by S. J. Sylvis
“It’ll take a while to get used to that sun.” My dad glances up from the tv then goes back to watching.
“Well, go get some rest. Maybe take a nap and I’ll wake you for dinner.” I smile gently at my mom and quietly thank God that it’s so easy to pretend I’m fine. If only my parents knew what my day really consisted of.
Four
The last time I saw any of my friends from my hometown was shortly after the attack. No one was allowed to visit me in the hospital because my parents felt that my injuries may scare them, so I kept getting flower arrangements instead. Flower arrangement after flower arrangement. I had so many that my dad had to take them home a few times a week.
When I was able to be in the comfort of my own room, after being discharged from the tiny sterile hospital hell, my room smelled of daffodils and lilies. At the time, I loved the smell of them and the vibrancy of the colors, but now every time I see flowers, I’m only reminded of the pitying way people treated me: as if flowers were going to change the fact that my life was spiraling out of control.
The first few days that I was home, my friends Hannah Marie and Anna came to visit. We weren’t as close as we used to be, mainly because I spent all my senior year with Rowen, but we were still considered friends. They were sweet when they came, never letting their gazes linger on my wound for more than a few seconds. They asked about Rowen and didn’t push me when I cowered back and didn’t gush about him. Everyone at school knew of the attack, and I’m sure they knew of Rowen and I, too. What they knew, I had no idea because at the time, I had no idea what was going on between us. He wouldn’t answer my phone calls, he never came to visit me. Nothing. I got a flower arrangement from his family that read, “Get well soon!” And that was it.
Graduation had passed by without me. The principal and my parents thought it would be best if I didn’t attend, and I didn’t mind. I didn’t want to go and see Rowen, Samantha, or anyone for that matter. People would stare, my bruises and stitched-up face would bother people, and plus, I wasn’t even remotely ready to leave my house yet… let alone go to a graduation with five hundred people staring at me.
The day after graduation, I heard the doorbell ring. I was in my room, wondering if it was Hannah Marie or Anna when I heard a small knock on the door. I didn’t get up to answer it, but I slowly sat up in bed when the door crept open. At first, all I saw was a giant white ceramic vase with roses inside. I smiled at the sight, but then I saw who was carrying them.
Samantha’s straw-colored hair was pulled up into a tight bun on the top of her head, and her face was glowing. She wore a pretty smile and placed the flowers on my dresser. My heart was beating wildly and I didn’t know if I should yell at her, or just give her the silent treatment.
“I didn’t see you at graduation, so I thought I’d come by and see you.” She stood awkwardly near the flowers, with her hands down by her side. I said nothing in response. It was as if a cat had my tongue. She stood and stared at me for what felt like hours. It was so long that I started to sweat with nerves.
“Can you let me explain?” I looked up at her eyes, and they were welling up. I only nodded my head very stiffly, hoping that she could come up with one hell of an explanation.
“I liked Rowen first. I liked him the moment I saw him working the drive-thru on your first day of work.” My face was burning. My hands started to tremble as the words poured out of her mouth.
She paced the room the more she spoke. “I liked him, and he always seemed to flirt with me when we were around him. I liked him when you two started dating and I bit my tongue any time you would talk about him. I—I… tried to make my feelings go away, but they never did.” Samantha wiped tears from her face with the back of her shaky hand, which only made me want to strangle her. “When I saw him fall down after that guy shot the gun, I was terrified. I thought Rowen had died, Sadie.”
I interrupted her, “But he didn’t… right? I mean, I wouldn’t know because I haven’t heard from him.” My voice was laced with anger, trembling as I spoke.
Samantha looked away at the harshness of my voice. “Everything happened so fast and I was so wrapped up in if he was alive that I forgot you were just hit in the face. I watched as the guy kicked you repeatedly and I didn’t know what to do. I was frozen.” She stopped talking and I had to sit on my hands so I wouldn’t pull my hair out. Not only did she completely dismiss my question about Rowen being alive, she just kept rambling on about her feelings for him. She was terrified?! He wasn’t the love of her life; she barely knew Rowen! I was livid, absolutely disgusted with her.
