Starry Eyed Inside

by Rochelle Allison

  "Which one?" He smiled as he asked, though, probably because he knew which one.

  "You know.” I rolled my eyes, smiling. “The one in the car."

  He gave me his headphones. I put them on, watching him scroll through the songs on his phone. The song started. I couldn't look at him while I listened to it, not if it reminded him of me. It was a dreamy, perfect song, reminding me of summer and soft things.

  When it was done, I gave Skyler back his headphones. He was watching me, again. He was always watching me. I knew because I was almost always watching him too.

  "It's so pretty," I said, unable to suppress the lightness inside my chest. "I didn't know you liked songs like that."

  He nodded, putting his phone away. "Yeah. I like a lot of their stuff but... that one's special."

  His eyes were light today, nearly translucent against all that newly tanned skin. It was hard to look away from him when he focused on me like that. But his phone rang, breaking the spell. He frowned when he saw the number, and then ignored it.

  "Who's that?" I asked. I could've blamed it on the alcohol. But really, I wanted to know. It was almost uncontrollable, the wanting to know.

  "This girl I work with."

  "She works construction?"

  “Yeah.”

  I tried to imagine myself with a jackhammer, or scaling a roof. Not happening.

  "Is that who you hang out with sometimes?" I asked, staring intently at the crushed ice melting inside my cup.

  “Sometimes.” Our eyes met again. His face was set; he wanted me to ask. I was curious, but I didn't want to get an answer that would make me feel all clingy and stupid. Especially since jumping from one guy to another had never been my intention, no matter what kind of history Skyler and I had.

  "So why didn't you answer her?" I asked. Definitely the margarita; the words were just popping out.

  "Because I'm with you."

  "Not really," I whispered.

  "Why are you like this?" he asked, leaning closer. "Why don't you just say whatever it is you want to say?"

  "Oh, like you do?" I laughed bitterly. "We talk in code, Skyler. It's what keeps us afloat."

  "Be straight with me, and I'll be straight with you," he said, setting his cup down. His mouth was stained red. Mine must have been, too.

  "It's scary to be straight with you.”

  "Why?"

  I shook my head. "Because...I don't know what you want."

  "I think it's pretty obvious what I want," he said.

  "See, you're doing it again. You can't say it. You just drop these little one liners about —"

  "I want you. I want to be with you, the way we were before, but I guess not just like that because you made it sound like it wasn't enough...and it probably wasn't. But I want it, and I know you want it. You act like you're so grown up now, and you are, but you still want me. You look at me the same way you always did."

  Tears burned at my eyes, and I looked away, not wanting to give in to it. He was saying things I'd always wanted to hear, and I was too mixed up inside to deal with it.

  "I'm sorry I made you feel like you weren't worth it," he said, scooting closer. "Before. I didn't even know what I was doing, and I definitely didn't know what I had until I started realizing that no girl up there even came close to you."

  Shivering, from deep inside; I had no idea. No idea it was still this real to him.

  "And by then, so much time had passed. I didn't like thinking about it anymore, so I didn't. I know you hate me for that, but things sucked enough without wondering what you were doing and who you were with.” He paused. “Wondering if you felt like I did.”

  "Are you kidding me?" I wasn't crying, but I was close. Margaritaville was not a happy place, regardless of what the song said. "Why are you telling me this now?"

  "Because I didn't know what it would be like when I got back." He was on autopilot now, letting it all out. "I was fine. Everything was fine. I was just glad to be home. And then I saw you, and it was like..." He trailed off.

  Like a punch in the stomach. I nodded, remembering. "I've missed you, too," I said. My hands were shaking a little, and it wasn't from the alcohol.

  His phone rang again.

  "Just answer it," I huffed, opening a bag of corn chips. “It's not nice to leave your hookups hanging.”

  "I don't have hook-ups."

  "Liar," I cried through a mouthful of crumbs. "You just said—"

  "I said I go out."

  "But...”

  “You've obviously assumed that meant more than it did."

