Bend Me, Break Me

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “Maybe we should watch a movie or something,” I suggested. I’m pretty sure neither of us has actually completed any assignments.” I knew I hadn’t, and it was a long time since she turned a page in her book.

  “Shouldn’t we do homework?” she said, and I could feel her slipping away. She hadn’t moved, but she was definitely heading toward the door.

  “We can do both. I mean, if you want to.” I gripped the edge of my desk and hoped she couldn’t see how much I wanted her to stay. I was not going to beg. That would definitely send up red flags for her and that was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “Okay,” she said and I breathed a little sigh of relief, although I was kicking myself for not having a better selection. A lot of my Blu-rays were at home.

  “How about this?” she asked, holding up the case for That Awkward Moment. I wondered if she’d seen it before, or if she had just grabbed it because Zac Efron was on the cover of the case.

  “Works for me,” I said. It was a funny movie. I always lost it when the guys took Viagra and then had to piss lying across the toilets.

  “I’ve never seen this,” she admitted after I put the Blu-ray in and grabbed the remote.

  “It’s funny. And, you know, it has Zac Efron in it. If you’re into that sort of thing.” Great, now she was going to think I was gay. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

  “Yeah, I guess. All I see when I look at him is that horrible haircut he had in High School Musical and it makes my brain hurt.” Whoa. That was funny. Ingrid just said something funny. I laughed in surprise and handed her the remote.

  “I never saw those movies. They, ah, weren’t really my thing.” She hit Play on the movie and nodded.

  “Yeah, they weren’t mine, either. I just watched them because my—” She cut herself off. I was pretty sure I knew what she was going to say in the rest of that sentence, but I had to pretend like I didn’t.

  “Because?” I said and she shook her head.

  “Never mind.” Her lips formed a thin line and her eyebrows drew together.

  “Look, Ingrid, I get that you have stuff you don’t want to talk to me about. It’s okay. I’m not going to push you to tell me all your dark secrets.” She looked down at the remote.

  “Most people would want to know. They’re always curious.”

  “Hey,” I said, touching her shoulder. She jerked with the contact.

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know, but you can tell me when you’re ready. If you ever are. I just like hanging out with you and I don’t want you to feel obligated to tell me or not tell me anything. I just like being around you.” I clenched my teeth together and hoped that she wouldn’t read too much into what I’d said.

  “I don’t know why,” she said in a whisper.

  I sighed.

  “I can’t explain it. I just… I just want to be your friend. That’s it.” Lie, lie, lie. It burned in the back of my throat, but I couldn’t let it out.

  “That’s crazy. No one wants to be my friend.” She let out a little breathy laugh. This definitely wasn’t funny.

  “Well. I do. So there.” She looked up and I swore I saw a tear on her cheek. It took everything in me not to brush it away.

  “We’re missing the movie,” I said, pointing to the TV.

  She nodded and surreptitiously wiped the tear away.

  We started out watching with at least a foot and a half of space between us, but somehow, by the end, our shoulders were a fraction away from touching. I kept picturing her sighing and leaning on my shoulder and then me putting my arm around her. I wanted to hold her so much. Just hold her. That was it. I’d never wanted anything that badly. I almost shook with it.

  She barely laughed at all, but I did hear her once or twice. It was more laughter than I’d heard from her in the previous weeks combined. I counted that as a victory, even if she was laughing at the antics of the characters in the movies instead of me. It was a little step in the right direction.

  When the credits rolled, she turned to me. Her face was more open than I’d seen it in a while. Relaxed. It looked good on her.

  “Thanks, that was fun,” she said. Our faces weren’t very far apart at all. If she was another girl, I would have leaned in and kissed her. But she wasn’t another girl. She was Ingrid, and she was important. I couldn’t screw this up. I would hate myself for the rest of my life if I did.

  “Do you, um, want to watch another movie?” I asked, choking a little on my words and looking away from her unbelievable eyes. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. They were so mesmerizing.

  I felt her hesitate, but then she nodded.