I sat up straighter, feeling the contours of my face form a bitter scowl. “So, you went and made sure my boyfriend was okay, before you even glanced in my direction? Are you serious right now? What? Were you two cheating behind my back?! Is that why he won’t answer my calls?” My voice was rising and I was praying my mom and dad couldn’t hear from downstairs. That’s all I needed, more sympathy.
“No! Of course not.” Samantha intoned, and I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to scream so loudly that my voice would disappear.
I managed to keep my voice even. “Get out.” My eyes met hers, and she took a sharp breath.
“What? You thought I would be typical Sadie and forgive you? It took you three weeks to make sure I was okay, and then you come to my house and to defend yourself? The both of you can go straight to HELL! By the way, I’m NOT okay, Samantha.” I could feel the tears pooling at my eyes, and it felt like my heart had been ripped into tiny pieces, all over again. Not only did my boyfriend stop talking to me, but my best friend had apparently replaced my role as his girlfriend. I hated them both. I hated them both in that very moment.
I squeezed my eyes as tight as they could go until I heard my door open and then close. Hate consumed me the moment I knew I was alone. I abruptly swung my legs over the edge of my bed and ran over to the stupid ceramic vase that she’d placed on my dresser, hauling it against my bedroom wall. Pink roses splayed all over my floor, water and tiny pieces of ceramic vase scattering the carpet. I was irreversibly devastated. My mom was in my room within seconds, and I fell to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. It was the first time I cried since everything happened, and in that moment, I was completely shattered. Just like the vase.
The next months I spent in solitude. I didn’t see any of my old friends and I surely didn’t say goodbye to them when I left for Duke. Hannah Marie and Anna attempted to come over a few times but gave up when they realized I wasn’t up for visitors. They texted and called, and each time, I hit “ignore.” Guilt consumed me the second I snapped out of my state of despair: they weren’t at fault, but I just couldn’t fathom being my typical self anymore. Too much had changed.
I never heard from Samantha again, and the hate lessened as I distanced myself from the situation. Some would assume her to be my enemy, but in order to have an enemy, you have to have hate and I don’t have room for hate, not anymore. I think hate is a pointless emotion. The last time I felt hate was the last time I saw her, and I never want to feel that low again. So, I don’t hate her. I don’t think anything of her. But Hannah Marie and Anna, maybe I could call them this summer—maybe I could apologize for my actions. I need friends, and I don’t want to be a hermit anymore. I have grown too much this year to be a hole in the ground.
On the drive to work, I literally pray to God over and over again that Rowen worked the morning shift so I don’t have to see him today. This is the first time I’ll be working the night shift and I’m eager to see if it’s less busy than my morning shift. I always feel like people choose to swim in the beginning half of the day but really, the sun is the hottest around three. I wonder if people know that.
When I pull up into my spot in front of that pretty while building, Morgan pulls up beside me, in her scorching red convertible.
“Hey, girly! Looks like we’re working together again. I’m so glad; you actually hold a conversation with me!” I smile in her direction and ta
ke in her car, scrutinizing it, wondering if her parents have a membership here.
“Do you know who else is working with us today?” I ask benignly, while walking up to the iron gates.
“Yeah. It’s you, me, Andrew, and I think Hallie is in the concessions again.” Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, GOD! The more I walk, the lighter I feel. I now have an undeniable pep in my step knowing that Rowen isn’t working with me, today.
Morgan stops in her tracks. “Crap! I’ll meet you in there. I forgot my phone in my car.” I turn and nod to Morgan and when I turn back around, I’m greeted with something solid. At first, I assume I have run into a wall, which wouldn’t be that surprising for me, but then I feel two sturdy and familiar hands brace my arms to steady me. I’m so jolted by the touch that I scramble backwards and whip my arms out of his.
