by Anne Carol
“I’ll be more careful, I promise. You can trust me.”
“I can’t protect you from here, Beth. You just have to stay away from him, do you understand me?” he ordered.
“I can’t avoid him, David! He’s everywhere! What am I supposed to do?”
“Beth, please. He wants you back, and he’ll do anything to get to you. I need to know you’re safe.” He sighed. “Dear God, I have a big rehearsal tomorrow, plus I’m working all day. If I don’t get any sleep tonight, it’ll be your fault!”
Okay, now he was pushing me over the edge.
“Well, maybe this long-distance thing isn’t going to work out. If you can’t trust me, then forget it. I said I was sorry, I don’t know what else I can do, except hang up!”
“Beth!”
I slammed the phone down.
It was the first time I’d ever hung up on David. But I had no regrets; he was carrying his frustration too far, and it was getting ridiculous. I made a mistake, yes, but I didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. The way he just behaved, he was no better than Rick when he’d throw his tantrums.
The phone rang a minute later.
“I’m not answering it!” I hollered as I traipsed down the hall to the kitchen.
“It’s David.” Mom held the phone out to me. I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head. She gave me a puzzled look.
“David, we’re about to sit down for dinner, but I’ll tell Beth you called.”
After she hung up, I snapped, “Why didn’t you just tell him the truth—that I didn’t want to talk to him?”
She calmly approached me and said sympathetically, “Dear, I don’t know what this is about, but that boy was beside himself.”
My jaw dropped. Oh brown eyes, why are you doing this to me?
“I don’t care,” I spit out, holding my stubborn stance.
She tugged on my arm, guiding me to the kitchen counter. “Come on, help me snap the ends off these beans and tell me what’s going on.”
“You what?” My mom practically shouted. “You wrote it in a letter?”
Putting the beans in the steamer and turning the stove on, I shrugged my shoulders. “Yes.”
“Why did you do that? No wonder he was upset. I don’t blame him.” She looked horrified.
“You told me to be honest with him. I just couldn’t seem to get the words out over the phone.” I suddenly bristled at the thought of him reading that letter.
“Oh, honey …”
“I know, it was dumb. The whole thing was stupid and now, well, let’s just say your scolding session didn’t hold a candle to what I just got over the phone. I hung up on him,” I admitted as I watched my mom slice up potatoes.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“What was I supposed to do? He kept ripping into me. I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“He was probably calling back to apologize.”
“Whatever. I think a little silent treatment will teach him a lesson.”
“Nice attitude. I think you should give him a break. Dad makes me mad sometimes, too, but we talk it out. That’s the grown-up thing to do.” She held my chin up as she made her point.
I could hardly believe my ears. She was actually sticking up for David. I was still annoyed with him, though, and later that evening when he called again—apparently he really wasn’t getting any sleep—I almost refused the call.
“Beth, talk to him,” Mom insisted, her palm over the receiver.
“Fine.” I stomped over to the phone like a two-year-old and grabbed the phone.
“I’m not ready to talk to you. Just get some sleep!” And I hung up on him, again.
Turning toward my shocked parents and sister, I said, “I’m taking a long bath and going to bed.”
I stalked off to my room and slammed the door behind me. As I was undressing, I heard the phone ring again.
Seriously?
Before anyone could come looking for me, I hurried into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned the faucet on.
That night I dreamed David broke up with me. It was truly the worst dream ever.
“Good morning, my hotheaded daughter,” Mom said as I strolled into the kitchen the following morning.
“Hi, Mom. Any phone calls this morning?” I snidely asked, pouring myself some coffee.
“No, but he phoned last night after you went to your room.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“What else? That you’d gone to bed.”
I brought my cereal and coffee over to the table and sat across from her.
“And he believed you?”
“He didn’t argue with me, and he didn’t call again.” She gave me a scrutinizing expression.
“Good. Hopefully he got some sleep, he had a busy day today,” I stated, unable to hide my concern.
“You’re crazy about him,” Rachel remarked as she sat beside me. “Angry or not, you still adore him.” She gave me a cheesy grin.
I rolled my eyes and snarked, “When are you going back to San Diego?”
But she was right, I loved him. And I knew I’d be thinking about him all day as I worried about him and us.
Just before I was about to walk out the door, the phone rang. I froze in my steps.
“Honey, its David.” Mom stretched the cord out and handed me the phone. “You have a few minutes, just talk to him.”
I apprehensively took it from her.
“Hi,” I said, afraid that my horrible dream was about to become reality.
“Oh, so you’re talking to me again?”
“Yeah, but I don’t have much time. What is it?”
“Beth,” Mom admonished me from a few feet away.
“Why have you been avoiding my calls? I’ve been going mad.”
“Because you were terrible to me on the phone yesterday. I couldn’t handle you yelling at me.”
“I know.” He sounded remorseful. “I was a bastard. I don’t know what came over me. I called back several times to apologize, but you wouldn’t speak to me.”
“Can you blame me?”