  "And you let me," I said, feeling the anger ebb away.

  "You have a boyfriend,” he said. "Had."

  I chewed slowly, knowing he was right. I'd had no right to an opinion before. I wondered if I even had one now. My head hurt: too much sun, too much strawberry margarita. Yawning, I put the chips away and put my head on a rolled-up towel.

  "I'm going in," Skyler said, standing up. “You coming?”

  Conversations with him always left me with a lot to digest, and the one we'd just had? Had just about done me in. “I'm okay,” I said. “You go ahead.”

  Footsteps, a loud splash. Finally: alone on the boat. The rocking felt good. I let it soothe away the wrinkles in my heart and lull me to dozing.

  We headed into the setting sun on the way back.

  Skyler and I sat together, facing the marina as we approached. But for the occasional observation—a nice house on the coast, the clouds tinged orange and pink at the edges—we didn't talk much.

  I'd calmed, but I felt skinned and sore inside, like we'd gone emotionally deep earlier. The words we'd shared had been necessary, and a long time coming, but they'd left me feeling exposed. Vulnerable. Coupled with my trip to Miami, I was walking wounded and in need of rest. Skyler seemed to understand. He didn't prod or press. Everyone else on the boat was too tired-happy and sun-drunk to notice our quietude, and that was good, too.

  At home, after a shower, I settled into bed early. I had school the next day, and I was having a rough time keeping my eyes open as it was.

  On the nightstand, my phone vibrated, alerting me to a text.

  It was a song link from Skyler, the one that reminded him of me. I played it immediately, letting it wash over me, the same lightness I'd felt from earlier seeping sweetly in.

  One Line

  Niki got back late from her weekend with Finn. She was exhausted at school the next day, but all smiles because Finn was staying a little longer than he'd originally planned for Thanksgiving break. Now they were just counting down the days.

  We were in the library, using last period as a study hall, when I told her about the break up. I'd texted her about it, of course, but it was different talking like this.

  Niki nodded, resting her chin on her hand. "You've been getting to this point for a long time, so I can't say I'm surprised."

  "Exactly." I leafed through my textbook, not even bothering to find the chapter I was supposed to be reviewing. "I felt awful Saturday, though. Ugh. It still kind of sucks... but I don't know. I feel lighter, I guess.”

  "I'm glad you're doing okay, then." She smiled, squeezing my knee beneath the table. "I know you hoped, at one point, that you guys would last, but...whatever, you know? Things change. I'm glad you were honest with him."

  I nodded, deciding not to tell her about Skyler. Niki could be overly cautious, and she'd probably think I was jumping from the frying pan into the fire. I hadn't told anyone what Skyler had said on the boat. It felt private.

  Niki was writing something in a notebook, probably a letter to Finn. That seemed like a great idea, suddenly. I'd always been good at expressing myself through written word, especially through journaling, and letters weren't much different. Only instead of writing to myself, I'd be writing to Skyler.

  It was difficult for me to look at him and spill my guts, but I could definitely write him a note and tell him how I felt. After being so open with me on the boat, and then sendin
g me that song, he deserved the same from me.

  I wasn't sure what I wanted, or when I'd be ready, but I did care about Skyler. A lot. And he deserved to know.

  I'd completed my homework and was about three quarters of the way through the letter—as well as my shift at work—when Skyler showed up.

  My heart slammed in my chest when he appeared. Feeling as if I'd been caught in the act, I slid the paper off the counter and crumpled it in to my back pocket. “Hey, you. What are you doing here?"

  "Is that sunburn or are you blushing?" he asked, cocking his head.

  Both, probably. “Sunburn," I said, feeling my face getting a tiny bit warmer even then. "It's not as bad as my shoulders, though."

  "I had fun yesterday."

  "Me too."

  "Definitely wouldn't mind heading out there again. Too bad no one has a boat."

  “Well, Jackson does come up every now and then..."

  Skyler smirked. "Right."

  Jackson got along with everyone, but not everyone got along with him, if that made sense. He could be a handful.

