by E. K. Blair
“Don’t do this.”
“What’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean?”
He shifts and turns square toward me on the couch. “I mean you’re never around anymore. Every time I pass by your house, your car is gone. I drove by every day this break, and today was the first time your car was there.”
“So now you’re spying on me?” I question, growing defensive and also nervous, knowing he’s checking up on me.
“We live in the same neighborhood, Cam. I wouldn’t exactly call it spying.”
“What is it that you’re wanting from me?”
“I don’t know.” His words are a huff of frustration. “Maybe I’m just sick of feeling like I’m on the outside when I’ve practically spent my whole life with you.”
“Why can’t I just be alone?”
“You are alone. That’s the problem. Because I don’t want you to be alone, because I want to be with you, because I miss you.” His words come out dripping in desperation for us to go back in time.
But we can’t.
And now that I have David, I don’t think I’d want to go back to when it was easy with Kroy even if we could.
“Where are you when you’re not at home?”
I try to hide my hesitation before spoon-feeding him more lies. “I’m just out. I’m anywhere that isn’t there,” I tell him. “Even when my mom is gone, it’s not an easy place for me to be. There isn’t a single room in that house that doesn’t hold memories of my dad. So, I leave. Sometimes I go to the library, sometimes I go to the mall, and sometimes I just drive.”
“You know you can always call me or come over here.”
“That’s the thing . . .” I take a second before continuing. “I just want to be alone.” It’s a blatant lie he can’t see through. It used to be the truth, but now I’d rather be with David than anywhere else. I choose him over loneliness. “I’m not trying to hurt you, but I need to do this on my own.”
“Do you know how hard it is not to be the one helping you?”
“I guess, in a weird way, you are helping. It’s just not in the way you want.”
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t say a single word.
“Maybe I should go,” I offer, and he doesn’t even try to stop me when I grab my coat and leave.
I walk home, the same walk I’ve walked since I was a little girl, but this time, it’s so apparent that Kroy isn’t the boy of my dreams the way he used to be. And the friendship we once had might not survive my deceit. I can already feel the wedge between us, probably more so than he does because I’m the one forcing us apart with my duplicity.
I’ll carry the blame though.
I’ll take the hit.
I’ll accept whatever the outcome of us may be if it means I don’t have to lose him.
IT TAKES ME LONGER THAN usual to get out of the house this morning. My reflection stares back at me while I fan my hand over my cheek to dry the foundation before I apply a second coat. The bright red bruising is still evident, and now I look even worse with all this makeup caked on my face.
I toss my sponge brush into the sink and then scrub all the foundation off my face.
Great. Another reason for people to stare at me.
As I make my way from one class to another, I do what I can to hide my bruise behind my long hair. Second period with Kroy is tense. He barely speaks two words to me, still upset about yesterday. I don’t want to push him, so I keep my distance and focus on taking notes to prepare for finals.
After third period, I make my way to English. You’d think I’d be happy to see David, but truth be told, I’m worried about how he will react to seeing the assault on my face.
I keep my head down as I weave through the crowded halls, and when I rush to beat the bell, I run smack into another student, sending my armful of books to the ground.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” my old friend says when I squat down in front of the classroom door.
I gather my books, muttering to Linze, “It’s okay. I wasn’t paying attention.”
The bell rings, and she bends over to grab my notebook that’s out of my reach and hands it to me.
“Everything okay, girls?” David inquires when he steps out into the hall, distracting Linze from me.
She scurries off into the classroom, and when I stand, David grabs my arm. I quickly turn my head away from him, but it’s too late.
“What happened to your face?” he questions, taking in the red lashing. “Look at me.”
And I do, only to be met with menacing eyes.
“Tell me what happened,” he demands under his breath with a classroom full of students a few feet away from us.
I glance over his shoulder, and when I see no one is paying attention, I pull my arm out of his hold. “Someone could see us,” I whisper before walking into the room and taking a seat at my desk.
He remains in the hall for a solid minute before walking in, shrouded in frustration. Whatever lesson he had planned today is cancelled when he tells us to pull out our current book and read for the hour. Everyone groans. Everyone but me. Because I’m too troubled by the mood I caused him, hating that I’m caught in the time warp of school that imprisons me from the privacy we need to talk. God only knows what he’s thinking right now, but whatever it is, he’s visibly upset.
He wrings his hands, and when his eyes touch mine, I shrug my shoulders and mouth I’m sorry. I pull out my book from my backpack, and when I glance his way, he’s got the lid to his laptop open. As I find the spot where I last left off, my cell vibrates from the bottom of my bag.
David: Stay after class.
Fear strikes a chord in me, and I turn the phone facedown the instant I read his text. Looking around, terrified that someone might have seen, I bring it down to my lap so it’s hidden under the desk and text him back.
Me: I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.
My eyes drift up as I watch him type his response from his laptop.
David: Of course I’m worried about you. I’m going fucking crazy right now.