  “Sure.”

  We got snacks and then I pulled up Netflix. I let her scroll through and pick what she wanted. I didn’t care what it was. We could watch a movie about paint drying and I would have loved it.

  “Have you ever seen the show Justified?” she asked. I’d never watched it, but it had been in my recommendations for a while.

  “No, is it good?” She nodded and clicked on the first episode.

  “It gets a little bloody at some points, but it’s really good.” I raised an eyebrow and she shrugged.

  “What? I like Timothy Olyphant.” Ah. So that was the kind of guy she went for.

  “Interesting,” I said, pretending to stroke a beard on my chin.

  She bumped my shoulder with hers.

  “Shut up.”

  Now she was being playful. Yet another side of Ingrid that I hadn’t seen yet.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, putting my hands in the air in surrender. She bit her bottom lip and I thought it was to keep from smiling. Like she was only allowed to smile a few times a day or something. It was my new mission in life to get her to smile as much as possible. And to laugh. I wanted her to let herself laugh.

  Against my will, I was letting myself get more comfortable with Coen. I could feel it happening, but I couldn’t stop it. Fighting it was just too much work. He had an easy way about him that washed over me and brought me out of myself. Or perhaps brought me back to the person I used to be, but wasn’t anymore.

  It was an illusion, though. I couldn’t be that girl ever again. Not even with him. I was someone else now.

  Coen ended up loving the show, and we got through three episodes before I realized I’d been in his room all day and it was time for dinner. I wasn’t going to say anything, but then my stomach growled. The snacks had been several hours ago and I wanted some real food.

  “Oh, shit, I didn’t realize what time it is,” Coen said, jumping up from the bed and rushing to the fridge. He raked his hand through his hair, making the curls straighten and then bounce back on themselves, settling into place.

  “Um, I don’t have… anything.” There were only soda cans and bottles of water in his fridge.

  “That’s okay, I should probably get back anyway.” I started to get up, but he held his hand up for me to stop. He went to his desk and pulled something out. Menus.

  “Okay, I have a bunch of menus, but I don’t know what places have something you can eat, so you pick and I’ll order it.” He fanned out the menus and held them toward me, like a giant deck of cards.

  “No, you don’t have to do that. It’s not a big deal. I have food back at my place.” He shook his head and just shoved the menus between us.

  “No way, it’s not a big deal. Besides, I should learn more about vegan food. Teach me, Yoda.” The Star Wars reference was so nerdy that it made me want to smile and laugh, but I didn’t.

  “Fine,” I said with a sigh, taking the menus from him. I scanned through them all. I hadn’t tried eating much off-campus yet, so I had no idea which places were vegan-friendly. My assumption was that I’d have to get a salad without dressing to have anything to eat, but I was pleasantly surprised that one of the local pizza places offered a vegan and gluten-free pizza, along with salads and vegan dressing.

  “Sounds good,” Coen said, taking the menu from me and dialing the numbe
r on his phone with no hesitation. Not everyone was a fan of vegan food and it was going to be awkward when the pizza arrived and he had to pretend he liked it. I wished he hadn’t asked me to stay.

  “It’ll be here in a half an hour,” he said, ending the call and tossing his phone back on the bed.

  “You’re probably not going to like it,” I said, but he flopped back on his bed next to me.

  “Or maybe I will. Maybe I’ll like it better than regular pizza. Don’t be so quick to make assumptions about people, Ingrid. They can surprise you sometimes.” I pressed my lips together. I didn’t want to argue with him.

  He sat up again. “Do you want another soda?” I nodded and he brought me one.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said, one of his fingers tapping against the top of the can like it was a drum. My stomach twisted. I didn’t think I was going to like what he said.

  “Yeah,” I said anyway. I was curious.

  “Why don’t you… I mean… Is there a reason you don’t want to have friends?” He stuttered and his voice shook with each word. His finger tapped faster on the can until I wanted to put my hand over it to make him stop.

