most precious thing anyone has ever given me, and I cry harder. The details of our circumstances don’t need to be outlined . . . maybe one day we’ll share our stories with each other, but for now, this is enough.
TRENT
“You here for the rest of the night?” Micah asks from my doorway.
“Yeah, man. My classes are done for the day. I was just about to run out and grab dinner. You want anything?”
“I’ll pick something up later. I have that night class, remember?”
“Dude, that fucking blows.”
“Yeah,” he responds. “It was the only time slot that had an open seat.”
“Early surf still on for tomorrow morning?”
He nods. “Six o’clock, right?”
“Bright and early. Smack ’em and yack ’em.”
The front door sounds, and when Ady calls his name, he ducks out, asking, “Where have you been?”
“You’ll never guess who I ran into today,” Ady tells him.
“Who?”
“Kate,” she says, and all my senses go on high alert as I sit up to eavesdrop on whatever else she says. “I was just over at her place.”
“Shit, are you serious? How is she?”
“How you would assume . . . not that great.”
Ady’s words pull me off the bed and out of my room.
“Where has she been?” Micah asks, but before she can respond, I walk into the kitchen.
“You saw Kate?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a solid rotation in my chest—a tumbling of emotions. It was just over a year ago when I last saw or spoke to her. Like a phantom, she fucking vanished in the middle of the night, broken and bruised, and no one has heard from her since. Not that I didn’t try to find her—I did. I called, texted, and went to her condo countless times, but she was gone. As time passed, my attempts to get in touch with her dwindled until, eventually, I gave up.
“So, what did she say?” I ask.
“We just talked.”
“About?”
“About things.”
Her vagueness irritates me. I can still recall every detail about that fucked-up night. Kate’s terrifying screams for help have never left me, and the fire within me that ignited wasn’t anything I’d ever felt before. When I ran into that room and found that motherfucker pinning her to the floor with his knee in her spine and his hands pulling her head back, ripping her hair out, I lost all control. I wish I could say that was the worst of it, but when I saw her without her shirt on, it was so, so much worse. The bruises that dickfuck put on her told the story of more than one instance of abuse. He had been beating the shit out of her for a long time. The idea that she didn’t feel like she could trust any of us to help her, that she simply had to endure his fists until he decided to stop, gnawed my gut—it still does. At least that night, Brody, Micah, and I were there to put a stop to it, but all the other times, she was alone.
When Ady opens the fridge to grab a soda, I ask again, “Seriously, Ady, what did she say?”
She pops the tab and takes a sip. “She didn’t say much.”
“Then what did you talk about?”
“Not a lot,” she responds, pushing off my questions. “She just needs space. I’m sure, with a little time, she’ll come around.”
“Time? It’s been a year.”
“Dude? What’s up with you?” Micah questions, and I back off, realizing I’m coming off too strong.
Ady picks up her backpack, and with her drink in hand, she tells me, “Maybe try reaching out to her,” before she and Micah make their way to his bedroom.
I head back to my room and kick the door closed before I grab my cellphone. It’s been a long time since I’ve pulled up her contact information, but when I find her name, I don’t even think twice before I tap her number and call.
I’m eager to hear her voice and to find out where the hell she’s been this whol
e time, but all I get is the recording of her voice mail. I hang up without leaving a message and decide to send a text, but then I waver on what to say. I want answers, but I also don’t want to scare her away. It’s a high wire on which I walk, so I opt to play it chill.
Me: Hey, I hope you’re not planning on ignoring me for a lifetime. Still missing you.
I hit send, take a seat on the bed, and wait. A spark of hope strikes when I see that she still has her read receipts on her phone turned on. She’s read it, but that ember wanes when minutes pass with no response.
Going back and forth, I debate whether I should just go knock on her door. The last thing I want to do is put her in an awkward position. I mean . . . if she were interested in talking to me, she would simply talk to me. But there’s an urgency inside that I can’t ignore. The last time I saw her, she was battered and bleeding, and I have to know, even after all this time, that she’s safe and that Caleb isn’t still in the picture. The thought of that piece of ass shit negates all hesitation, and I’m out of here.
With my keys in hand, I head down to my car and make the short drive over to her condo building. A rush of nerves wreak havoc as the elevator ascends, and when I’m standing in front of her door, I can’t get my damn hands to stop shaking. Maybe it’s uncertainty that has me so unsettled, but I don’t rest on it for too long before I knock.
Restless are the feet beneath me, and when the door opens, I’m surprised to see a guy around my age answer.
Who the fuck is this new dipshit?
“Can I help you?” he asks when I don’t say anything.
“Sorry, man. Is Kate here?”
His brows furrow. “Who?”
“Kate,” I repeat. “Is she here?”
Slowly, he shakes his head, and when I peer over his shoulder and see that none of the furniture is the same, I realize she no longer lives here.
“You got the wrong place, man.”
“Do you know the girl who used to live here?”
“No.”
I take a step back, shut out once again. “Sorry to bother you.”