“No, I suppose not. I lost my temper, and I’m sorry. I should’ve accepted your apology instead of yelling at you. I’m just so bloody worried about you. I desperately want to protect you, and I can’t.”
I glanced at the clock, while trying to ignore my beating heart. “I need to go now.”
“Please tell me you still love me.”
“Of course I love you.”
He sighed. “And no more talk about this not working out. That’s not an option for me.” He sounded exhausted. “You’re a part of me now, and I’m never letting you go.”
His words softened my anger in an instant. He was right; we belonged together, even when things seemed impossibly hard.
“I didn’t mean it, David. I was just angry. I’m not going anywhere, as long as you’ll have me.”
“That’ll be forever.”
Who knew love could be so unnerving, yet irresistible at the same time?
“Forever.”
Fifteen minutes later as I stood at my locker, I was graced with a friendly greeting from Rick across the hallway.
“Hmph,” I responded.
“What?” He questioned, throwing his hands up. “What did I do now?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” I shook my head.
“Geez, Beth! You’re so moody!”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m somebody else’s problem now.” I turned my back to him to deal with my locker.
Not letting it go, he crossed the hallway and approached me. “Really, what did I do? I want to know.”
“Nothing, it’s fine now,” I said over my shoulder.
“Does this have something to do with your British guy?”
I whirled around, on the warpath.
“He has a name,” I said through gritted teeth.
Rick held up his hands and backed away. “Sorry, does this have anything to do with David?”
<
br /> I started walking down the hallway toward my classroom, with him trailing behind. Surrendering to his insatiable curiosity, I decided to be honest.
“I told him about the end of summer party where I got drunk. What a surprise that he wasn’t too thrilled about you driving me home.”
“I see, so he’s the jealous type. Did you tell him it would’ve been worse if you’d stayed? Do you know how many girls I saw make out with guys they barely knew?”
You mean like Denise? I wanted to say, but held my tongue.
“I know, I actually agree with you. I just think he was mad that I got drunk.”
“He’s mad at you?” He sounded too happy about the prospect.
“Was mad. Not anymore,” I clarified, halting in front of my classroom door. “He loves me. He can’t stay mad at me for long. Besides, he knows I won’t do it again. He’s really protective, and it bothers him that he can’t be here to protect me.”
“I can protect you, Beth. You know I will. Tell David not to worry. I’ve got you covered.” He smiled and winked at me as he headed off.
Yeah, except you’re the one he wants to protect me from.
As it turned out, I almost did need Rick’s protection two days later. I was alone at my locker at the end of lunch hour when I heard heavy breathing behind me. Assuming it was Rick, I grumbled, “What is it, Rick?”
“It’s not Rick,” a male voice answered.
I gasped and immediately turned on my heels to find another football player, Mark Galletti—a dark-haired second-generation Italian god—smirking down at me, overconfidence leaking out of his pores.
“What do you want, Mark?” I asked, cautiously backing up against my locker.
To my horror, he leaned into me, imprisoning me against the wall of lockers.
“So I hear you gave ol’ McGuire the boot,” he breathed, grinning savagely.
“Yeah, what’s it to you?” I snapped back.
“Just thought maybe you’d like to go out with me sometime, now that you’re free.”
“I’m not free. I have a boyfriend.”
“You do?” He immediately took a step back and put his arms down. “I’ve never seen you with him. Who is he?” he was suddenly flustered, and expectantly looked up and down the hallway.
“He lives in England. I met him there this summer,” I explained.
“England? Are you kidding?” His face twisted in disbelief.
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“Yeah, well, if you ever get tired of kissing a piece of paper, let me know, sweetie.” He ran his finger along my jaw, causing it to tense up.
He sauntered away, muttering, “England …” and shaking his head back and forth.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Rick racing down the hall from the opposite direction. He stopped in front of me, out of breath. “Was that asshole bothering you?”
“Sort of. Not really.” I looked away to avoid his intense gaze.
“If he harasses you again, I’ll take care of him.”
Sighing heavily, feeling tired all of a sudden, I said, “Thanks.”
While Rick stood watching me, I shut my locker door, hunched my shoulders and trudged off to Mrs. Anderson’s office to correct papers.
There were some days when I just wanted to retreat back to London. This was definitely one of those days.
That night I got a beautiful letter from David, obviously written before he’d received mine, and was reading it at my locker the next morning when out of nowhere a large hand reached down and snatched the letter, nearly tearing the paper.
“What’s this? Is this from your honey?”
I spun around to grab the letter back from Mark, but he quickly turned the other way, burying his face in the paper, “Oh, baby, I miss you so much …”
“Give it back!” I shrieked.
At the sound of my cry, Rick swooped in, shoved Mark into the lockers violently, retrieved my letter, and casually handed it to me.
“Leave her alone!” His hulking figure towered over Mark, and he used his superior strength to pin him against the locker.
As soon as one of the teachers approached, Rick backed up, releasing Mark, who fled the scene, laughing arrogantly.
