I’m relieved to see Grant did in fact go out of town. I wonder what the likelihood of him deciding not to come back from New York is. I immediately feel guilty for even thinking that. It’s not his fault that I’m so damn miserable. Still, Grant being away for a few days is probably good. Hopefully, his absence will at least prevent any more drama.
The day drags on slowly. Quinn notices my foul mood in English, but doesn’t pester me about it since we’re both trying to avoid another round of detention slips.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’ve pretty much convinced myself that I overreacted. There’s no way that Trevor meant to hurt me. It was just a stupid misunderstanding.
I set my tray down in my usual spot just as Trevor walks up. It’s the first time I’ve seen him today and he looks uneasy. His hair is disheveled, and his eyes look swollen and tired. His atypical appearance and the obvious reason behind it tug at my heart a bit.
“Hi,” I mumble. Quinn’s eyes dart up at my tone. No bubbly Sydney today.
“Can I talk to you, alone?” he asks.
Quinn puckers her brow, questioning me silently with her eyes. I sigh, and give her a slight smile to show that everything is okay, before following Trevor out of the crowded cafeteria.
He walks out into the deserted quad and sits on a damp cement bench. I fold my arms across my chest and stare at him blankly.
“So, talk,” I say flatly. He reaches for my hand and I quickly jerk it back, even though a big part of me just wants to crawl up into his lap and make all of the bad go away.
“Sydney, god, I’m so sorry about last night. I don’t know what got into me.” His eyes are soft and pleading. I don’t respond. I don’t know how to.
“I am so, so sorry,” he repeats. He looks down and shakes his head back and forth in apparent disgust with himself.
I stand there silently in the mist, replaying what had happened with Grant. I try to imagine the roles reversed. I imagine that I’d seen Trevor with some hot girl. Knowing the insecurity that I already feel on a daily basis in our relationship, I can’t imagine the added insecurity of seeing him touch someone else. I cringe at the thought. How could I not have immediately seen the situation from his eyes? I uncross my arms and reach for his hand. He looks up at me like a sad little boy, and it crushes my heart.
“I’m sorry too,” I say. And I mean it. He pulls me down onto his lap and holds me tightly for a long time, until the mist turns into full-on rain and sends us running. And laughing. And together.
Sam doesn’t find it odd when I’m ready with grips on to work on the uneven bars again after school. I wish for miraculously quick healing bruises. I’m not sure how many more workouts he will allow me to devote entirely to bars, or how many more Arabian Double Fronts my sanity will allow.
When I get home from gym, Dad is working in his office as usual. Maisy is at the bar in the kitchen working on homework. I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sit down next to her.
“Hey Maze,” I say.
She barely looks up.
“I was wondering what you wanted to do for your birthday?”
She closes her book and perks up.
She doesn’t want anything crazy, just a sleepover with her friends. I can handle that. It feels good to see her so animated, and really, just to have her talking to me for once. Like I’m doing something right. After we brainstorm, she skips out of the room and she finishes her homework with a rare smile.
I spread out my books on my bed and try my best to concentrate on my homework, but who am I kidding? The emotional drain from the last couple of days has left me barely functional. I lay back on my fluffy stack of down pillows and frown as I notice the cluster of pearls on my nightstand. I find a small drawstring bag in my jewelry box and scoop the loose pearls carefully into it. It’s early, but I flip the light off on my way back to my bed.
“I’m sorry Mom.” I say under my breath.
I slide the books off of my bed, letting them hit the floor one by one with a loud thunk, and curl up under my thick comforter and let the tears take over.
Confessional
“I worked on beam today for the first time in a few days.”
I’m finally able to work on beam again. My long sleeved leo’s cover what’s left of the bruises. They’re less ugly now, but still a gross shade of yellowish-green.
“I’m able to do some of my best thinking up on beam.”
Unless I’m working on a difficult skill, Sam doesn’t hover.
“My pike double back dismount is pretty flawless. I stuck the landing perfectly today.”
