When Our Worlds Fall Apart

by Lindsey Iler

  “When can you start to dance again?” Mark asks. The endearing curiosity in his eyes makes me giggle.

  “I’ve dropped into the dance studio a few times when I knew that classes weren’t going on. I haven’t done much dancing, though.”

  “You’ve been a dancer a long time then?” Mark shifts closer to where I’m sitting on the bed.

  “For as long as I can remember. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

  “I can tell.”

  “How?”

  “Your eyes light up when you talk about it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look more in their element, doing what they love, except...” Mark stops, realizing his slip up.

  We’ve never discussed Graham in terms of our relationship. He’s an unspoken, silent component.

  I change the subject. “Have you decided what you’re doing for college?”

  Mark’s smart, but I know he’s hoping to play ball somewhere.

  “I’m undecided. I have a few scholarships in waiting, but I’m not sure where I want to go. A part of me would like to stay here in Tennessee, be close to my family.” Mark eyes light up like I’ve never seen before.

  I nod. “You’re close to your family, I take it?”

  “We can’t be much closer. I’m the oldest, so moving away from my little brothers would be hard. I’d miss out on Greyson’s soccer games, and Lincoln loves to wrestle, so he’ll be starting that soon.” The pride he has for his brothers is nearly tangible.

  “That’s sweet, Mark.” I smile.

  “I just don’t know if it would be worth missing out on those things.” The stress of the decision rumbles in his voice.

  Tender moments like these remind me why I agreed to go on a date with Mark in the first place. Our eyes meet and we sit silent for what feels like a lifetime. I know what’s going to happen. The last person I’ve kissed is Graham, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to erase his lips from mine.

  Before I can say anything, his lips fall against mine. His movements are soft and thoughtful. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here with me. I’m not as sure. My throat thickens. I squeeze my eyes shut to draw away the dark spots that cluster in the corner.

  Mark’s lips drop from mine. “I like you, Kennedy.”

  Rubbing my palm across my collarbone, I take a long, deep breath. I study the pattern on my comforter, drying my sweaty palms on the fabric as I slide back to place much needed distance between us. Sometimes he makes me forget what I should be feeling.

  “I don’t know what to say. I like you too, but...” I say.

  “But Graham’s still in there.” Mark points to my heart.

  “He’s still in there, and if we’re being honest, he might always be in there. I’m not ready to dive into a relationship again. It’s not fair to ask you to compete with that. I just need a little bit of time to work through everything still.” Sadness rolls off my tongue as I bare myself to him.

  Mark stands and paces in front of me. “I get it, Kennedy. I really do. When you’re ready to let yourself heal, I’m going to be here waiting.” He turns to face me as I squirm around on the bed. “But I have to ask, what is so damn special about Graham?” he ridicules, staring down at me. “How can someone like you, Kennedy, see something so good in someone like him?”

  “Mark, he’s your best friend. Don’t do this.”

  “You’re right.” He closes his arms over his chest and relaxes on the bed.

  “Someday, you’re going to make some girl very lucky, Mark,” I whisper and slap his leg.

  “Just not you, right?”

  “I think we both know it can’t be me. Graham would always be in the middle of us. We can still be friends, though.”

  Mark jerks away from me with a goofy smile on his face. “Did you just ‘friend zone’ me? I don’t think anyone’s ‘friend zoned’ me, ever.”

  “I’m glad I could knock you down a peg or two,” I joke, smiling up at him as he hovers above me. His hands come up and he wiggles his fingers. I know that gesture. Before I can roll off, Mark traps me underneath him as his fingers assault me. All of his weight bears down on me.

  As my eyelids pinch shut, I remind myself Mark isn’t here to hurt me. He’s harmless. The unavoidable fear takes over my body and my heart begins to race.

  “Mark,” I shriek at the top of my lungs. “You need to stop.”

  I shake my head back and forth before opening my eyes to see his confused expression peering down at me. His fingers retreat, falling to his side.