  Meanwhile, that damn letter was burning a hole in my pocket. "No plans tonight?"

  "Nope." He took off his hat and ruffled his hair. "My mom's cooking dinner as we speak, and all I can think about are her garlic mashed potatoes."

  "That sounds really, really good."

  "It is. You should come."

  My stomach twisted with longing. "I can't. My mom's cooking too, God knows what, and I have school tomorrow."

  "Maybe Friday."

  I looked up at him. Pulling, pulling. He was always pulling. I hoped he'd never stop, hoped he'd wait for me. I loved that he wanted to spend time with me that way, not just around him, but around his family as well. "Maybe."

  He nodded, seeming satisfied with that. "You got the song I sent?"

  "Yeah," I said, trying not to get all melty right there. "Thanks. I really love it... I've already added it to my favorites."

  "Nice," he said, with a pleased grin. He reminded me of his younger self, smiling so big like everything was copacetic. I loved it then; I loved it now.

  "Anyway, I'll let you get back to it," he said, tapping his fingers just once on the counter between us.

  "Okay," I said, both relieved and disappointed he was leaving. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  "It's on the way home," he said, turning to go.

  "Really?"

  "No." He smiled at me over his shoulder and left.

  I watched him get into his car and drive away before retrieving the letter and smoothing it back over the counter.

  When I got home, there was an email from Tristan in my inbox. My heart leapt and hurt just seeing his name, and I almost didn't open the message. Curiosity won out, though.

  He didn't say much, just that he'd thought a lot about what I'd said, and while it felt wrong not having me in his life, if that's the way it had to be, he understood. He also said it would be better if we didn't talk for a while. That stung, but in all honesty what else had I expected?

  I emailed back right away. I understand. Please be safe. I miss you.

  I waffled on that last bit, deciding to keep it in at the last minute. It was true. No I love yous—mistaken or on purpose—which took a substantial weight off my shoulders. I'd told Niki earlier that each day I felt better and better. It would take time to move on from Tristan, but I wanted to try. I wanted to feel peace, to look back on our relationship fondly; he'd been the right guy at the right time, and I'd loved him with my whole heart.

  Closing my laptop, I stood up and stretched. My eyes landed on the folded piece of paper peeking out from my jeans: the note to Skyler.

  It wasn't long, only about a page, but it was enough. I was tempted to go over it and re-word things, but decided not to. It was better that he got my feelings the way they were, not the way I thought they should sound.

  The thought of giving it to him made me nervous as hell. Baring myself that way, especially when things were so uncertain, was scary...even if he had done it first.

  Skyler,

  I know I haven't exactly been forthcoming with the things I'm thinking, so I'm going to try and express myself this way. I feel like you deserve to know how I feel and why I do the things I do.

  You caught me off guard the other day, at the Sandbar. I wasn't expecting that. You used to be so secretive, so mysterious. Getting you to talk was like pulling teeth. But I was so into you that it didn't even matter. Being around you was enough.

  It's not enough anymore though, and I realized I was being hypocritical by making you tell me what you wanted when I wouldn't/couldn't do the same.

  So here it is. I loved someone, and it's over. I need time to get over that. Every day I get over it, but it wouldn't be fair to you or me (or even him) to just jump into something with you.

  And it isn't that I don't want to. Because I do. I missed you when you left, and I miss you now. You scare me as much as you ever did, because you make me feel so much. I want to be with you the same way you want to be with me, but I want to do it slowly this time.

  I need to know you. Not just how you make ME feel, but who you actually are.

  And that's it.

  Love,

  Rory

  I didn't have to work on Tuesday, so after running a couple of errands for my mother, I went home.

  We were expecting the weather to cool off by the weekend, and already the sun wasn't quite as hot as it had been days before. I welcomed the change. Nonstop heat and humidity were fine in the summer, when I was free, but made the everyday grind of work and school tedious.

