by Ginger Scott
I hear his door open, and when I open my eyes again, I’m standing in his room alone, my breathing almost that of a heart attack victim. My eyes want to cry, and so does my heart, but all I can seem to do is stand there under the flickering light of Nate’s TV while I wait for my roommate to unlock our door again.
Chapter 16
Rowe
He had disappeared. I know he still went to class and to practice, because I caught glimpses of him, but he was never there for long. My flight leaves tomorrow, and I haven’t talked to Nate since those few minutes alone in his room.
It’s almost as if the universe was on Nate’s side. Today’s philosophy lecture was all about self-determination, and every example my professor gave was as if he was plucking it from the pages of my own life. I love Josh with all of my heart, but I also blame him for every twist my path has taken. I’m stuck between wanting to let go and wanting to honor everything he was to my life, wanting to prove that I was his until the very end.
Last night, I purchased a few items from the corner grocery store, tired of being the third wheel to Cass and Ty in the cafeteria. I packed a small lunch today to eat between my two classes. I knew it would save me time and let me get some reading in before my art-history class, but I also knew that if I could manage—if I could find the courage to sit under a tree on the main campus lawn—then Nate would have to see me. He walks this path every day on his way to the math building. I’ve seen him from afar, and I hope putting myself in his way makes him notice me again.
My sandwich is dry because I made it in such a hurry, and I have to chase it with most of my soda just to get it down. I went a little overboard on the bag of pretzels, packing enough for a Boy Scout troop, mostly because I wanted to be sure I was still eating something when Nate walked by. It has to seem authentic, and I need to be distracted, or else I will just look desperate.
I sense his legs crossing the street without even turning my face up, and I sneak a look from my periphery just to be sure he’s walking this way. For a moment, I think he’s not going to stop, and my gut feels heavy. But at the last second, I hear his feet pause along the small gravel path that winds through the trees and grass, and my heart skips a beat.
“Picnic for one?” He’s standing next to me now, and I know when I look up at him his face will give everything away.
“Just trying to conquer my demons,” I say, honestly. Nate kneels down and picks up the book lying open in front of me, thumbing through a few pages. I allow myself to glance up at him, and when I do, he catches me and holds my gaze. His lips are a faint smirk, almost like he can read my mind, and he knows every thought I’ve had of him since he left me standing in his room.
He folds my book closed but holds my page with his finger. “When do you leave for Arizona?” He’s still studying me, and I can tell that right now—right this minute—he’s nervous too.
“Tomorrow, around three. I’m taking a taxi to the airport,” I say, my voice wavering at the thought of everything I have to survive tomorrow. “I…I don’t really like flying.”
“What, flying? Nah, that’s easy,” he says, handing me my book but careful not to touch his hand to mine. The lack of contact hurts. “Want my secret?”
I nod yes, but the truth is I want all of him, the parts I’m afraid to ask for, and the parts I’m afraid will break me.
“Put Neil Diamond on your iPod. It works with almost every song, but ‘Sweet Caroline’ is the best, because you can’t help but want to sing along with it,” he says, standing and pulling his backpack up along his shoulder. “Neil’s got your back.”
He winks when he walks away, and I spend the next fifteen minutes wondering if I’ve lost him before I even had him to lose.
Nate
“This sucks,” I say, throwing the book I’ve been reading for my English class across the room against the wall.
“That’s why I picked business bro. Once you get out of those under-grad classes, every book you read is about money, and who doesn’t like to read about money?” Ty rubs his fingers together for emphasis.
“No, the book’s fine. Actually, I wouldn’t know. I’ve read the same sentence a hundred times because I can’t get my goddamned mind to focus on shit. I sucked it up at batting practice today, too.” It’s almost eleven, and I know Rowe hasn’t hit the showers yet, because I keep checking.
“Girl’s messing with baseball now. I was willing to let things slide when she was just messing with you, but now she’s fuckin’ up my favorite sport,” Ty says in a serious tone. I know he’s joking, but I also know he’s a little frustrated on my behalf. I told Ty about Rowe’s past, and I know he’ll keep it to himself. But my brother has a different perspective on life—he’s all about seizing the moment and not living with regrets. When I told him about Rowe, he tried to encourage me to give up my pursuit, saying that if she’s been stuck for two years, then nothing’s ever going to break her pattern. But I can’t give up yet. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think my heart would let me.
