In My Bed

  He heaves a big sigh. “I love you, Jenna. I just think we need to cool down. I … shit. Hannah fucked with my head years ago and she’s still fucking with it now.”

  His ambiguity is frustrating, causing my pain to begin to morph into anger. I groan and look up at the roof of his car as I yell, “What does that even mean!”

  “Maybe we should just put this conversation on hold until I can work through some of this shit. I think that we should wait to talk about it before one of us says something we’ll regret.”

  “Yeah, good idea, friend.” I want that word to cut him like it cut me—I want it to make him bleed.

  I hear his breathing halt and I look over at him as he shakes his head and starts the car. The engine revs, but the sound isn’t loud enough to drown out his voice when I hear him mumble, “Hell, maybe I already did.”

  Chapter 22

  The drive back to my dorm is silent, the strain between us making me agitated. I’m not used to feeling this way with Nate. There’s always been an easy way about our relationship, and I’ve always felt so comfortable with him, but right now you could cut the tension with a knife. And it’s not the good kind of tension that we’ve always had—the type of tension that makes my heart skip beats and my body beg for him. This is the awkward, angry, confused, hurt type of tension that people always try to avoid.

  Nate pulls his truck along the curb outside my building and he shuts off the car. He turns to face me, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure if he’s waiting for me to leave or waiting for me to talk. I stare at him and decide to wait him out, but he remains silent, looking at me with a mixture of longing and frustration.

  After five minutes, he finally heaves a sigh and turns to look out the windshield. “I’ll call you.”

  I nod and pull my lips between my teeth. I want to beg him to talk to me now, but I won’t do that.

  He closes his eyes and grips the steering wheel tightly. “You don’t know what I’m dealing with here,” he tries to explain.

  “Because you won’t tell me!” My reply comes quick and it’s charged with all the emotion I was just trying to hold back. I close my eyes and take a breath, my tone much softer when I say, “Maybe if you talked to me about it, I’d be able to understand.”

  “Just … Can you give me some time?”

  I blow out a breath and shake my head in disappointment. “You take all the time you need, Nate,” I respond as I open my door and climb from his truck. I stalk toward the door of my dorm without looking back at him. The one thing I hold onto as I walk forward is the honesty I saw in his eyes when he told me he loved me.

  I love you.

  I saw the truth in his words and that’s what I grasp onto—I embrace the only bit of light I have while he keeps me in the dark.

  Taking my pain, anger, and frustration out on the stairs, I pound up each one until I get to my floor. I walk into my room, closing the door behind me. I stand there frozen, letting the last hour of my life replay in my head. It feels like I’ve lived two completely different days. The one where Nate met my parents and we were in love, and the one where Nate pushed me away and my heart was stomped to bits.

  My eyes burn with tears, but I don’t let them fall—not yet. Instead, I grab my dance bag and head right back down the stairs. When I walk out of the doors to my dorm, I have the vain hope that Nate is still there parked in front of my building, waiting to tell me everything—waiting to fix things. It’s how things would be in the movies. But he’s not there, and the sight of the empty curb has me picking up my pace and nearly running to get to my destination.

  It’s Sunday afternoon, so I know the studio will be empty. The school’s practice studio is closer, but I want to be completely alone. I use my key to unlock the door to the studio then walk to the back room to change. When I’m done changing my clothes, I pull my phone from my purse and connect it to the speaker in the room, knowing exactly which playlist I want to put on.

  Every girl has that song, or that list of songs, that she puts on when she’s sad. After a bad day, when someone breaks her heart or when she just wants to cry. I have a playlist like that. The songs aren’t all melancholy—they’re just emotional. Some are from movies, some from my favorite TV shows, and then there are a few that made it on here just because I heard them and they stirred something in me. That’s the playlist I go for, scrolling down and pressing shuffle. When the music starts, I move to the center of the dance floor and consider everything that happened today. I let each scene roll through my mind as the music invades my being.

  Fool of Me by Me'shell Ndegeocello comes on first and I let a few tears fall. The song is slow and my body starts to move of its own volition. I see myself in the mirror, but it’s almost as if I’m watching someone else as the music takes me over.

  “Hannah, this is my friend, Jenna …”

  To Build a Home by The Cinematic Orchestra plays next and as the tempo of the piano speeds, my body moves faster and I let the music sweep my body across the floor. I feel my heart constrict as doubt plagues my mind

  When he opens his eyes, they won’t meet mine as he asks me, “Would you mind giving us a second?”

  Falling Slowly by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova starts up next and my eyes close as the duet rings through the lonely studio. I let the sadness and confusion own my body, my movements slow and expressive.

  She looks … hopeful. And when I look at Nate, he looks conflicted.

  When Love You ‘Till the End by The Pogues comes on, the tears start to fall in earnest. This song is more upbeat than the last few and as I move faster the tears fall faster, dripping from my chin and onto my chest, flying off my face and falling to the floor when I spin.

  “I love you.”

  When it ends, Here Comes a Regular by The Replacements begins to play, the guitar echoing off the floors and around the walls of the empty room. I stop moving and open my eyes after having them closed for the last two songs. I look at myself in the mirror, my vision blurry from the tears pooling in my eyes. I watch my chest expanding with each breath. I map the tear tracks staining my cheeks.

