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She climbs the steps onto the bus and I watch as she marches toward the back and plops down on a seat. All the while refusing to look out the window at me.
Fine.
She can get pissy if she wants. It was just a simple fucking question.
I speed home on my bike, then I sit idling in the driveway for a moment, contemplating whether I should go to the bus stop around the corner to pick her up. Then the image of her and Jason on the grass flashes in my mind. Her laughter. Her smile. The things I thought were only mine.
I rev the engine loudly to drown out the harsh pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.
I pull the bike away from the house, but I don’t head to the bus stop. I go to Tristan’s instead.
Forever Forgiven
By the time I step inside the house, I’m sweating profusely from the insane humidity. I close the door then stand completely still for a moment, listening for the sound of a TV or guitar or some type of music. Nothing. The house is cool and silent. Chris is gone.
My stomach aches as I think of the way he spoke to me and where he could possibly be. Probably somewhere with Tristan. He wouldn’t cheat on me, would he?
I drop my backpack on the kitchen table and sit down in a chair. I allow myself ten minutes of hyperventilating and worried thoughts, then I pull my books out of my bag and start on my homework. Three hours later, Jackie gets home from work as I’m putting away the last textbook back into my backpack.
“Hey, sweetie. Where’s Chris?”
I shrug as I lift my backpack onto my shoulder and head for the stairs.
“You okay, Claire?” she calls after me.
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
I race up the last few steps and close my bedroom door softly behind me. Collapsing onto my bed, I stare up at the blank ceiling and allow the first tears to fall. I can call or text him, but, for the first time in the two years we’ve been together, I don’t think he’ll respond.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and stare at the screen. I’m about to check for missed calls and texts, when the phone starts ringing. It’s Chris.
“Hello?”
I can hear movement, but he doesn’t answer.
“Chris?”
More movement, then I hear Tristan laughing.
He dialed my number on mistake.
I should hang up, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I listen for a few more seconds and Chris’s voice makes my stomach ache again.
“She can sit with me.”
“Aw… Is that your new girlfriend now that you’re kicking Claire to the curb?”
“Fuck — ” There’s a loud rustling then the line goes dead.
I throw the phone across the room and the battery pops off when it hits the wall. Turning over onto my side, I curl up and close my eyes. Jackie will probably come up in a few minutes to call me down for dinner. But she’ll leave me alone if she thinks I’m asleep. Then, when Chris comes home later, she’ll tell him not to disturb me.
Just a few minutes later, Jackie knocks on the door. Then I hear the door squeak as she peeks inside. She softly closes the door and I let out the breath I was holding.
So Chris and Tristan are out with some girls and I’m lying here hiding from him and Jackie. What is wrong with me? I’m not going to lie back and take this.
I sit up and turn on the lamp on my bedside table. I retrieve my phone from the other side of the room, then I dial Chris’s number. The call is immediately routed to voicemail, but I don’t bother leaving a message. I consider texting him, but decide against it. He probably turned his phone off when he realized he had accidentally called me.
I turn my phone off and drop it into the top drawer of my bedside table. Then I turn off the lamp, roll over and go to sleep.
I wake to the sound of Chris’s voice. “Claire.”
Opening my eyes, the room is pitch black, but the soft silver glow of the streetlights illuminates the left side of Chris’s face as he kneels next to my bed.
“Go away.”
“Claire, we need to talk.”
“Why? So you can ‘kick me to the curb’?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Get out!”
“Babe, just calm down.”
I slide out of bed and he stands up. Immediately, I begin pushing him toward the door. “Get out. I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I don’t want to look at you. Just get out!”
“What the fuck! You’re the one who couldn’t answer one fucking question and you’re pushing me out?”
“It was a stupid question!”
“You think it’s stupid that I want to know about your relationships with other guys?”
“I don’t have relationships with other guys!”
I keep pushing him until his back hits the inside of my closed bedroom door.
“Keep your voice down or my mom’s gonna hear us.”
“I don’t care if she hears us arguing. I hope she does. And I hope they send me somewhere else where I don’t have to hear your stupid voice.”
He glares at me through the murky darkness and I can feel the rage building inside him with every heaving breath he takes. “That’s what you want? You want to throw this all away without letting me explain a fucking thing? Fine. Have it your way.”
He opens the door and slips out of my bedroom without another sound.
A jolt of blinding pain lights up my chest and I cover my face as I sink to my knees and double over. What have we done?
I look up at the door, half hoping it will open at any moment and Chris will appear to make this right. Instead, all I see is my backpack lying on the floor a few feet away. I crawl to it and hastily slide open the zipper. Then I yank out the crumpled drawing Jason gave me and I rip it up into at least twenty pieces and throw it in the trash.
* * *
three weeks later
* * *
I step onto the bus and trudge down the aisle to the usual seat in the back. Halfway down the aisle, I look up and my heart stops at the sight of Chris sitting in my usual row of seats. All the pain and misery of the past three weeks floods my veins at once and my breath hitches in my chest. I drag my feet forward until I reach his row and he hands me a folded piece of paper before he scoots over to make room for me.
I take the piece of paper from his hand and sit down next to him, positioning my backpack between us on the seat. I unfold the paper, which has clearly been taped together, and I’m not surprised to see the drawing I threw away in my bedroom three weeks ago. Chris has taped a post-it note with a word bubble saying, “I’m sorry,” to the front of the picture.
But it’s what’s wrapped inside the drawing that makes me want to cry in the middle of a crowded bus. Two tickets to prom.
I didn’t expect Chris to take me to my senior prom now that he’s dropped out. But when we broke up three weeks ago, I knew that there was definitely no chance it would happen. I actually cried to Rachel about it last week when she asked me if Chris and I had gotten back together yet. I didn’t expect her to tell Chris that I was sad about the prom.
And I didn’t expect her to tell me the truth about what happened when Chris accidentally called me three weeks ago. Apparently, the girl he was going to sit with was Tristan’s little sister Molly. And they were sitting together in Tristan’s truck on the way to get frozen yogurt. Yes, I felt stupid. But that was six days ago and I still haven’t figured out how to approach Chris.
He leans over to whisper something in my ear, but I honestly don’t care what he has to say. I turn my face toward him and surprise him with a kiss on the cheek. His hands instantly reach up to cradle my face and I let out a deep sigh. How I’ve missed those hands.
I nuzzle my cheek into his palm and he smiles. I don’t care if there are dozens of eyes on us right now.
He leans his forehead against mine. “Let’s never break up again, okay?”
I nod and end up banging my forehead on his.
He laugh
s. “You don’t have to get violent on me. I know I fucked up.”