Me: I promise you, I’m fine. I’ll stay behind to talk, but we can’t text anymore. Someone might see.
I shove my phone into my pocket and pick up my book, tuning out the voices in my head that are urging me to look up at him. I read, but don’t retain as panic torments me with thoughts of what would happen if someone were to have seen me texting him.
Would they even know it was him I was texting?
It isn’t like kids don’t text beneath their desks. They do all the time, and I’m sure nothing looked out of the ordinary, but I can’t help stressing. What if it did look suspicious? What if they can see right through me? My God, it was just yesterday morning that I was having sex with the teacher who now sits at the head of the class.
How do they not feel the tension in this room?
How do they not see it?
How do they not taste it?
Because I do. I still wear him on my skin. His touch, his scent—he’s all over me.
I spend the rest of the class with my stomach in knots, trying to talk myself down from the freak out I’m feeling within.
Time tiptoes along one agonizing second after another until they accumulate into the minutes needed to empty the classroom. As casually as I can manage, I sling my bag over my shoulder and trail slowly behind the last person, stopping just short of the door where David stands. He waits a beat, and then surprises me when he shuts the door and locks it.
“What are you doing?” I fret.
He steps toward me, just outside the view of the slender window so no one can see us.
“What happened?” he asks, wasting no time. With his hands on my face, he examines the bruise. “Who did this?”
My heart races in an uneven tempo that doesn’t feel quite right in my chest. “David, stop. What if someone sees us?”
“Tell me who did this,” he persists.
“My mom.”
“Did she notice
you hadn’t been home?”
“She doesn’t notice anyone but herself,” I say. “When I got home, she had a guy at the house. Everything spiraled out of control, and we wound up in a nasty fight.”
“And he was there?”
“No. He was leaving when I walked in. It was just my mom and I fighting. But I’m fine.”
“This isn’t fucking fine, Cam,” he fumes in a harsh whisper I know he wishes were a scream. “She hit you hard enough to leave a bruise across your face.”
We stare at each other, knowing we’re both powerless in this situation, threatened by the law we have to hide from. There’s nothing he can do, and we both know it.
His arms, hard and tense, circle around me. “I fucking hate this,” he sighs. “You’re hurt, and I’m worthless to you. I can’t even protect you.”
“You’re not worthless. You’re the only good thing I have.”
He kisses the top of my head, and when I crane my neck back to look into eyes that harbor helplessness, all sensibility fades.
I kiss him.
I kiss him even though the world would tell you I have no right to.
But I do.
Because I love him. And because he loves me. Call it virility, I don’t care. I know how I feel, and I know he feels it too as his lips caress mine, expressing so much with so little. We know better than to be doing this here, but logic dissipates the moment I have his taste back in my mouth.
This is anything but wrong in a world blinded by the fear of love when it doesn’t look the way they assume it should.
“God, this is torture,” he murmurs against my lips.
I return his tenderness when I lift on my toes and kiss his forehead.
He takes my face back into his hands and grinds his teeth before professing, “I can’t get you out of my head. It’s all I can do not to think about you. And to know that when you leave me, this is what happens to you.” He kisses my bruise. “It fucking kills me. It kills me to know I can’t protect you and take care of you.”
“You do,” I assure. “What she did—”
“What she did was wrong, and don’t you try to justify it to me.”
“But I’m fine.”
“That’s the problem. The fact that your life has beaten you up so badly that this doesn’t affect you. That doesn’t sit right with me, Cam, not when I care this much about you.”
“What do you want me to do? You want me to cry or to get mad and scream? What difference would it make if I did? It’s not as if life is giving me choices here.” I drop my head, just as helpless as he is. “I’m stuck. No matter how shitty my world gets . . . I’m just stuck.”
And he knows it. He knows there’s nothing he can do to change my situation. And if he did make an attempt, he’d turn us both into ticking time bombs.
So here we are—hiding in fear behind the door to his classroom that separates us from them.
This is us—victims of love.
WINTER’S FIRST SNOW MADE ITS appearance earlier this morning when I woke up in David’s arms. I watched as the flakes fell outside his window while he dropped kisses along my shoulder blades; kisses so hot I swear I can still feel their burn marks on my flesh as I now sit in my room, staring at the pile of envelopes I’ve been avoiding.
Another month has passed, bringing us that much closer to freedom, but I wonder what freedom will look like as I run my hand over the stack of paper that hides the ink of the future.
Last year, when I broke the state record for the fifty-yard free, there were several scouts in attendance. Along with my four-point-oh grade average, I knew it was only a matter of time before letters of intent would start showing up. The first one arrived in September. I didn’t open it though. It’s been a little over three months, and five others have joined the stack. All from schools my dad and I used to talk about me attending, and now here they are, sending me letters with whatever scholarship packages they are offering me.
I’m scared to open them. Scared and sad, because I’m supposed to be doing this with my father.
This was our thing. Everything was our thing.