  “… maybe I should’ve known better than to get involved with you.”

  “Maybe we just need a little break from this.”

  “This is just too much.”

  This is too much.

  And I lose it. I fall apart. I break down.

  My legs collapse and I fall to the floor, letting every emotion completely overwhelm me—even emotions I’ve long since thought I’d overcome. Frustration, anger, sadness, betrayal, loss, pain, hurt. It all comes pouring out of me in the form of ugly, violent sobs. The songs ends and my playlist moves on to the next one, but I don’t hear it.

  All I can hear is the heavy beat of my heart and the stuttering of my breath as I cry.

  ***

  It’s almost an hour later that I finally get up and go to the bathroom to wash my face. I feel empty and lost. I thought dancing would help me work through this, but now I only feel more bereft. I don’t bother changing back into my jeans; I just lock up the studio and walk back to my dorm in my dance attire. I walk across the campus, my mind distracted and occupied with the things I wish I knew—the things I can’t force him to tell me. So when my shoulder collides with something hard, I’m completely surprised.

  “Sorry,” I mumble and keep walking before I hear my name come from a mildly familiar voice.

  “It’s Jenna, right?”

  I turn around and see the girl who happens to be the catalyst causing all of my current problems. “Hannah?”

  “Yeah, hey,” she replies, a nervous smile on her face. “You go to school here? At CAM?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I reply, shifting on my feet. This run-in has completely thrown me. I don’t know whether to smile, scowl or slap her. I know it’s illogical to be mad at her because the truth is that she hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s just a woman who lost her daughter and got emotional when she saw the baby’s father—it’s
not her fault that the baby’s father is my boyfriend.

  She points behind her to another one of the dorm buildings. “I was just visiting a friend of mine. She’s a graduate student here.”

  I nod. “That’s … nice?”

  She gives me a nervous giggle. “This is a little weird, huh?”

  “Yeah, I mean, you barely looked at me when we were at the coffee shop. I’m surprised you recognized me at all,” I say, my voice harsher than I mean it to be. Then again, I’m just glad it didn’t crack with emotion. Cold, hard bitch is better than weepy, insecure girlfriend.

  Her smile falters, but she recovers quickly. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Nate, but I saw you guys together in line. Whatever you two are to each other, I can see that you make him happy.” Her words stun me and I remain quiet, unsure of how to reply to that. “I know you may not understand what’s going on between me and him, but if you have questions about anything I can explain.”

  I’m not sure if she knows what she’s offering, but all that matters it that she’s willing to explain the things Nate isn’t. I’m tempted to ask her all my questions, but I don’t think I should. If Nate isn’t the one to tell me what’s going on and what happened between them—years ago and now—then it doesn’t really matter. I won’t be able to be with him if he isn’t willing to open up, so as much as I hate to do it, I open my mouth and decline her offer.

  “No questions here,” I say, giving her an obviously fake smile.

  “Well, if you change your mind,” she says as she pulls out something from her purse, “you can call me. That’s my business card. It has my office and cell number on it.”

  I nod and slide the card into my bag.

  She looks at the small silver watch on her wrist and her eyes widen a little. “Look, I’ve got to get going …” she says like I’m the one keeping her here.

  I take the opportunity to end this awkward interaction. “Yeah, me too.” I start to walk away without a goodbye, but she grabs my arm.

  “Nate deserves to be happy. Whatever he told you … just know that I truly want him to find happiness, more than anything.”

  I narrow my eyes, unsure of what that means. It looks like she’s waiting for a response from me, but I bite my tongue and shake my arm free from her grasp. I walk away from her and continue back to my dorm, the endless day just getting longer and longer. I replay our conversation as I take the stairs and I don’t really understand what any of it means. Everything she said raised more questions than it answered. It’s obvious that she thinks Nate talked to me about her, and the only way for me to make sense of what she said is to talk to Nate.

  But I’m not sure if he’s had enough time.

  And I’m not sure if I want to know the answers to these questions just yet.

  I walk onto my floor and as I’m unlocking my door, Jimmy peaks his head out from his. “Hey, Jen. You just finish rehearsing?”

  “Something like that,” I mumble as I turn to face him.

  He furrows his brows at my worn appearance but doesn’t mention it. “Dan and I are going to Fairy Tale tonight. You want to come along?”

  Tomorrow is a staff furlough day, so there’s no class. Most of the students are treating this Sunday night like any other weekend night, but I shake my head. “Thanks for the invite, but I think I’m just going to relax tonight. It’s been a long day,” I sigh.

  He gives me an understanding smile. “Well, if you change your mind—”

  “I know where to find you.”

  He nods and moves back into his room, leaving the door open.

  I turn the handle on my door and push it open, walking in and dropping my dance bag on the floor. I take my shower stuff and go the bathrooms, taking a long shower as I run through my conversation with Hannah again. By the time I get back to my room, I’ve come to the decision that guessing at the answers to my questions isn’t going to get me anywhere. I dig through my purse and find my phone so I can send Nate a text and hope that he’s ready to talk to me.