“I’m sorry, I just didn’t want you to fall backwards.” Rowen is so nonchalant, like the touch didn’t even affect him. It probably didn’t, not like it affected me.
“Are you okay?” He asks, and I scoff. Is he serious? Am I okay? Where was his concern last year? I turn my body sideways and squeeze through the open gate and his body, feeling the cool iron scrape along my backside.
“Sadie, wait!” I don’t turn at the sound of his voice, no matter how badly I want to. I just keep walking to my stand. When I turn back around, I can see him from the gate staring in my direction with his hands slacked at his side, like he feels defeated. I look away quickly, shaking my head and willing the frog in my throat to go away. I will not look back. Rowen could be still be standing there for all know. I’m so wrapped up in his touch that I look down at my arms, half expecting to see scorch marks, but my arms are their normal color. Everything around me seems to be carrying on in its normal rhythm, and here I am. Feeling completely out of sorts.
“Hey, what was that?” I look down and I see Morgan standing below my stand with her eyebrows raised. “Do you know Rowen?”
Do I know Rowen? I literally sneer before I answer her, “No, but I used to… ”
Five
The work shift went quickly and I was thankful for how busy we were. Between me having to break up a splashing fight between two little girls and an extremely annoying little boy, and from having to place a little red-haired, freckle-faced kid in pool “time-out” on more than one occasion for jumping into the shallow area, I barely had time to even think about what happened with Rowen. Morgan tried to talk to me about how I knew him a few times, but each time I dodged her questions. She finally got the hint and dropped it with a pout on her face.
I look over to my right and Morgan and Hallie are gathering their bags and heading towards the gate. They both give me a tiny wave as they leave and I wave back. It’s just me and Sash. I can hear him counting the register aloud so I quickly grab my stuff and murmur a goodbye in his direction while walking to my car. I pause the second I hear the gate slam behind me. Right beside my car is an old, rusty, brick-red Dodge truck, and sitting on the curb beside it is Rowen, his head hung low. I momentarily think about retreating backwards, but I have nowhere to go as my car is mere feet from me. I could tiptoe and hope he doesn’t realize I’m sneaking behind him, but that’s just immature. It’s time to face this head-on. It’s inevitable. I have to face him at some point; we work together, for goodness’ sake.
I glance between Rowen, who has yet to notice me, and the sun setting just behind the grassy hills above.
I take a gulp of air and drone, “How long have you been sitting here?” My voice comes out shaky, and I bite my bottom lip in protest. Rowen whips his head in my direction and immediately stands up and looks me up and down.
His expression is surprised, then quickly changes to timid. “I’ve been waiting since your shift started.”
I feel my eyebrows shoot up, impressed, but I’m quick to put back the blank expression. He used to read me so well, and I hated it. Hopefully he can’t read me now, or else I’m in big trouble.
“I’ve been sitting here thinking of everything I wanted to say to you, trying to find something to say that would get you to un-hate me, but every single thing I came up with wasn’t good enough.” He pauses, and I cross my arms over my wet chest.
He inches towards me and I inch backwards, so he stops in his tracks. “There’s nothing I can say that will erase what we’ve been through.” I turn my head away from his stance and look at his truck instead. The truck that I used to sit with him in on Old Man Henry’s hilltop, overlooking the town. The truck that I spent many nights in, him holding my hand, caressing my thumb. The truck that I spent so many nights in, with him on top of me. My heart twinges at the images flowing through my mind and I can feel the burn filling my eyes.
“What we’ve been through? Don’t you mean, what I’ve been through?” He looks at me with confusion.
I shrug. “I mean, yeah, we were both at work on that rainy night, so I guess in that aspect we were in something together, but then afterwards… nope. I was in that by myself.” Pain flashes on his face and for a second, I’m glad.
“You’re right.”
I quip, “I know.”
For a while, neither of us says a word. I stare at the rusty fender of his truck with my arms crossed. He stands beside his truck, arms down by his side. I don’t care if he wants to say sorry. I don’t care if he wants to pretend like he cares now. He didn’t care when it mattered. It’s too late.