The other player in this is David. Even though one of the letters is from the University of Oklahoma, a big part of me wants to get out of this state and far away from the memories this place now holds. But moving means leaving David, and that isn’t something I want to face. The thought of not having him is practically debilitating.
Time isn’t on my side in this case. I’m going to have to open these letters soon and make my choice, otherwise these offers might be pulled off the table.
Snow continues to float down to the pillowy, white blanket that now covers the ground, and when I look at the time on my cell phone, I drag myself to the bathroom to start pulling myself together.
Winter Formal is tonight, and when Kroy asked me to go with him, I originally said no. He assured me we’d just be going as friends, but it still felt weird because of David. When I told him Kroy had asked me, his response came as a surprise.
“Has anyone asked you to the dance?”
Hanging out on David’s couch with my head on his lap, I look up from below and giggle. “Would you be jealous if someone did?”
He smirks. “You want me to be jealous?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“I mean, if you’re going to go all psycho . . .”
“Just answer the question.”
Lifting my head off his legs, I sit up and face him. “Kroy asked me last week. I told him no.”
“He’s still hanging on to you, isn’t he?”
“I don’t think so. He insisted we’d just be going as friends, and I believed him when he said it.”
“And you still said no?”
“Yeah. Why?”
He picks up the remote and mutes the television before saying, “I don’t want to be the reason for you to miss out on these things. It’s your last year of high school.”
“Even if there were no you, I still wouldn’t want to go.”
“Did you go last year?”
“Yes. It isn’t the same as it was last year. I’m not that girl anymore. And at this point, most of my friends have given up on me.” David opens his mouth, but I quickly shut him down. “Before you say anything, I get that it’s my fault. That I’ve shut them out. But whatever the reason, it is what it is.”
He turns to face me. “You should still go.”
“Why?”
“I’d hate for you to look back one day and have regrets.”
“Regrets about not attending a dance? My God, I hope my future isn’t so pathetic that I’d be torn up about not going to a stupid high school dance.” I laugh at the thought, but he isn’t amused.
“Well then maybe you should go as a safeguard for us.” When I furrow my brows in question, he adds, “Not that I think anyone is suspicious or anything, but if anyone were, you going to this dance with Kroy would serve as a good cover.”
“You’re kidding, right?” He doesn’t respond, but the look on his face tells me he isn’t. “So, you want me to go to this dance with my ex-boyfriend?”
“Why not?”
I held out for a little while longer, but when he better explained his motive, I gave in. I know his real reasoning for wanting me to go isn’t for the safeguard he tried to convince me of though. David doesn’t want the guilt of my possibly having regrets, even though I told him I wouldn’t.
Most girls are at the salons getting their hair and makeup done. Winter Formal at our school is a big deal, almost as big as prom. The girls from the group Kroy and I are going with invited me along, but I couldn’t muster up enough excitement to join them. It would’ve only taken away from the time I was able to spend at David’s house this morning. I’m never quick to leave his bed when I spend the night. Leaving him is always the worst.
Once my makeup is done, I slick my hair back into a low ponytail before slipping on the knee-length lacy, deep green dress I picked up earlier this
week. I pair it with nude heels and a conservative dabbing of nude lipstick.
The doorbell rings, and when I walk down the stairs, my mother’s beaming smile and obnoxious camera are nowhere to be found.
That woman used to live for helping me get ready for dances. There hasn’t been a single one she’s missed until now.
The limo is parked along the curb when I answer the door.
Kroy eyes me from head to toe. “You look amazing,” he says softly with a hint of melancholy.
We’ve always gone to these things as a couple, and his longing for our relationship to go back to the way it was hangs in the air between us.
“Are you ready? Everyone is in the limo waiting.”
“One second,” I tell him, and he steps inside while I slip on my ivory cocktail coat.
“Where are you off to?” my mother calls from the top of the stairs.
“Just a dance,” I scoff, annoyed that she’s even pretending to care about where I’m going. “I’ll be back later.”
“Good to see you, Mrs. Hale,” Kroy acknowledges, and I roll my eyes when she responds in total fakery, “You kids have fun.”
“Let’s go,” I murmur as I loop my arm through his.
When Kroy helps me into the limo, all the girls are laughing and singing along to the music that’s blaring. It wasn’t that long ago I was one of those girls, giggling and having a good time. But now . . . now I’m a fraud among friends. As I watch them, I wonder what they’d think of me if they knew what I was doing with our teacher. I look to Linze, but she doesn’t so much as glance my way, and when she throws her arms up and belts out the chorus to the song, everyone laughs and cheers her on—even Kroy. I smile an awkward smile, but the tension between me and her is impossible to ignore.
“You okay?” Kroy whispers when he dips his head down to my ear.
I plaster on a smile for his sake and nod.
Arriving at the dance is exactly what you’d expect. Half the girls ditch their dates to gossip and fawn over how good everyone looks, while others dance to the up-tempo song the DJ is playing.