My feet slammed into the mat with such powerful force behind them, for a second I didn’t feel so damn weak.
“This is what I’ve worked so hard for for so many years.”
-Fifteen-
“So, what are we doing tonight?” Trevor asks as we walk to class after lunch.
“I have detention right after school,” I moan. He snickers at my annoyance. And it’s light. And happy. And normal.
“That’s okay. Why don’t I come by later tonight?” he suggests. He tilts my chin up with his thumb. “We can just watch a movie or something.”
“That sounds perfect,” I grin. Luckily, I’ve worked out so much this week, I’ll be able to head straight home after detention and get comfortable while I wait for Trevor.
I stare out the window of the detention room, watching the rain and wind whip the trees around. What a miserable afternoon. I probably have some homework I could be working on, but instead, I spend the two hours dreaming of getting home and curling up on the couch with Trevor. It’s been such a long week. I’m so glad that once I get out of here, it’ll officially be over.
I hurry to my car after detention, not even attempting to avoid the puddles. My jeans have soaked up the water and are now saturated past my knees.
“Come on. Come on,” I mumble under my breath, as my wet fingers slip on my car key. I finally get the door open and jump inside. The warmth of my car envelops me. I catch a glimpse of myself in the rear view mirror. My long hair is plastered to the sides of my face and still dripping. I can’t help but laugh out loud. I reach into the back seat and grab a towel out of my gym back and dab at my face and hair, trying to absorb some of the water as I look around the deserted school parking lot. There are only about a half a dozen cars left.
I toss the towel behind me and then turn the car key.
Nothing.
I try again.
Nothing.
Why is this even happening? All I want to do is get home and into some sweats. I silently curse myself for being a rule-follower and not bringing my cell phone to school.
I try unsuccessfully once more to start the Toyota before accepting defeat. I take the key out and sprint toward the front office. At least the major downpour has slacked off. I pull on the door. Locked. This has got to be a joke.
Just as I turn the corner, I run into someone full speed. Grant. He catches me in his arms before I slip on the wet concrete.
“Hey!” he says, cheerfully with a wide smile.
“Uh, hi,” I respond, backing away from him. “What are you doing here?” My tone is more abrupt than necessary. I catch a glint of confusion in his eyes— most likely because I haven’t seen him since the day of the fight with Trevor. The incident in the parking lot floods my mind. How innocent it felt at the time. How much trouble it ended up causing. As far as Grant knows, though, we’d ended things on a positive note.
“My flight was delayed and I just got in. I came by to drop off my History paper. What are you still doing here?”
“I had detention,” I say. I look around the empty campus for someone-anyone else that I can ask for help. “And my car won’t start,” I admit, looking at my feet.
“Why don’t I take you home?” He offers immediately, just like I knew he would.
“Actually, that’s okay. But do you have your phone? I can just call my dad.”
“Sure, no prob
lem,” he says. He reaches into the front pocket of his button up shirt and then hands me his iPhone.
I dial my dad’s cell phone number and listen to it ring. And ring. And cringe when his voicemail picks up. There’s no answer on the house phone, either.
“No answer, anywhere,” I say, handing the phone back to him. “Thank you though.” I turn away from him to walk back to my car. Eventually, Dad will come looking for me, right?
“Sydney,” I hear him laugh as he follows behind me. “Where are you going? Let me take you home.”
When I look up at him, his face is so warm and selfless. Am I really going to turn him down and risk spending the night in the school parking lot waiting for someone to come and get me? No.
I look around the deserted campus one last time. “Are you sure?” I ask.
“Positive, you know it’s not any trouble. Come on,” he says, motioning to his car across the lot.
I slip into his dry car, and I’m so happy to be out of the cold rain I could squeal. I pull off my dripping sweat shirt and stuff it into my backpack.
“So, how was your trip?” I ask. I should keep it short and sweet with Grant. I should have walked home rather than get in the car with him. I know. But still, I can’t help it.