“Will you ever stop hating me, Sadie?” I hate how he uses my name. I hate how it makes my insides clench, and I particularly hate how I don’t hate him.
“I don’t hate you.” I finally get the confidence to meet his eyes and I hold them. I hold his stare. It makes me want to crawl into the fetal position and cry, but I hold them.
“Why? How could you not hate me? I hate myself.” Instinctively, I feel my expression soften.
“I don’t hate you, because I think that hating someone is too much work. It’s a useless emotion and it only crowds your heart. I don’t hate you, and I don’t hate Samantha. I hate what you did to me, but I don’t hate you.”
I swear I see his eyes glisten as the words leave my mouth. I’ve only seen Rowen cry once, and it was when his grandpa died.
I descended my porch steps when I heard the rumbling of Rowen’s truck around the corner. When he pulled that rust-bucket up the driveway, I felt the corners of my mouth rise. Watching him descend from the door made butterflies fly throughout my stomach, no matter how many times he did it. I ran over to him, only to stop abruptly when I saw his reddened face.
“Rowen?! What’s wrong?” I asked when I ran to his side. He crushed me in his embrace and I felt the salty wetness that dripped down my bare shoulder. My mind was a whirlwind.
“It’s my grandpa. He… ” Rowen’s grasp around my waist became tighter as he cleared his throat. “He had a stroke. He didn’t make it.” I tightened my tiny arms around his body and instantly felt the hurt pouring out of him. Seeing him hurt, hurt me too. It tore my heart open at its seams, it bled for him.
Rowen’s voice brings me out of my memory, “The world doesn’t deserve someone as good as you, Sadie.” I take in what he says, while never losing hold of his gaze. He’s probably right. I should hate him. I should hate him with every fiber in my body. I should hate Samantha and I should hate that evil man that turned my life upside down, but I don’t want to be filled with hate. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of turning my tender heart into a hateful one.
“Maybe so.” I run my fingers through my damp hair and feel the overwhelming need to clarify to him that, just because I don’t hate him, doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten what happened.
“I don’t hate you, and I won’t hate you. But I will never,” I emphasize the word “never” and Rowen’s eyes dip downward, “Forget what you put me through. I will never forget how you never checked on me, how you started dating my best friend not even weeks after I had been attacked, and I’ll never, ever forget how you didn’t even have the c
ommon courtesy to break up with me.” I quickly walked to my car, leaving him looking as hopeless as that day I realized he never loved me. Not like I loved him, at least.
I slammed my car door, never once looking in his direction. I made it only three miles before I had to pull over and let my sobs loose. I sobbed and banged my steering wheel and in that moment, I let a little hate into my heart. Hate for myself for being so weak when it comes to him.
Six
I adore my small town in North Carolina in its entirety, and I especially love being home with my family. I’ve made it a goal to myself to have a decent summer, filled with family and friends—and to do all the stuff I used to do before everything hit the fan. My town is one of those places that has festivals every other month, sometimes every month. This month is the “Kick-Off to Summer Fest.” Basically, it’s a bunch of random vendors that set up their booths in the middle of downtown, the roads are blocked, and there’s an abundance of summer-ish food. It used to be my favorite thing about summer. But last year… I didn’t go. I didn’t get to go because I was holed up in my room like a turtle in its shell. I was anxious, scared, and a bit depressed. And sadly, I was more fearful of running into Rowen and his family than about the trauma that had led me to this state.
Rowen’s parents own a small furniture business and they often set up a booth displaying their craftsmanship. Rowen’s mom, Beth, takes old furniture and refinishes it to make it look distressed, as if it belonged back in the 1800s. My parents have bought a few pieces for our downstairs living room and I have to say, Beth is extremely talented and they make a vast amount of money. Their house is full of antique things and almost all of their furniture is distressed or worn in some way. I used to love it; it felt old but new and was comforting in that way that you’d pull out an old photograph and get lost in the contents and its history.