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Well, here I am.
I sigh and roll over onto my stomach, reaching for my cellphone lying on the pillow and swiping through my messages. I haven’t talked to the girls since I saw them at the cafe, and neither of them have bothered reaching out to me.
Is this really the end?
They’re just going to believe Josh’s side and not listen to mine?
I scowl at my phone and bring up the chat group. Over my dead body, I think while typing a message to the girls: Hey girls. Can we please talk? I want to explain to you what happened.
I wait for a reply. I see Lauren has read the message, but isn’t responding. Charlie still hasn’t seen it. Maybe she’s ignoring my messages? Maybe she’s blocked me. My head falls onto the mattress and I groan against it while kicking my feet, wishing there is some way to fix this whole mess. I love hanging out with Seth and Lucas, but sometimes I need to be around other girls and talk about girly things. And art.
Sure, Seth likes photography, but it’s not like I can debate with him technique or art theory. All that goes way over his head. And Lucas likes poetry and writing, which is an art form itself, but sometimes I just want to gossip and discuss fashion with Charlie and Lauren.
I pout at my phone, tempted to throw it at the pillow when I see Charlie has read my message, but isn’t responding. Great. My only girlfriends and now they want nothing to do with me.
I straighten on the bed and rest my phone next to me, glancing at it for a moment before grabbing my sketchbook. Well, at least I tried, I think while sniffing and wiping at my eyes. Maybe next time I see them I should try warning them about Josh, just to be on the safe side. I would hate it if anything terrible happened to them.
I hear a ding and jump up, snatching my find and holding it close to my face. My eyes widen when I see that Charlie has responded: We’re busy finishing our art projects. We don’t really have time to talk.
My brow furrows and I purse my lips while typing back a quick message: I understand, but it doesn’t have to be long. It’ll take five minutes. Max.
I press send and wait for her to respond. Lauren is reading all the messages, yet not saying a word. I see the three dots pop up on the screen, displaying Charlie’s writing, but it stops. I wait for it to pop up again, but everything remains silent on their end. Any hope I felt before goes crashing down as I continue waiting for them to respond.
They’re probably discussing amongst themselves what they should say. Lauren is probably speaking through Charlie. I bite my lip, wondering if Josh is actually with them. All three of them are probably at the cafe working on their art projects.
My phone dings and I read the message: We’re at the art school. Room 302. Five minutes.
I don’t bother to reply. I jump up from my bed and shove on my boots. Grabbing my purse, I shove my cellphone inside before grabbing my keys and throwing open my door. I glance over my shoulder, wondering briefly if I have everything I need before I slam into something cold and hard.
I quickly turn, cringing when I feel my neck pop from the sudden motion. I still when I see Hunter standing in front of me, wearing sweats with his hair tied loosely into a ponytail. His face looks sickly; pale as if he has the flu. Dark shadows mar his eyes and his cheeks look gaunt. It appears like he has barely eaten anything in the last few days. I sniff and quickly cover my nose at the smell.
“Hey, Hunter,” I say while stepping around him. “Do you need anything?”
His hand had been raised, looking like he was about to knock. I watch it slowly lower and his gaze dips to the floor while giving me a short shake of his head. My hands fist at my sides, knowing that something is up. He wouldn’t be standing outside my door for nothing.
“Are you sure?” I ask. Inside I’m waiting for him to get testy or storm away and slam himself inside his room, but he remains glued to the ground.
“I’m sure,” he murmurs, his voice sounding more like a croak.
My shoulders slump and I nearly slide my purse off and approach him. I hate seeing him like this. Usually, he’s happy and the joy of the party, yet these days he seems more like the shadowed, hollowed version of himself.
I stop myself from taking off my boots and going to him. He can’t do this to me. He can’t be mean to me, yelling and shouting and refusing to tell me what’s wrong and then expect me to drop everything to be there for him. I have my own shit, too. I shove my purse further up my shoulder, straightening myself as I turn on my heel and head towards my coat, lying in a heap on the couch.
“Alright, well let me know if you need anything. I’ll be out for about thirty minutes.”
“I won’t be here,” I hear him murmur.
I shake my head. My stomach churns and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something doesn’t feel right. I still reach for the door, still walk outside and close it behind me. With deft fingers, I button my coat and shiver as the wind whips pass.
I try to ignore my gut, pulling me back to Hunter; try to ignore that feeling telling me this is the last time I’m ever going to see him. But what can I do? I ask myself while stepping down the staircase, holding onto the banister so I don’t slip and fall on my butt. I’ve been trying so hard to think of him, talk to him, but he keeps pushing me away.
I have to let go at some point. He’s a grown man. He can make his own decisions.
I bite my bottom lip, still not enjoying the twisting of my stomach as I stride down the sidewalk towards campus. I don’t know if it’s Hunter, or the talk I’m about to have with the girls that’s making me feel like I need to throw up.
Probably both.
Well, I can only solve one problem at a time. Since the girls are willing to hear me out, I will start with that and slowly make my way back to Hunter. I’ll knock on his door tomorrow, see if he’s home, maybe talk to him about what’s been going on.