“It was all right. Dry,” he says smiling.
I laugh.
“So, you were able to spend some time with your dad?”
“Yeah. And my brother. Actually, the main reason for the trip was a friend’s birthday.”
“Wow, that’s some trip for a birthday party.”
I’m likely being insanely nosy, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
Maybe.
“Yeah, it was, um…” He runs his hand across his scruffy cheek and pauses for a moment, “It was actually my ex-girlfriend’s birthday.”
“Oh. Wow. You flew across the country for an ex-girlfriend’s birthday?” I’m impressed. And that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach is something unfamiliar. It couldn’t be jealousy. I have no right or reason to be jealous.
He laughs softly but doesn’t respond at first. Have I overstepped again?
“Actually, we ended on good terms,” he starts. His voice is thoughtful, which is pretty much standard for Grant.
In reality, there’s so little that I actually know about Grant. I don’t like that. I want more. To know more, I mean. Grant pulls into my driveway, and I’m surprised that the house is dark. Where is everyone? I should thank him and get out of the car, but he looks as though he might finish his thought. I wring my hands nervously. Stay? Go?
“Jesus, Sydney,” he gasps. My eyes drop in the direction he’s looking. My hands. My wrists, more precisely. I slide them in between my knees to conceal the bruises, as if he hasn’t already had an eyeful.
“What the hell happened to your arms?” he asks, reaching for one of them. His touch is soft and careful, but I still shrug out of his gentle grasp and reach for the door handle.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, trying to end the conversation before it goes any further.
“Seriously, what happened to your arms?” he demands, more firmly this time.
“I…” My mind races. I want to tell him the truth—that my boyfriend is insanely jealous of him. That he saw us in the parking lot together. I want to tell him that this is why I can’t be sitting in his car right now. I want to beg him to stay away from me. But I say none of those things.
“Gymnasts get bruises, Grant. My grips were too tight, and I’ve been training really hard…” I stutter off a litany of excuses.
He narrows his eyes at me, those gorgeous dark eyes full of equal parts doubt and concern. It’s painfully obvious that he isn’t buying it.
“Really, thank you,” I say stepping out of the car. He continues to stare at me.
“Sydney…” He starts. He lets out a low breath. “If someone…” he lets his voice trail off again. His hands tightly grip the steering wheel as he stares straight out the windshield.
I shake my head at him and let out a little chuckle while flashing the most convincing smile that I can muster. I scramble out of the car.
“Thank you,” I say. I close the car door softly behind me and walk slowly up the driveway. I know he’s watching me walk away. I wish he’d drive off and not worry, or even think about me again. I don’t look back as I close the front door behind me. I don’t want to see the look of pity in his eyes again.
There’s a note taped to the refrigerator. Dad and Maisy have gone into Atlanta to do some shopping. I run upstairs to shower and change before Trevor gets here. The water is hot and soothing. I let it wash over my clammy skin, warming me. Calming me. I throw on some jogging pants and a long sleeved t-shirt and dry my hair before pulling it back into a loose ponytail. Finally. I’m home and comfortable.
-Sixteen—
The knock at the door startles me. I’ve curled up on the couch and nodded off for what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, though it was long enough that the house is completely dark when I wake up. I jump up, dazed momentarily and rub my eyes until I realize what’s going on. Trevor is waiting on the doorstep with a small bouquet of peonies, my favorite.
“For me?” I ask, beaming.
“Course,” He says. He hands me the flowers and I pull the door open for him.
“Come in.”
“Are we alone?” he asks, peering around me into the dark house.
“Looks that way,” I say with a flirty grin. I quickly do the math in my head to calculate how much time we have alone based on Friday night Atlanta traffic and what time Dad and Maisy must have left, before leading Trevor upstairs behind me. Trevor makes himself comfortable, sprawling out on my bed while I scan my playlists before choosing Damien Rice. I hurry across the room and into Trevor’s extended arms. It’s a risky move, not knowing exactly what time Dad will be home. But the overwhelming desire to be close to Trevor tonight outweighs the risk. I’m desperate to make the week we’d just had disappear. Trevor touches the hem of my t-shirt and starts to pull it up over my head. Rather than pushing his hand away, I shock him by helping. The warmth of his breath on my skin is electrifying. Better than the first time, although then I had difficulty imagining that that could be possible.