  My bedroom door swings open, slamming against my wall, nearly cracking the plaster.

  “What’s going on in here?” Dad thunders from the doorway.

  I peer around Mark’s large build. Dad’s fists press into his hips, and the look on his face is priceless. Mark jumps to his feet and I follow behind.

  My mom strides into the room with an easiness about her. “What’s up?” Her voice is nonchalant as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.

  “I walked into the room to see Mark dry humping our daughter.” My dad throws his arms in the air.

  Mark can’t stop his laughter, which makes my mom’s smile grow larger.

  “This isn’t funny.” My dad’s face is now beet red.

  “Dad, it’s okay. Mark and I aren’t dating. Pretend he’s my gay best friend from now on,” I say in a calm, soothing voice.

  “Sir, I’m not gay. Kennedy, tell him I’m not gay.” Mark points at my father.

  Dad’s face reddens as he ridicules Mark. “Buddy, I don’t care what you are as long as your boy parts stay away from her girl parts.”

  With my dad’s declaration, the three of us laugh. He joins in when he realizes how ridiculous he sounds.

  “Mark, you staying for dinner tonight?” my mom asks, a bright smile twitching her lips.

  I think she’s secretly rooting for Mark and me.

  “Only if it’s okay with you.” He looks to me for an answer, and I nod. “Then yes, I’ll stay for dinner.”

  “I’m not kidding, Mark. Keep your dick away from my daughter.” Dad closes the door behind him and Mom, muttering colorful things under his breath I can’t quite hear.

  “For parents who want my dick to stay away from you, they sure do trust me alone in here with you.”

  “Don’t get it confused. They don’t trust you, but they trust me.” As I stand in the middle of my room, I turn my gaze towards Mark as he sits on the edge of the bed. He watches me as if I’m a puzzle to solve.

  “I’m sorry,” Mark whispers. He’s so quiet I have to strain to hear him.

  “What are you apologizing for?” I step toward him until my knees hit the side of the bed.

  “I shouldn’t have trapped you under me like that. It’s easy to forget what you’ve been through because you come across so strong.” Mark reaches his hand out and I gladly take it.

  “I’m not strong, Mark. I’m broken,” I admit for the first time to someone other than my therapist.

  “Sometimes I don’t think you actually know yourself, Kennedy. I wish you could see yourself the way everyone else does,” Mark says with certainty.

  My earlier panic disappears and I lose myself in the conversation until my parents call us for dinner. We change the subject often, avoiding the topic of Graham and anything that may remind us of last year. Mark finally divulges the history between him and Amanda, including his once bone-shattering crush on her. I can’t understand how someone like him, could see the good in a girl like Amanda, but he assures me there’s more to her than everyone likes to believe. The irony isn’t lost on me, but I tuck it away in the farthest depths of my mind.

  As I slice into my petite steak and green beans, I sneak glances across the table at Mark. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, the guys in this town are beautiful. There’s nothing like them anywhere else on this planet. I swear they’re hard to look away from.

  For some reason, I can’t find it in myself to move my heart from Graham to someo
ne new. If it could, this guy laughing with my parents, with the innate ability to know when I need to see his smile, would be the perfect one, but Graham is cemented into everything I want and the very thing I know to be true.

  Mark is smart enough to see I can’t give my heart away when Graham owns it. It wouldn’t be fair to any of us. The thing I struggle with most is how long am I supposed to hold onto someone who’s not fighting to hold on to me?

  When is it time to free yourself from another person?

  Chapter Ten

  Graham

  “Where do you get these things?” Amanda smiles as she runs her fingers over the words on my shirt. “We steal bases and your girlfriends. Really, Graham?”

  With a roll of my eyes, I slam my locker shut. “It’s Monday, and I’m not in the mood for this,” I explain shrugging off her touch.

  Mondays come too quick, and this one is no different from the rest. Crawling out of bed this morning was a struggle. My body aches in places I didn’t even know exist, and my head throbs with a vengeance in punishment for last night.

