Confessions of a Heartbreaker

by Sucevic, Jennifer

No such luck.

  Ms. Fisk looks skeptical but has no other choice than to move on to the next hapless victim, I mean student. And trust me, in this class, there are plenty of those. Hell, I used to be one of them. After about fifteen minutes of what can only be described as something resembling the Grand Inquisition, her lips thin (more than usual) before she glances at the glowing red digital clock above the door, "Well, I'm not going to lie, that was a rather disappointing-"

  Her hardened gaze lands squarely on me.

  "-question and answer session. Against my better judgment, I'm going to give all of you the remainder of this class period to review Of mice and Men in the slim hopes that a few of you might actually pass the exam tomorrow." She glares at the class in general before adding, "Those of you who don't pass will have the austere pleasure of seeing me again second semester since this is a required course for graduation."

  That happy little footnote is met with a handful of groans. Maybe even a few tears.

  And no offense to the people in this class, but good luck with that... I on the other hand, will not be repeating this class come second semester. I'm not even going to dwell on the reason for that... because I've been dwelling on her way too much already.

  Dragging my eyes away from Jordan, I crack open my book before staring down at the page. It takes approximately sixty seconds for the words to start swimming before my eyes. I can't focus with the heat of her gaze licking over me. Even though I'm ignoring her, I know she's still watching me.

  Damn but I knew from the get go that this girl was going to be trouble. And that precise moment was when she told me that I was nothing more than a walking STD. If I'd been smart (key word- if) I would have walked away at that point but I was feeling way too cocky to do that. What I have unfortunately learned from this situation is that I don't know when to walk away. And apparently I'm too damn stupid to run even when every freaking instinct I have is screaming at me to do just that.

  But in my defense, there was absolutely no question in my mind that I would score big time by the end of the game. I mean, come on... I've never not gotten a girl when I put my mind to it. Hell, not that I'm bragging or anything (okay so maybe I'm bragging a little), but under normal circumstances, I barely have to lift a finger or any other appendage (wink wink) when it comes to the females. I just smile and well... I'll leave all the juicy details to your imagination.

  I kind of miss those days. I'm going to refer to those as the good old days. That's when chicks were plentiful and my heart wasn't involved one damn bit. Because I'll be honest with you, engaging in meaningless hook ups was a hell of a lot better than feeling all these God awful... feelings (insert shudder).

  Yeah, those I can do without.

  Honestly, I don't ever remember feeling this crappy. And, on the off chance that I did happen to feel shitty, it certainly wasn't over some chick. That's for damn sure. At this very moment my insides are all twisted up in these strange little knots and I just feel, for lack of a better word... sad. And that's not like me. Not at all. I don't do sad. So yeah, like I said before, given the choice between feeling like this or banging some faceless chick, I'd definitely pick door number two.

  For the first time in my life, I'm sailing dangerously close to Pathetic Island. And I'm not seeing any viable way to avoid becoming shipwrecked there indefinitely. Well, at least I'll have Max for company. That's something, right?

  Hmmm, maybe not...

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Jordan. I wish she would just take a hint and leave me the hell alone.

  Feeling her eyes cling to me is driving me bat shit crazy. Even if I wanted to focus on this book, I couldn't with the heat of those greenish gold eyes boring into me. And we all know that, no offense to John Steinbeck or anything, this isn't exactly my taste in fine literature. So the odds of me getting into this book were clearly stacked against me from the get go. My idea of captivating writing leans more towards Sports Illustrated (hello swimsuit issue) and a few other beloved publications that shall remain nameless but continue to hold a very dear place in my heart. Did I already mention the always highly anticipated SI swimsuit edition? Enough said.

  Squirming in my chair, I realize there's absolutely no way in hell I can deal with this one single moment longer. I need to cut out of here before I do something pathetically stupid like, oh, I don't know- jump out of my seat, pull that girl into my arms, and kiss her freaking senseless until she gives me a legitimate explanation for leaving me to twist in the proverbial wind.