“I love you,” he whispers as we hold each other afterward.
“Love you, too,” I sigh. The crappy week dissolves. This moment replaces it.
“I’m so sorry about this week,” he says. He traces a line from the middle of my forehead, down my nose and to my chin. I crinkle my nose every time he brushes his finger near my eyebrow, which makes him do it repeatedly.
“It’s over,” I say.
“Well, it’s not going to happen again. I love you so much.”
“I know.” I really don’t want to talk about our fight anymore. “We’d better get dressed. I’m not sure what time Dad will be home.” I sit up and nudge him, then fumble around the dark room for my clothes.
“Hey Syd, I meant to ask you.” He pauses to pull the v-neck over his head.
“Yeah?” I’m already dressed and waiting by the bedroom door.
“Where’s your car?”
“My car?” I choke out. My stomach lodges itself into my throat.
“Yeah, it’s not out front.”
“Ugh, it wouldn’t start after detention,” I say unhappily.
“That sucks, you should have called me. I would’ve come to get you,” he says. He follows me down the hall with his hands in my back pockets. With him this close, can he feel me trembling?
“I didn’t have my cell, and I don’t know your number by heart.” I stop at the top of the stairs and look at him, weighing the options of telling him the truth or not. I hold my breath. I know the question that’s coming next.
“So, how’d you get home?”
“It was a total conspiracy against me today.” I try to joke. “There was no one left at school, it was all locked up. But Grant was there and he drove me home.”
Trevor
opens his mouth to respond, but I reach up with my small hand and cover his lips with my fingers. His eyes swirl with anger. Surely he’s not going to let a stupid ride home ruin tonight.
“Before you get all worked up, he just drove me home. It was pouring rain. That’s it,” I say. I take my hand from his mouth and wink. “You should be glad someone was there to save poor little me.” I try for sweet and flirty.
I fail.
He doesn’t say a word. He just glares at me with the same livid eyes that he had that morning in the kitchen. The flash of anger that I’d found so new and unrecognizable that morning has become familiar.
“You make me sick,” he says flatly. He shakes his head in disappointment.
My mouth falls open in shock. Did I hear him correctly?
“Trevor! That’s not fair. It was just a ride home,” I say. I’d expected him to be upset, but really, what did he expect me to do in the situation?
“You little slut,” he mutters under his breath. His lips curl around the harsh words.
He pushes past me aggressively as he bounds down the stairs.
I follow. Not because I intended to. Or even because I want to. But because when he pushes past me, I lose my balance and tumble down the steps behind me. I wince at the pain as I somersault down the hard, oak stairs. My head strikes each one with a thud. I throw my arms out to try to stop myself, but it does no good. I continue to fall. Trevor doesn’t stop to help when I finally land at the foot of the stairs. He turns for a split second to stare down at me with a wicked, sickened expression before walking out the front door. He slams it behind him without a word.
As the door closes, I pull my knees up to my chest and sob. My hair has fallen out of the ponytail holder and has mixed with tears, matting it to my face just as the rain had earlier. Did he really just walk out without even checking on me?
Everything aches. My head. My ribs. My arms. Even my face hurts. I can’t remember a time when everything felt as out of control as it does right now. Not even after mom died. That was out of my hands. There was nothing to do but grieve. Now. This. This is my own doing, and I feel completely helpless to stop it.
The first argument Trevor and I ever had was after we’d only been dating for a month or two, and Trevor had gone to a party with some of his lacrosse buddies. He and I had plans the following day to go into Atlanta. I waited the entire day for him to pick me up. He never showed, and he wasn’t answering his phone.
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