  This was a question he wasn’t going to get an answer to. Not a real one, anyway. But for now, I could give him a little something. An almost-truth. Close, but not quite there.

  “I don’t know. I just… I don’t really like most people and they don’t seem to like me. It’s just easier being on my own.” His finger stopped tapping and I could feel his eyes riveted on my face as I stared down at my hands, wrapped around my soda can.

  “But how do you know if people will like you if you don’t even give them the chance?” I knew he was going to say that. I shrugged.

  “I don’t know, I just do.” I looked up and silently pleaded with him to drop it.

  “Well, I think you’re missing out,” he said, taking a swig of his soda. I was saved from answering by his phone buzzing. He typed something out and then set it back down.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Just Marty.” Oh. I’d completely forgotten about him. He’d been kicked out of his room all day. I was sure he hadn’t spent all that time at the gym.

  “Oh, is he wanting to come back? He can, if he wants.” I didn’t really want him to, but it wasn’t my right to keep him out of his own room.

  “No, he’s going to hang out with some of the guys, so it’s fine.” I wanted to argue about it, but it wasn’t worth it. I was hungry and vegan pizza was on the way. It would be bad to leave now and stick Coen with all the food.

  We drank our sodas and watched more Justified and then Coen got a text that the pizza had arrived. He told me to sit tight while he went downstairs to get it.

  I didn’t know how long it was going to take to give the pizza guy the money and bring the food back, but I didn’t think it was going to take more than a few minutes, so I had to make my time count. I went to his desk first, pulling drawers open and finding only notebooks and paper and granola bar wrappers and old homework assignments. Abandoning the desk, I went to his bookshelf and scanned that. A few popular fantasy and science fiction novels, but he had some classic literature there. Tolstoy. He had Tolstoy. I let my fingers run down the cracked spines, as if he’d read them more than once.

  I got so distracted reading the titles of the books that I lost track of time and nearly screamed when the door banged open. I whirled around, one hand clutched to my chest.

  “Whoa, you okay? Did I startle you?” Coen said, balancing the pizza box in one hand and carrying a plastic bag with the pizza place’s logo on it in the other.

  “S’okay,” I choked out, trying to smooth my face. I knew what it must look like. Like I’d been caught doing something wrong.

  He set the box and bag down on the floor and looked around before going to his closet and bringing out a folded sheet, which he proceeded to lay out on the floor, as if we were in a park and having a picnic.

  I got away from the bookshelves and hoped that if he opened up his drawers, he wouldn’t notice if things were in slightly different places than they had been.

  “Floor picnic,” Coen said, grabbing some paper plates, plastic silverware and paper towels to complete the setup.

  “Sounds good,” I said, sitting across from him. He opened the pizza box and looked at the pizza inside with skepticism.

  “How about I try it first and see if it’s any good? Vegan can be really good, but it can also just as easily go really bad.” I’d had my share of awful vegan meals in my life. Some I still shuddered about when I recalled them.

  “Solid plan,” he said, passing me a plate. I picked up a piece. It resembled a regular pizza, which was a good sign. Cheese was a difficult substance to duplicate well, but at least this stretched and looked like mozzarella.

  I took a bite and chewed. Wow. Seriously. Wow.

  “I’m guessing by the expression on your face and that little moaning sound you just made, it’s good?” Coen said and I stared at him. Moaning sound? I didn’t make a moaning sound. Did I? I hope I didn’t. How embarrassing.

  I swallowed and nodded. “Yes, the pizza is good. It’s the best vegan pizza I’ve ever had, honestly.”

  Coen was staring at me and then he pulled his gaze away and looked down at the pizza before picking up his own slice. He examined it as if it was something he’d never seen before and then took a bite. I watched his face and it morphed into a look of surprise.

  “It’s good!” he said through a mouthful. “Holy crap.” I busied myself with my own piece and there was silence as we chewed.

  Coen really did like the pizza, because he ate four slices. I stopped at three and sat back against his bed.

  “I feel like I’m going to die,” I said, rubbing my stomach.