  My hand shoots up into the air.

  "Mr. Montgomery? Dare I hope you're finally going to enlighten this class with an answer to the previously posed question regarding the controversy over Of Mice and Men?"

  "Not unless the answer is- can I be excused to go to the bathroom?"

  And with that, she deflates right before my very eyes before muttering rather flatly, "Take a hall pass, Mr. Montgomery."

  "For sure." Sliding quickly out of my seat, I grab a pale blue slip of paper off her desk before hightailing it out of the room. Fifteen minutes. That's how long I plan to roam the halls because I sure as shit am not going back to that class and Jordan's soulful eyes.

  I'm just about to round a corner when I hear someone behind me.

  Everything within me tightens because I'm not ready to face her yet. As much as she screwed me over there's still something drawing me to her. Kind of like a fly to a Venus flytrap. And the fact that she's still able to affect me when I don't want her to pisses me off to no end.

  "Parker, wait, I want to talk with you-"

  Grabbing my arm, she turns me towards her. That same confused look is filling her eyes and yeah, it claws at my insides. My mind unwillingly tumbles back to Saturday night and just how perfectly she fit within my arms. How perfectly she seemed to fit into my life...

  Guess the joke was on me.

  Before she's able to say a single word, I jerk my arm out of her grasp.

  Looking surprised, her hand slowly drops back to her side. I need to make this a quick and clean break- kind of like ripping a Band-Aid off. Even though I know I'm being a jerk, I give her my best bored tone. "What do you want, Jordan?" I throw in a loud yawn so that she'll get the hint and not make this any more difficult than it already is. "Is this going to take long? Because I really need to take a leak."

  "I-" she pauses as if suddenly unsure what to say. And I'll be damned if I'm going to make this easy for her because as far as I'm concerned, whatever we had is over.

  What makes this even more difficult is that Jordan has the most expressive eyes I've ever seen. With just one look, I see all the different emotions churning within them. And maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to feel like a major prick for what I'm set on doing. I actually have to remind myself that she's the one who played me like some stupid jackass the entire time. It's that thought that stomps out the thin wisps of sympathy that were beginning to rear their ugly head within me.

  "I was hoping we could talk," she murmurs quietly, "for some strange reason you won't return any of my calls or texts. What's going on?"

  "I've been busy." I shrug my shoulders as I look past her because that's easier than holding her gaze. "You know how it is."

  She takes a small step away from me as her eyes continue searching mine. "Too busy to return a text?" Her voice becomes thin and whispery. Hurt riddles every single word. She doesn't sound like the Jordan I've come to know and... well... yeah...

  Honestly I don't know how much longer I can hold out against her. My hands tighten into balled fists that hang uselessly at my sides because all I really want to do is gather her up into my arms and kiss her until the last few days melt into nothing more than a distant ugly memory. "Yeah, there's been a lot going on. You know with football... the playoffs..."

  "You missed our tutoring session yesterday."

  "Like I said before-"

  Fire suddenly leaps in her eyes before she cuts me off impatiently, "Yeah, I heard you- you were
busy. I got it. Way too busy to call or text and let me know that you weren't going to make it?"

  "There's been extra practices and film review." Which couldn't have come at a better time because it's taken my mind off her.

  Sort of.

  She cocks her head to the side as her brow furrows. "I don't understand. The last time I saw you everything was fine," something resembling distaste flashes through her eyes, "Well, it wasn't exactly fine but everything with us was fine. What happened between now and then to change that? Why are you suddenly acting this way?"

  Just how clueless does this girl think I am?

  Don't answer that. It was actually more of a rhetorical question.

  "Really, Jordan?" My eyes narrow. "You haven't a clue as to why I might be acting like this?"

  Her eyes continue probing mine, sifting through all the emotions that I'm just barely able to hold in check. "No. I thought we were okay." She gulps before pushing out the rest of the words, "Actually I thought we were more than okay." Her gaze suddenly darkens. "Does this have something to do with what happened on Saturday night?"