“I’ll be back,” I say, grabbing my keys and heading to the showers again. It’s been fifteen minutes since the last time I checked.
“You’re kind of pathetic, just so you know!” Ty yells after me.
“Thanks, I know,” I say back, shaking my head at myself.
I can hear the humming from a few doors away, and I know she’s in there. I don’t even know if she realizes she does it, but when Rowe showers, she hums, sometimes actually singing words. I think it’s a subconscious thing she does when she’s nervous, but her voice is amazing. Tonight she’s singing that Maroon 5 song “She Will Be Loved.” She doesn’t know all the words, so when she gets to a part that she’s unsure of, she makes up lyrics, and it’s cute as hell.
The water cuts off, and I know she’ll be walking out in two minutes. She hurries every time, and I understand why now. My heart is pounding so hard that I can actually feel it in my temples. Damn, how does one girl make me so unsure of everything? Two hours ago, I was determined, and an hour ago, I still thought this was a good idea. I don’t know anything anymore though. I take a deep breath and walk out of the men’s locker room, moving a few yards away from the women’s exit, where I lean against the wall. I’m sure I’m going to scare her, but I hope she gets over it fast. And I hope she doesn’t punch me!
I’m actually bouncing on my legs, like a boxer ready to enter the ring, when I see her shadow around the corner.
“Don’t get scared,” I say, picking probably the worst moment, the worst tone, and the worst phrase to utter when someone runs into you in the dark. This is confirmed when she flattens herself against the wall, dropping all of her things, just like she did that first time we met. Her hair is wrapped in a towel on top of her head, though it’s sliding off now that I just scared the crap out of her. She’s wearing the same giant T-shirt and shorts she was that first night, too. And my heartbeat is literally doing a drumroll.
“Holy hell, I think I just swallowed my tongue,” she says, her hands pressed to her chest. “For the record, yelling ‘don’t get scared’ in a dark hallway to a girl with some serious post-traumatic-stress issues is a sure fire way to make her think she’s dying.”
“I’m sorry,” I say with a wince. I reach down to grab her towel, which has now completely slid off her head. When I stand back up to hand it to her, I’m struck by how absolutely drop-dead gorgeous she is. There isn’t an ounce of makeup on her, and her hair is sopping wet, twisted along the side of her neck and dripping down the front of her white T-shirt. She’s not wearing a bra, and I’m careful not to draw any attention to that fact, because I don’t want her to shift her arms and cover any of that up. I’m a good guy, but I’m not that good.
“Were you…waiting for me?” she asks, her eyes sad and hopeful. This moment, the way she looks right now, makes every frustrating second from the last four days worthwhile.
“I was.” Her eyes widen, just the smallest amount, but it’s enough. “So, you have y
our Neil ready?”
“I do. I took your advice, ‘Sweet Caroline.’ I’m not so sure it’s going to work though. I don’t really know the words,” she bites her lip, like she’s actually embarrassed that she doesn’t know the lyrics to a Neil Diamond song. Though, I really can’t believe she doesn’t know this one.
“It’s easy. And you’ll know them after you hear the chorus the first time. It’s one of those songs,” I say. I loop my thumbs in my pockets because at this very moment, if I don’t, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop myself from touching her. Her shirt is now completely soaked on one side, and her nipple is peaking through the material. It’s all I can focus on, that and her lips, which I am fighting not to taste.
She can’t seem to hold my gaze long, and I start to make a challenge out of it, dipping my knees to look at her lowered head when she breaks our connection to concentrate on her feet and the floor. This makes her giggle, and God do I love that sound.
“There she is,” I say, when she takes a normal breath finally and holds my stare long enough to shake her head at my teasing. “You packed yet?”
I’m stalling. I want to stand here in this darkened hallway and have conversations with her about absolutely nothing important for as long as it takes for me to get enough balls to make a statement. That, and I just love listening to her voice. I love looking at her body. I love watching her come out of her shell. And I want to make her whole.