Wide-eyed, I gave Rick a grateful smile. “Thank you,” I said, hugging the letter to my chest.
“Anytime. Told you I’ve got you covered.” He grinned, pinched my cheek and then crossed over to his locker. I was so relieved to have my letter back that I didn’t even care that he touched me. Or that a crowd of students was staring in my direction.
As I tried to compose myself, Melissa and Susie came rushing over.
“What was that all about? Beth, are you okay?” Susie asked frantically.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” I filled them in on the morning’s excitement as we got ready for class.
“Thank goodness Rick was there,” Susie concluded, letting out a short breath.
“Yeah, thank goodness,” I said, thinking how ironic it was that Rick was becoming my protector.
Mark didn’t bother me after that, and I knew it was due to Rick’s actions. For the rest of the day and into the next week, I noticed Rick hovering around me, keeping an eye out for any trouble. It was weird because I never recalled him being that attentive when we were together. In any case, it was nice to know I was safe from unwanted advances.
One afternoon I stayed late working on an article for the newspaper. As I left the classroom, I noticed the football players heading in from their practice. I wasn’t long into my walk to the car when my bodyguard showed up.
“Hey, let me see you to your car.” Rick was covered head to toe in dirt and perspiration.
“Don’t you need to hit the showers?”
“It can wait.” He blew out a breath. “Why are you still here?”
“Finishing something for the paper.”
“You’re really into this writing stuff.”
“Yeah, I’m enjoying it.”
He didn’t say much else, but when we got to my car, I made sure to thank him for keeping me safe from Mark.
“He won’t bother you again on my watch, Bethy. I won’t let anyone hurt you, okay?” He gazed at me longingly, and from the look in his eyes, there was no doubt he still had strong feelings for me.
And for the first time since arriving home from England, I held no contempt toward the guy I hated only months earlier.
I arrived home a confused mess and immediately escaped to my bedroom to think. But I grew tired of analyzing everything, so I cranked up my Sex Pistols LP and curled up on my bed. Just as I was escaping into the music, my mom abruptly entered the room.
“Woah, woah, what’s with all this noise?” She said, hurdling toward my record player and lifting the needle off the record. As she did, I heard an excruciating scrape across the fresh vinyl. It was like nails on a chalkboard.
That did it. I jumped up and hollered, “Mom!”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry, my hand slipped.”
“Mom, how could you? You ruined it! That was from David.” I crumpled to the floor in a sea of tears, weeping as if I were mourning a death.
“Oh, Beth,” She kneeled down on the floor next to me and took me in her arms. “What’s wrong, dear? This is about more than a scratched record.”
And as my mom lovingly held me, everything that’d affected my emotions recently— missing David, getting drunk at the party, fighting with David, Mark harassing me, and Rick toying with my head—came crashing down on me, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. It all came pouring out that afternoon in my room as I crouched on the floor in my mom’s arms.
Imagine my surprise when Dad interrupted my sob session to tell me David was calling.
David? On a Tuesday?
It took me two seconds to get to my feet.
I tried to calm down my emotions as I walked into the kitchen to take the call. Wiping my eyes and clearing my throat, I put the phone to my ear.
“Hi, Davi
d,” I said, trying to sound casual, but not passing it off very well.
“What’s the matter, angel?” The sound of his beautiful, British voice, so loving, kind, and worried, instantly removed me from the dark pit that’d swallowed me a second earlier.
“David,” I breathed, as though the sound of his name was a cure for my anguish. “How did you know?”
“Know what, Beth?” He asked softly.
“That I … I needed to hear your voice,” I stammered. “Wait, shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“I should be, but I couldn’t manage to fall asleep, so I decided to work on a song. And then I started thinking about you and missing you.” His tone was apprehensive. “It’s a good thing I phoned, you sound upset. What is it?”
“My mom accidentally scratched my Sex Pistols record.”
He paused for a second, and then I heard him sighing.
“Beth, you would not cry over a scratched record, unless it was disco. What is it, really?”
I smiled at his stab of humor. “How did you know was I crying?”
“I know you.”
I stalled for a moment while I figured out what to tell him.
“Just tell me. I don’t want to read about it in a bloody letter,” he urged.
I swallowed hard and then stumbled through my explanation. “It’s a lot of things, really. Most of all I miss you. My sister’s gone back to San Diego, so I miss her a little. And then there’s this football player who’s been bothering me.” I held my breath while I waited for his response.
“What? How long has this been going on?”
“It only happened twice last week, and he probably won’t be bugging me again. Still, it upset me.”
“Back up. This happened last week? Why didn’t you tell me when we spoke?”
“Didn’t want to worry you.”
“Dear God, what did this bastard do to you?”
I told him about the two altercations with Mark, and then held my breath.
“This is my worst nightmare,” he said. I could picture him nervously shoving his hair back and gripping his forehead, wearing an agonized expression.
“Sorry.” For burdening him, I truly was sorry.