  “Drink too much last night?” Amanda leans against the lockers.

  My only memory from last night is crashing into my bed around one this morning.

  I didn’t realize how rough of a night I had until I woke up to find Becky wrapped in my sheets and wearing one of my old Georgia t-shirts. I showered and dressed before swinging my backpack over my shoulder and kicking the foot of the bed.

  “What time is it?” Becky shouted, startled from a deep sleep.

  “It’s seven, and you’re late,” I answered, walking to the bedroom door.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up when you showered? I could’ve jumped in with you.” She sat up onto her knees, digging through the covers for something.

  “Yeah, okay. This has been fun and all, but I can’t be late to class again, or else Coach is going to have my ass. Shower. Don’t shower. I don’t really care.” I shut the door behind me. Something hard bangs against the solid wood, followed by curses and shouts directed at me.

  I shake the memory from my mind. Remembering how Becky ended up in my bed in the first place isn’t easy or a situation I want to explore. She’s gorgeous and enthusiastic when it comes to everything ‘Graham Black’, but there’s nothing else really floating around in that head of hers.

  Amanda steps in front of me, blocking my exit from the horrendous conversation she’s attempting to have with me.

  “I didn’t come over here to give you shit, Graham. I didn’t talk to you all summer, and I’ve been keeping my distance since school started. I just want to see how you are.”

  Sidestepping a girl like Amanda is impossible. She sees my strategy and recovers by taking a few steps into my path.

  “Seriously, Amanda, what do you want? We aren’t fucking anymore, so why the sudden need to plaster your ass next to me?” I shake my head in annoyance.

  “Don’t be a dick, Graham. I just wanted to say I’m sorry about how last year went down. That’s all.” Amanda gazes down at her shoes.

  Guilt takes over, and I wrap my hand around her wrist as she turns to walk away from me.

  “Amanda, wait,” I whisper.

  “You know, it killed me all summer because, for once, I believed you could actually be the person we all saw you become with her. I hated it wasn’t because of me, but more importantly, I hated I played a hand in you losing yourself... everything.” Amanda’s voice cracks near the end.

  I avoid her eyes, knowing what I’ll see. She’s hurting, but she doesn’t feel like she has the right to be. We have this in common.

  “I didn’t lose myself. I’m right here.” I lie. Why am I always defending myself?

  “No, you’re not. You were always meant to be the person she fell in love with last year. Not this dirty version you’ve become. You aren't saving her, Graham. You're killing her.”

  Amanda turns and walks down the packed hallway. I jog to catch up with her.

  “When did you become so insightful? You and Dan should write a self-help book.” I joke, nudging her in the side, trying to pretend her words didn’t hit me straight in my core.

  “We spent a lot of time together last year,” she says.

  “Most of it with our clothes off,” I add with a dip of my head.

  “Yes, it was easy to take my clothes off for you. Thanks for pointing that out,” Amanda deadpans.

  I hit a nerve. Whoops.

  “What I’m trying to say is I got to see both sides of you. I saw the wreck of a boy you were with me, demanding things from girls no boy your age should imagine. Most seventeen-year-old boys like boobs, Graham. You made me keep my shirt on, for crying out loud.”

  “It’s less complicated.” I shrug. I don’t know where Amanda’s going with this.

  “So Kennedy kept her shirt on, too?” Amanda questions with a satisfied gleam in her eye.

  “That’s none of your business.” Even though, she already knows the answer, I don’t justify her accusation.

  “You’re right. It’s not. My point is Kennedy’s different for you. You’re better than this, Graham, and you know it.” Amanda stops in the middle of the hall.

  “I don’t know how to turn it around.” I step back to put distance between us, and turn away from her penetrating eyes. As I swing open the door to the classroom, I take a quick breath.

  First block is self-inflicted torture. I can easily switch electives. I already talked to the counselors. With different options available, I still can’t find the strength to distance myself. This class allows me to see her, be close to her. When it comes to Kennedy, I’ll take anything I can get.