  Just ran into Hannah. We should talk.

  Not thirty-seconds goes by before my phone rings, Nate’s picture lighting up the display. Sliding my finger across the screen, I put it up to my ear and sigh a hello. His tone however is not as neutral as I expect. In fact, he sounds a little panicked.

  “You saw Hannah? Where … Shit,” he curses, sounding distracted. “Where did you see her?”

  I clench my jaw. “Why does it matter, Nate?”

  “Just … What did she say? What happened?” I can hear him moving quickly, sounding flustered as he asks the question. His reaction gives me pause. Is he worried she might have told me something he didn’t want me to know? Before I can reply, he curses again. “Dammit … Jenna, can you hold on a second? I’m getting another call,” he says, his tone harsher than I’ve ever heard it. I’m starting to think Nate is possessed because his emotions are all over the place.

  I hear a beep and then some muffled voices. I’m confused because if he’s using call waiting, I shouldn’t hear anything.

  “It’s Jenna, but I muted the call.”

  He muted me? The muffled voice starts to talk again and I strain to hear what they’re saying.

  “Yeah, I know, Hannah,” he bites out, his tone completely venomous.

  Hannah. He’s with Hannah?

  More white noise of a voice that I now know is Hannah’s. “Yeah, well I don’t know that yet,” he argues. Hannah says something unintelligible and then I hear some scuffling as he moves the phone. “Wait just a second,” he demands.

  The phone beeps and Nate starts talking to me again as if I haven’t been here the whole time. “Can I call you back? My boss is on the other line and it’s important,” he tells me, his lie shattering what little hope I had that we’d be okay.

  I thought he was different.

  I was wrong on so many levels.

  “Uh, yeah,” I reply, emotionless. He either can’t tell how destroyed I am or he doesn’t care because he hangs up the phone without another word.

  I sit on my bed and wait for something to happen. For the tears to come, for the anger, for the pain—but there’s nothing. The problem with feeling nothing is that there’s nothing to keep in check. Sure, I don’t feel the pain of what I’ve lost, but that also means I don’t care about the possibility of losing something I still have.

  I hear music from across the hall and I get up and walk to my door. I open it and I see Jimmy going through his closet, searching for something to wear out tonight. He turns to me and smiles.

  “Change your mind?” he asks.

  “What time are you leaving?”

  ***

  The EDM at Fairytale pulses through me, the bass making my heart beat even though it’s trying hard to cease. Jimmy and Dan are sitting at the bar—actually, Jimmy is sitting on Dan who’s sitting at the bar. And they’re making out like crazy. The blatant reminder of love should be making me miss Nate, but I feel nothing. I’m not sure if it has to do with mind’s recent denial of emotion, or if it has more to do with the five tequila shots I’ve taken.

  No … wait … maybe I’ve done eight.

  Hey, I rhymed!

  I order myself another shot to congratulate myself for rhyming while thoroughly intoxicated. At least this is cheap tequila. If this were the good stuff, I’d be long past coherent right now.

  “Let me get that for you,” a deep voice says. I turn to the stool next to me and see a tall, broad, blond-haired guy sitting there. My heart takes a dip when I realize he’s not the tall, broad blond that I want. I guess the tequila is working to bring back my emotions instead of getting rid of them.

  “I can get it myself,” I say, picking it up off the bar and slamming it back.

  “Then let me get you another,” he insists.

  I look at him more closely, closing one eye so that there aren’t three of him, and I realize I know this guy. A smile spreads across my face. “Drama-Major-Randy. It’s interest
ing to see you here.”

  “So you do remember me.” He slides his bar stool a little closer to mine.

  Of course I remember him. I may not have had the most long term hook-ups, but I remember every single one of them.

  “I remember that when we met you were making out with a guy. Then I remember for the two weeks after that you tried to prove to me that you were bi and not gay.” The sex I had with this guy was amazing because he was trying to make a point—he liked to give it just as much as he liked to get it. He worked harder than any guy I’d ever been with.

  “Do you still not believe me because I’m willing to try and prove it to you again.” He grins.

  I laugh, swaying toward him. The move isn’t intentional—it’s caused by the tequila—but based on his smile he thinks it was on purpose. “To tell you the truth, I always knew you were bi. It was just more fun for me when you were working for it,” I admit, my voice warm but not flirtatious.

  “To tell you the truth, I always enjoyed it more when you were working me for it.”

  Two tequila shots appear in front of us and he raises a brow and lifts one up, indicating that I should pick up the other. “To us?”

  I squint my eyes and through the small slits of my eyes, Drama-Major-Randy looks a little bit like Nate. I open my eyes again and focus on all the differences. His hair is short and floppy, not long and thick. His muscles are too bulky and his nose is too wide. His eyes are hazy blue instead of the brilliant green. And Drama-Major-Randy’s eyes don’t make my heart skip or my body tingle—and they certainly can’t look into mine and understand that I already belong to someone else.

  I shake my head and I swear I can feel my brain rattle. “To me.”

  I toss back the shot and everything goes black.

  Chapter 23

  I wake up with a pounding headache, a mouth drier than the desert, and a warm hard chest pressed to my back.