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She releases a mournful sigh. “I know. I’m an idiot. I told you I could barely look at him. He was just so…”
“Sexy?”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “And big and masculine.”
I hum. “Maybe one day you’ll run into him somewhere. You can ask him then.”
Wyn gives me a look. “Yeah, because life is just that amazing.”
I want it to be.
For my dreamer, artistic friend at least.
I want her to see her dream man again. I want her to ask him his name, talk to him, tell him all the things she’s been feeling ever since she saw him that one night.
And I want him to fall in love with her. I want him to be a good guy. A guy who will care for her heart, for her feelings. A guy who won’t make her cry.
“He was a good guy, wasn’t he?” I ask Wyn after a while.
“I’d like to think so. He made me feel alive though. For those ten minutes he was with me.”
“I love that for you,” I say, feeling an overwhelming love for her as I blink away my own tears.
Wyn watches me for a few moments before she hesitantly asks, “What happened, Callie?”
“Nothing.”
“Something happened, didn’t it? With him.” She frowns. “Has he done something? Has he hurt you again?”
I swallow down a thick wave of emotions. “No. He didn’t hurt me. Well, not more than he already has.”
This time around, he didn’t do anything I didn’t ask him to. This time around, he didn’t do anything that I didn’t make him do.
You want to fall for someone else?
I do. I still do.
It hadn’t occurred to me until that night, until I said the words. But I do want to fall for someone else. Someone other than him. Someone like Toby.
Someone who’s at least capable of loving. Unlike him.
“So then what happened? Why have you been so sad?”
Sad.
Yeah, I’ve been that.
I don’t know how to stop being sad at the thought of falling for someone else.
“It’s just…” I bite my lip. “He gave up soccer and he’s working for his dad. That’s how he got me off the hook.”
“What?”
“Yeah.”
“But Callie, that’s like…”
“I know.”
“Huge.”
I sniffle. “Yeah.”
“Are you sure he’s not in l–”
I cut her off. “Yeah, I’m sure. This is what he does. He did all those sweet things before and I fell for them and…” I shake my head. “I can’t. Not again, Wyn. I can’t forget what he did. I can’t forget how he broke my heart. No matter how hard I try and… It’s just my stupid broken heart that still...”
Beats for him.
I can see Wyn is blinking too and I know she’s doing it to keep her tears at bay. “Hearts are stupid, aren’t they? Foolish little dreamers.”
I chuckle sadly. “Yeah.”
“So your heart wants him then.”
I bite my lip again. Harder this time. Much harder, so I can stop the thundering in my chest. This wave of ache and need.
“I’m not listening to it,” I tell her. “I listened to my heart once and it didn’t turn out so well.”
Wyn nods. Then, “And what about the other stuff?”
“What?”
“You know, you’ve been sick a lot. And you haven’t been to your studio.”
Oh. That.
When I said there’s something wrong with me, I meant that there’s something wrong with me on multiple levels.
Levels like my stomach is acting weird this week. I’m either ragingly hungry or I’m throwing up or feeling nauseated. Especially around my favorite things, coffee and bacon. The bacon thing really saddens me because I don’t get to eat it that often anyway because of my stupid diet. So I savor it whenever I eat it, but I can’t even do that anymore.
I do fantastic with arugula or kale. Even lettuce.
Things that I’ve had to eat because of my diet but have never really liked in the past.
So I don’t know what’s happening there. It actually snuck up on me a few days ago.
Not to mention, I’ve been so tired, bone tired lately. So much so that ballet and practice and exercises are the last thing on my mind, which is fine because I already sent in my Juilliard application but still. I can barely drag myself out of bed in the morning and stay awake in classes after lunch.
I feel like my body is swollen and heavy and I just want to sleep till the end of time.
“Maybe I’ll go next week,” I say and smile reassuringly.
Hopefully I’ll be better next week, won’t I?
I have to be.
This can’t go on forever. Especially when this is what I want. Especially when it’s been three weeks since that night.
But hours later, long after Wyn has gone to sleep, I’m still awake.
I’m tossing and turning, so hot and so uncomfortable in my skin that I decide to sneak out. Coincidentally, it’s a Thursday and so a perfect night for sneaking out.