“Is it weird to pack dirty laundry? I was going to do it, but then that just seemed like a waste of time,” she shrugs.
“No, moms love it when we bring home dirty laundry,” I say.
“My dad does the laundry, you sexist pig.” She’s feisty again, and I love the way she’s now standing with her hand on her hip and her head tilted to one side like she just put me in my place. I also love the way her posture stretches her T-shirt across both of her breasts. I no longer need to imagine what they look like because in the ever-so brief glances my eyes make, I am committing every curve to memory. She bends down to pick up her small bag of shampoo and conditioner, and somehow when she stands, the fabric clings to her even more, and I’m no longer able to hide my reaction.
I stare, and I stare long and hard at the perfect roundness and the small pink tips that are poking through the cotton, almost as if they’re trying to reach me. I swallow, and start to lick my lips when I realize how obvious I’m being. I catch my breath, and quickly move my eyes to hers. She doesn’t look upset, but she does look embarrassed, and within a fraction of a second, she looks down and notices her wet shirt and everything it’s revealing. She pulls her towel up in a clump in front of her and squeezes it to her chest, almost ashamed, and I feel like a dick for making her feel so insecure.
“Don’t worry. I…I didn’t really see anything,” I lie, gritting my back teeth together and forcing an apologetic smile. Fuck, I’m making this worse, and she’s starting to look upset.
“Oh my god, I’m pretty sure you did. Oh man…” She’s starting to breathe heavier, like she might pass out. “I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize my shirt was that wet. And you must have…uhg!”
Now she’s hiding her face in her towel too, and she holds up her other hand, the one clutching the bag, and does her best to wave. “I’m going to go put in my strip-club applications now. Nice talking to you. See you when I get back,” she says, walking away quickly.
I stand there for a few seconds and try to figure out my next move, but all I can focus on is how damned embarrassed she was, and how unbelievably beautiful her body is. “You really shouldn’t be embarrassed. I mean, I liked it…what I saw? Or, what I think I saw…”
“Not helping!” she yells from the safety of her door. She opens and shuts it quickly, and I slap my forehead wondering when the hell I turned into a junior-high boy.
Ty is watching ESPN when I get back to the room, and he waves me out of his way with his arm when I stop in front of the TV. “Well, how’d the grand master plan go?” he says, only half interested in me. Clearly more focused on the highlights from last week’s Saints game.
“Oh, you know…I pretty much blatantly stared at her tits for about ten minutes until she realized what a perv I am and ran away,” I say, flinging myself backward on my bed and covering my eyes with my pillow.
“That sounds like progress to me, bro. Nice tits?” Ty asks. I stare at him for a few seconds, at first wanting to throw something at him for his dumb-ass question, but eventually I realize I’m no better than he is.
“Yeah. They’re pretty fantastic tits,” I say, laying my head back again and burying it deep under my pillow.
The sounds of Sports Center lull me in and out of a sleepy state for the next half hour, and I’m almost ready to give in completely and just let this shitty day come to an end when my phone buzzes next to me with an alert.
When I pull the pillow from my eyes, the light in the room is almost blinding, and it takes me a few seconds to focus on my phone screen. When I realize I have a Facebook message from Rowe, I find my bearings quickly and scoot up to sit with my back against the wall and open the message section.
Hi Josh.
Shit! This isn’t for me. I set the phone back down and click the screen off. I sit up all the way at the back of my bed, out of Ty’s view, and I run my hand through my hair about a thousand times hoping some sort of sign comes to me. She writes to him. This…this isn’t good. Rowe sends messages to her ex-boyfriend who, from what I understand, is damned near brain-dead. I just called him her ex-boyfriend, but that’s not even true. He’s her boyfriend, or at least that’s the last thing he remembers them as—if he even remembers.
Fuck!
“I’ll be back, dude.” I grab my phone and slip my feet back into my shoes and head out the door. Ty says something when I leave, but I can’t even focus on his voice. I head to the stairs and just keep going, my feet gaining speed until I hit the front doors of the dorm. I start a slow jog, and I get faster and faster, until I’m actually sprinting all the way to the baseball field.