  The minute I step foot in the classroom, I search the room for her crystal clear, blue eyes. After scanning the room several times, I realize she’s not here yet. Her seat in the back of the room is empty. When I get to mine, I dig out my cell phone and stalk her Facebook pictures. I don’t find anything new, except a few of her and Violet. There might be one of her and Mark at mini-golf, but I scan past it.

  “See something you like?”

  Her angelic voice breaks my concentration. I look up to see her hovering over my desk. Embarrassed by her catching me, I blacken the screen.

  “I wasn’t doing what you think I was doing,” I lie.

  Kennedy ignores me by pulling a book from her bag and flipping through the pages until she finds the spot where she probably left off last night. Back when we were together, she told me reading is her means of escape. When things become unbearable or she needs to turn off her brain, she loses herself in someone else’s words.

  I flick my finger on the spine of her book. “What are you running from today?” I ask with a raised eyebrow, gaining a smile from Kennedy.

  “You know me too well, Graham Black.” Kennedy leans her body closer to my desk.

  “Spill it,” I demand with a soft smile, knowing she doesn’t take orders too kindly.

  Kennedy looks from me to her book, then back to me again, reluctance written on her face. After a handful of seconds, an almost nonexistent smile appears on her lips.

  “I’ve been dancing more lately,” she admits. Joy brightens her eyes. “Practicing at home isn’t the same as being in class, but it’s a step in the right direction, I guess. It’s been harder to get back than I thought. My leg still aches every once in a while, and I’m afraid I’m not as good as I once was.”

  “I highly doubt that, Ken.” I push my desk into hers, but she slides away. I should feel offended, but I’m not. We watch each other until I break the silence. “I’m glad you’re dancing again.”

  Kennedy’s head moves back and forth, as if she’s trying to shake the compliment from her mind. “Why am I even talking to you?” she says more to herself than to me.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I ask, not sure if I heard her right.

  “I shouldn’t have approached you, but you’re impossible. It’s like second nature. All summer, I had the luxury of choosing who I saw, but now it�
�s like you’re everywhere. You’re all around me,” she shouts. A few of our classmates turn at the noise.

  “What do you want me to do? Transfer schools? Have my father homeschool me?” My blood boils at her revelation.

  She flinches at the mention of my father.

  “I can’t do this anymore, Graham. You can’t say those things to me. You can’t say nice things to me and expect there not to be a reaction. We. Are. Not. Friends. Maybe I’m finally figuring it out.”

  “Why can’t we be, though?” I ask, knowing how impossible I am.

  “Why can’t we be friends? Are you serious? Here’s why.” Kennedy jumps out of her seat.

  Before I know what’s happening, before I can comprehend her intentions, Kennedy’s lips connect with mine. My hand finds refuge in her hair, fingers twisting through her soft, brown locks. Her tongue skims my bottom lip, and, as natural as breathing, my mouth opens for her. Just as quick as she appears, she vanishes. My eyelids flutter open to see her sitting in her seat, scanning her book as if nothing has happened.

  Kennedy peers over at me. The rapid rise and fall of her chest tells me she’s as affected by the kiss as I am.

  “Now do you see why we can’t be friends?” Her lips press together in a tight, sad smile. Her pain paralyzes me in my seat. The unshed tears in her eyes nearly kill me, worming their way into tiny crevices in the depths of my heart, never again to be found.

  “You’re right. We can’t be friends,” I confess.

  It’s the first time it’s been said out loud. Kennedy’s mouth opens with unsaid promises. We both know it’s true. This kiss has sealed our fate.

  Mrs. Peterson strolls in, throwing her purse and tote bag on her desk, she takes a mental roll call of her students.

  Kennedy’s fingers fly over the screen of her phone. When Mrs. Peterson begins to speak, Kennedy stands up and walks to the front of the class with her bag slung over her shoulder. They have a short conversation before Kennedy walks out of the classroom.