  I watch as she wraps her arms around herself. It's like she's trying to become even smaller than she already is. I have to fight every single instinct I have not to pull her into my arms. To protect and comfort her.

  My voice softens just a bit. This whole conversation is seriously killing me. "No, it has nothing to do with that."

  "Then what? What's going on? I thought we had something," her voice falters, "something special."

  I can't keep doing this.

  I need it to be over.

  And this is the only way I know how to do it.

  "Yeah, well, I guess you thought wrong."

  Her eyes flare wide before her shoulders and spine stiffen. "I guess I did." Even though her lips stretch into a thin smile, it's tight and brittle around the edges. "You almost had me believing that there was more to you than what I first suspected. I guess I should be thankful that you showed your true colors before anything else happened between us."

  I want to start laughing but I don't.

  You know what really sucks? I thought she was different too. Turns out we were both wrong. And maybe I'm the lucky one for finding out that she was just toying with me before I got in any deeper. But she certainly doesn't need to know that. It's bad enough that I allowed it to happen in the first place.

  Lesson learned the hard way. As usual.

  Here's my new motto: love and chicks both suck.

  I can't resist hurtling one last barb, "Listen, sweetheart, if I had wanted you, I could have had you. Like ten different ways by now and, trust me, you'd already be back begging for more." At this point all I want is to send her packing and I don't want her coming back either, so I add, "You're no different than any of the others."

  Her bottom lip trembles ever so slightly before she whispers, "You really are an asshole."

  I chuckle but it's forced because honestly, the words spewing out of my mouth are making me kind of sick to my stomach. But the name of this game is self-preservation. Somehow she made me lose sight of that. "You know what, Jordan? You're absolutely right, I am an asshole."

  She takes a step away from me and I have to fight every instinct pounding through me not to reach out and grab hold of her, to apologize and beg her for forgiveness.

  But I don't.

  I can't.

  Because no matter how much I might be hurting her, she screwed me over and yeah, hurt me ten times worse. And like the dumb ass I am, I never even saw it coming.

  Totally blindsided.

  "I'll talk to my aunt about finding you a new tutor. Under the circumstances, I don't think we should work together anymore."

  I shake my head. "Don't bother, I don't need one. I'm done with tutors." Especially this one.

  She takes a step away from me. Again my hands tighten into fists as I fight the urge to go after her. The heavy silence that settles over us suffocates the very last fragments of easy friendship and camaraderie we had between us. She takes another step and then another before turning completely away as if she can't bear the sight of me any longer.

  "Hey, Jordan," I say her name, needing to see the look in her eyes when I say the words. Slowly she turns back towards me, and for just a moment I think I catch a glimpse of sadness in her eyes before it disappears behind coldness. "Good luck in Boston."

  She freezes for just a moment, every line of her beautiful body tightening before giving me a stiff little nod.

  Then she's gone.

  And, believe it or not, instead of feeling better for cutting her loose, I feel even shittier than before.

  Not that I actually think it'll help, but I slam my fist into one of the thin blue metal lockers lining the wall. The feel of flesh crashing into metal should be a satisfying one. Unfortunately it's not. The sound of it continues to reverberate hollowly throughout my head, but it doesn't lessen the fresh pain now slicing through my heart.

  Chapter Twenty

  "So this is what depression look like, huh?"

  I shoot Max a sour look before shifting my gaze back down to the crap on my tray that passes for food around this place. The school board should seriously look into this before someone keels over from food poisoning and they’re faced with some humongous lawsuit.

  "You know, it took a while, but I think we finally found a look that you don't wear well." He takes a long swig of Gatorade before adding, "I have to admit that it's actually kind of refreshing."

  Even though I don't bother dignifying that remark with a comment, I do however flip him the bird before continuing to push around the slop on my plate. I really don't have much of an appetite today. Actually I haven't felt like eating since, well, we all know since when...