The lights aren’t on, but I can see enough to find my way. The equipment is all still out, so I slip though the side gate and through the small space at the front of the batting cage. The bats are all hanging still from our practice this afternoon, and I know I’m not supposed to be in here, but goddamn do I need to hit something right now!
I flip the switch on the machine and it takes it a few seconds for the wheels to gain speed. It’s dark as hell, but in a few minutes, I should be able to see enough. I pull my phone out from my pocket and look at Rowe’s photo and name. I know I shouldn’t read it. I should just delete it or not look at it and write her back quickly, letting her know she sent me something meant for someone else.
Someone else.
Fuck! That’s the problem. There’s always going to be someone else.
I grab the wooden bat because I want to feel the sting in my hands. Sometimes I use it to warm up before games because it makes swinging metal even easier. But tonight I want to feel the pain and stress of the wood—to pull this feeling from my heart and push it into my hands.
Crack!
The vibration hurts like hell, and I step back and let the next two pitches smash into the hard plastic behind the plate. My eyes are starting to adjust, so I step back in and hit three more, swinging harder than I normally do, punishing the ball for everything I’m feeling. One more ball fires my way, and I swing and miss, which just pisses me off.
“Stupid goddamned machine!” I throw the bat across the cage and smack my hand against the emergency shut-off and the motor slows until the only thing I hear is my rapid breathing and the crickets in the grass.
I hold my phone in my lap while I slide down to sit with my back against the chain-link of the cage. My weight sends up a small puff of dirt when I hit the ground. I pull my knees up and pat the dust from the legs of my jeans and let out a tiny laugh at how futile it is. I’m filthy, and I just picked a fight with a decade-old pitching machine
.
I’m slow at first, clicking the phone screen on and hovering my thumb over Rowe’s profile picture on Facebook. I don’t even have her number. I never asked, but she never gave it to me either. This is the only way I can contact her, other than holding her hostage in her own dorm room. And neither method was from her choosing. I sought her out on Facebook, and heaven gave me a break when they put us together on the same floor of Hayden Hall. But never, not once, did Rowe come for me.
I’m reading before I can stop myself, and I’m reading with anger in my heart. I’m not angry at Rowe, I’m angry at myself for falling for her—for falling for a girl who can’t let herself be mine to love.
Hi Josh.
Haven’t written in a week, lots to catch you up on. I told two more people about you—my roommates, Cass and Paige. I know, I know…but I was wrong about Paige. She’s actually pretty nice, once you get through all of that fake crap. I’ve been wrong about a lot. I didn’t think I could do this without you. But here I am, almost a month in, and I don’t want to go home, Josh. Please don’t take this the wrong way. I miss my parents, and there’s a part of me that wants to crawl back into the cocoon I lived in for two years, the one where I hid from the world because you’re no longer in it. There’s a reason I don’t go into your room when I visit your parents. At first, I thought it was because I couldn’t—because I was too afraid of hurting and seeing you unable to speak or move. But I don’t think that’s it anymore. I don’t come see you because I’m selfish. I’m selfish, Josh, and I feel so awful about it, but I am. I want to forget about you. I want to remember you on that last day, moments before that man walked into our lives with his gun, but I don’t want to remember you after. I don’t want to know what you look like now, because I don’t want that vision in my head making me feel guilty for being alive. And I want to be done with you. I am cold and callous even writing this, but oh god Josh, I want to be done with you. The more I think about it, the more I know we probably would have broken up by now anyway, because as good as you were, we were young, and the me I’m growing into wants to experience more in life. There’s this guy, and he’s all I can think about, and Josh I want to love him. I’m so close to giving in, and I think if I could just let myself, he would love me back. But I can’t, because you’re always there…in the way of my life. I’m probably just angry. And I’m sorry I’m taking this out on you tonight. But it’s not like you’ll write back or see any of it. I’m not writing you any more. Not because I don’t love you, because I always will. But because I’m letting you go. I let you go, Josh. Please…please let me go too.