  “That was seriously good. I mean, it wasn’t exactly like regular pizza, but it was freaking good.” He smiled and mirrored my pose, coming over and resting his back against the frame of his bed beside me.

  This time the silence was thick and uncomfortable. Hard to breathe. Coen turned his head to look at me and I couldn’t ignore him, so I turned mine as well.

  “Thanks for hanging out with me,” he said, but it felt like he was thanking me for more than that.

  “You’re welcome,” I said automatically. “I mean, I like hanging out with you.” I couldn't believe I was admitting it, but I did like spending time with him. It was nice to have another human being to talk to. I’d underestimated how much I missed human contact like that.

  “I like hanging out with you, too.” The air shifted in the room and got thicker, warmer. My chest got tight and he was looking at me in a way that made me want to look away, but I didn’t.

  He leaned just a fraction closer and my eyes flicked down to his mouth. I blinked and then realized what was happening. I pushed myself away from him so fast, I smashed the back of my head on the frame of his bed.

  “Fuck!”

  “Shit!” we both said at the same time.

  Pain burst through my head like a bright flash of light and I crumpled over, holding the back of my head.

  “Are you okay?” Coen asked, but I was too busy dealing with the chaos in my brain to answer. The pain radiated and then started to dissipate. I opened my eyes (which had started to water) and found him leaning over me.

  “Ow,” I said, and for some reason, that was extremely funny. I started to laugh and I couldn’t stop. I hadn’t laughed like this in… I couldn’t remember.

  “I’m guessing if you’re laughing, that means you’re okay? Or maybe you hit the part of your brain that controls laughter?” Coen said, clearly concerned about my physical and mental wellbeing.

  “I’m. Fine,” I gasped and kept laughing. He didn’t look convinced and hovered over me until I was able to put a cork in my giggles.

  “I’m okay,” I said, rubbing the back of my head and sitting up.

  “Can I take a look?” he asked, motioning for me to turn my head. I did, slowl
y, because everything was still sore. His fingers were gentle as he prodded the spot.

  “No blood, but you’ve got a tiny bump. Sorry about that.” I turned back around and found that his face was red.

  “It’s okay,” I said and struggled to my feet. I wobbled a bit and Coen rose to steady me.

  “Whoa there.” I looked down at where he was holding onto my arm. I couldn’t breathe anymore. I had to get out of this room and away from him.

  “I have to go,” I said, looking around for my bag. My study materials were still spread everywhere, so I just started cramming them into my bag.

  “Oh,” he said, crestfallen. “Well maybe you should wait a second? You did hit your head kind of hard.” I couldn’t wait. I had to go.

  Finally I gave up on trying to get all of my stuff back in my bag and just slung the straps over my shoulder and ran for the door. Coen called after me, but I shut the door and bolted as fast as I could for the elevator.

  Yup, fucked that up. I didn’t know what came over me. One minute we were sitting there and the next I was leaning in to kiss her. No wonder she’d run.

  It wasn’t my intent to kiss her. That wasn’t in the plan. After she left, I thought about chasing her, but that would probably just rub salt in the wound. I could text her later if I wanted to check on her. I didn’t think she had a concussion, but it didn’t hurt to be safe.

  I shouldn’t have had her here. Now it was going to be nearly impossible to regain her trust. Maybe I should be the one smashing my head on the frame of my bed. I kind of wanted to.

  I stared down at the remains of our floor picnic and wanted to smash it all to pieces. Instead, I texted Marty and told him if he wanted to come back, he could and he came through the door about twenty minutes later to find me holding my head in my hands.

  “Whoa, buddy, what happened?” He sat down next to me on my bed and I raised my head.

  “I fucked it up. Again.”

  “How?” I sighed and wondered how I could explain without completely explaining.

  “Let’s just say there was a moment and I tried to kiss her, she hit her head on the frame of my bed and ran away. So that happened.” Marty made a choking noise, as if he was trying to hold in a laugh and failed.