  Man, when exactly did I turn into such a wussy? More like change the W to a P and that's what I've become. Yep, that's me all right. Captain P-

  "Umm, I think you have a little something-something on your shirt." Using his spork, Max points to the general vicinity of my chest.

  My brows furrow as I glance down at the stain. Hmmm, that looks suspiciously like Ketchup. Only here's the problem- I'm pretty sure that I didn't have Ketchup today. Oh, wait a minute, I had a dog with Ketchup on it... but that was like two days ago. Hmmm, that can't be right.

  Or... is it?

  Have I actually been wearing this shirt for more than two days?

  My eyes dart around the lunchroom before I rather inconspicuously lift my right arm conducting a little sniff test and holy crap... I've definitely been wearing this shirt for more than two days. That's actually a little disturbing. Okay, maybe more than a little. Thank God it's Monday and no one realizes it... yet. Pushing away my tray full of delicious and highly nutritious food (yeah, that's a little something called sarcasm in case you missed it), I do what I've wanted to do all day long and lay my forehead tiredly on the table.

  Someone needs to put me out of my misery because this blows.

  "Hey, are you going to-"

  I slide my tray over to Max who's sitting across from me.

  Without any further words, I hear him dig in. A few minutes later he sighs with contentment, "I love Mystery Mondays." He smacks his lips together happily. "I think that was Salisbury steak but I'm not a hundred percent sure because Salisbury steak shouldn't be crunchy. And that had some definite crunch to it."

  I grunt in reply because what am I actually supposed to say to that?

  Then Max lays a beefy hand on my shoulder which I'll be honest, kind of freaks me out. We aren't the touchy feely kind of friends. I mean sure, we'll slap each other's asses out on the field after a particularly good play but that's about the extent of it. And that's not weird. It's a completely normal guy thing even though thinking about it right now kind of makes it sound weird...

  I'm just lifting my head from the table when he says, "You know, I'm kind of worried about you."

  Even though I'd prefer to look anywhere but at Max (jeez, where's Captain Cra
zy when you need a good distraction?), I meet his eyes and yeah, there's actually a fair amount of concern flickering within them which makes me feel even more uncomfortable. Wanting to shut down this God awful conversation before it goes any further and embarrasses both of us, I mutter, "I'm fine. It's all good."

  Except, well, it's not all good.

  In fact, everything kind of sucks major ass at the moment.

  His brow slants upwards as he shakes his head. "I don't think so, dude." He looks slightly apologetic. "I didn't want to say anything before but... you're kind of a mess right now."

  I sit all the way upright before frowning. "I'm not a mess-"

  Okay, that's a lie because I'm actually a huge raging mess right now. But I'll be damned if I'm going to have some sort of heart to heart in the school cafeteria about my feelings. It's bad enough that I have them in the first place. And yeah, I just threw up a little bit in my mouth. So, thanks, but no thanks.

  "I overslept and didn't have time to, you know, get ready."

  That, by the way, is actually the truth. Although... I doubt I would have changed my clothes anyway. I kind of lived in this shirt and jeans all weekend. As evidenced by the mystery Ketchup stain from a few days ago. But maybe, given enough time, I would have showered and changed my clothes, right? Sure, I'm just going to go with that. It sounds way less pathetic than the actual truth.

  Note to self: shower really well after practice tonight and burn the clothes currently occupying the space around my body.

  Max continues to look dubious. And... I can't exactly blame him for that, now can I?

  "The first step in recovery is to admit there's a problem. We-" he gestures slowly between the pair of us, "can't fix this until you actually acknowledge it."

  Oh for Christ's sake... Does Max think he's participating in an episode of Intervention?

  I roll my eyes and am just about to blast him with the ridiculousness of that statement when I notice his whole demeanor change. He appears to be eyeing someone behind me. My heart speeds up because, for just one agonizing moment, I wonder if it's Jordan.