  I wondered if Skyler would pass by the store, as he so often did lately. I hadn't told him that I had the night off. I didn't tell him much of anything unless he sought me out. And he was always seeking, these days. I wondered if he'd wait for me to come to him, and for how long. I thought about him at night sometimes, imagined him coming to my window. I'd shut my eyes tight and let it ride, touching myself the way he had once.

  Once more, it seemed my body was craving things that my heart wasn't ready for when it came to Skyler. Like I'd said in my letter, I needed to take it slow, even if I didn't want to.

  This time the circumstances were different. The stakes were higher. I saw it in the way he looked at me. I'd always taken him seriously, even when my love had been sugary and innocent. But now he was for real like I was for real. The things he'd said grabbed at my heart, at me.

  After homework and dinner, I texted Skyler. I couldn't stop thinking about the stupid letter. I felt like it had a time limit, like it would lose something if it didn't get to its intended soon.

  You home?

  Yeah, why?

  I sat on my bed. Can I stop by real quick?

  Does it have to be real quick?

  I rolled my eyes, smiling. School night, remember?

  You're so full of shit. ;) You could stay.

  Can I come or not?

  Of course

  Ok, be by in a few.

  Come to the garage apartment

  I remember :)

  We hung up. I slung a hoodie on, not because it was cold but because a tank top wasn't enough clothing. I was going over to Skyler's to hand-deliver my feelings, not to stick my nipples in his face.

  "Mom, I have to run out for a sec," I said, slipping into old flip flops by the front door.

  "Where you off to?"

  I stiffened, not wanting to lie, but not wanting her to think presumptuous things. "Just to drop something to a friend's. I'll be back in a half hour. Less."

  "Okay," she said, her attention back on grading papers. “Be careful.”

  The ride to Skyler's took less than ten minutes. Parking at the curb, I crept past the Camaro and up the outside stairs, feeling like I was sneaking up to his place for a booty call. God, please don't let his parents see me. I barely lived down that earring.

  Being here, in this space, was surreal, and memories washed over me as I knocked. Skyler answered
the door, standing aside to let me in. “Well, hello.”

  “Hey,” I said.

  We shared this shy little smile, which was ridiculous because neither of us was shy, and I edged inside, aware that by coming here I'd taken a bold step. The apartment—actually, it was more of an efficiency—looked different, like the furniture had been upgraded. And more homey, obviously, since it was being lived in now.

  Skyler was cooking. It smelled incredible, like herbs and sauces, and my mouth watered. “What are you making?”

  "Hungry?" he asked, leading me over to the kitchenette.

  "I just ate."

  "Spaghetti.” He opened the oven with a flourish. “Garlic bread."

  "It smells so good,” I said. “I thought you usually ate with your parents?"

  "I do, a lot of the time,” he said, leaning against the counter. “But sometimes I just want to do my own thing, you know?"

  I nodded. I wasn't able to "do my own thing" just yet, but I certainly got the appeal.

  "Sure you don't want any?" He was adorable, barefoot and in jeans, an old t-shirt that barely covered his skin, half hidden by steam as he poured noodles into a strainer in the sink.

  "I'll...taste it," I conceded, coming closer.

  Returning the spaghetti to its pot, he added sauce and grated Parmesan. "It's hot," he said, handing me a fork wrapped in a saucy noodle. I tasted it gingerly, trying not to focus on the thrumming of my heart.

  "Yummy," I said, covering my mouth as I chewed.

  Taking the same fork, he served himself a huge bite straight from the pot. I just wanted to bite his mouth...and then kiss it. "Here," I said, thrusting the letter at him.

  He frowned, swallowing his food. "What's this?"

  "A letter. Read it when I go."

  "When are you going to go?"

  "Now."

  "Why can't I read it now, then?"

  He loved messing with me, still. I loved it, still. "Go ahead. I'll see you soon."

  "No, hold on." He grasped my arm. "Why can't I read it with you here?"

  "Because that would defeat the purpose."

  "No, it wouldn't."

  "Yes, it would. You'll see. Just..." On impulse, I tiptoed up and kissed his cheek before leaving, counting on his confusion to allow my getaway.