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Her pain was inevitable, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t fix it. I had to let her bleed and I was forced to sit back and watch as her world was ripped apart by a tragedy that I tried my damnedest to prevent. She was my bandage and I was her net. I caught her when she was falling, and we will be bonded, whether it’s by friendship or more, until the end of time because of the pain we’ve shared.
My mind doesn’t often wander here, to the memories that I’ve forced myself to forget. That can of worms is closed. Sealed with super glue, and buried under nine feet of cement.
Chapter Three
WHEN I GET TO THE apartment, I’m greeted by a medium-sized package on the doorstep. Tessa’s name is scribbled in black marker, telling me immediately who it’s from. I shove my key into the door and gently kick the box inside. The lights are off, so I know Tessa’s not home from work yet.
I’m tired and I get to sleep in tomorrow. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, my classes begin later than the rest of the week. I’m very much looking forward to it; Tuesdays and Thursdays are my favorite days of the week because I can lie in my bed in boxers and watch television. It’s a simple, somewhat sad luxury, but I enjoy every second of it. I kick my shoes off and line them up while yelling Tessa’s name through the apartment, just to make sure she isn’t here. When she doesn’t respond, I start to undress in the living room, just because I can. Another simple luxury. I unbutton my jeans and push them down my legs. I even kick them off, letting them flop to the floor. I even leave them there. I’m feeling slightly rebellious, but mostly really exhausted.
After a second thought, I pick up my pants, shirt, socks, and boxers from the floor and carry them into my room, where I toss them on the floor to clean up later.
I need a shower.
The handle to the shower in my only bathroom sticks almost every time I turn it on. It takes at least one minute for the water to wend its way through the pipes. Our super “fixed” it twice, but it never stays. Tessa even tried to fix it herself a few times. Turns out repairwoman isn’t her thing. At all. I laugh at the memory of her soaked body and how mad she was when the water burst from the pipe. The metal handle went flying across the bathroom, putting a small hole in the drywall. A few weeks later, it broke again when she turned the shower on and ended up yanking the flimsy handle off the wall. The result was her getting sprayed in the face with ice-cold water. She screamed like a banshee and ran out of the bathroom like she was on fire.
As I listen to the water moving through the lines and take a quick piss, my mind drifts through the day, how fast my classes seemed to go by, how surprised I was when Dakota and Maggy came into Grind. I still feel weird about seeing Dakota, especially with Aiden, and I wish that I would’ve had some time to prepare. I haven’t talked to her in a few weeks and it was hard to concentrate when she was wearing such revealing clothing. I think it went pretty well, though; I didn’t say anything completely embarrassing. I didn’t spill coffee or stumble over my words. I wonder if Dakota felt awkward and like she was forcing conversation with me, or if she barely notices the tension anymore?
She doesn’t reach out to me much—ever, really—so I have no idea how she feels or where we stand. She’s never been very vocal about her emotions, but I know she’s the type of girl who holds a grudge for life. She doesn’t have any reason to have negative feelings toward me, but my mind immediately goes there. It’s a little weird to me that we went from talking every day, to barely at all, to radio silence. After she called me to end our relationship, I tried to keep our friendship afloat, but she’s given me little help.
I miss her sometimes.
Hell, I really fucking miss her.
I got used to not seeing her when I moved from Michigan to Washington, but we still talked daily, and I’d fly out and visit her every chance I had, even once I got busy with college. When she moved to New York, she started becoming distant. I could tell something was off, but I kept hoping it would get better. Still, with every phone conversation we had, I felt her slipping away from me more and more. Sometimes I would just sit and stare at my phone, hoping that she would call back and want to hear about my day. Just ask one question or give me more than a quick, two-minute rundown of her day. I hoped that maybe she was just adjusting to her new life. Maybe she was going through a phase, I thought.
I wanted her to get the full experience of her new life and make new friends. I didn’t mean to take anything from her. I just wanted to be a part of her life like I always had been. I wanted her to throw herself into her dance academy; I knew how important this was for her. I didn’t want to be a distraction. I tried to be as supportive as I possibly could, even as she began to carve me out of her life. I played the role of supportive boyfriend as her schedule became fuller and fuller.
I had always played that role well, ever since we were kids. I’m comfortable in this role, just like the nice guy. I stayed patient and ever so understanding. The night that she called to give me reason after reason why our relationship wasn’t working, I still nodded along on the other end of the line and told her it was okay, that I understood. I didn’t understand, and her “reasons” felt flimsy, but I knew there was no changing her mind, and as much as I wanted to fight for her, I didn’t want to become a burden to her. I didn’t want our relationship to become another thing she had to fight. Dakota spent her life fighting and I had managed to be one of the few positive forces in her life, and I want to keep it that way.
