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I caused this.
I did this.
Every thought, every pulse, every breath flowing through me slows.
Stops.
Dies.
Lids heavy, she lets a tear fall from those maple-colored eyes, the same ones that once held so much strength and courage and fight to keep them clear. To keep them dry. I once told her that she never had to hide those tears from me. But now I wish that she had. Because I can’t wear her pain when I’m the one who created it.
“I can’t right now, Connor,” she says, and I find myself nodding because I can’t either. “I just need time.”
So do I, I want to tell her. Instead, I step to the side and give her what she wants, what she says she needs, in the hopes that soon, she’ll give me the same in return.
THIRTY
ava
There’s no good morning from my mom the day after I skipped school. No kiss on the cheek. No what’s for breakfast? Nope. The first thing she says is: “Is Connor here?”
“Not right now,” I tell her, mustering a smile. “But he might come over tonight.” I don’t want to break her heart and tell her that maybe—maybe she won’t be seeing him at all. Ever.
I tried.
I went through every possible scenario in my head of who Wendy might be, and I went back to his reaction when I confronted him about it. First was the anger when he realized I’d seen the message, then came the apologies. And it was enough to convince me of what was painfully true, no matter how much it hurt.
I had every intention of going to school yesterday, but the idea of seeing him made my stomach turn. And so I roamed around aimlessly until it was time to go home, hiding in places no one would find me, crying at moments when hope seemed like a dream.
When Trevor wakes up, he asks the same thing. I tell them both, “He’s really busy with basketball at the moment, trying to get as much practice in before school’s over… and he needs to rest, and my bed’s too small for him to get a decent night’s sleep.” There. That should cover everything.
“We should buy you a new bed,” Mom says, looking over at Trevor. “We can afford that, right?
“Sure,” Trevor lies. Then to me: “Don’t worry about making breakfast for me; I’m going to work early.”
My brow raised, I ask, “You are?”
He nods, his eyes on mine, a silent message. He’s taken on extra work… for extra cash… and not to buy me a new bed.
I get ready for school, planning on actually attending because I can’t hide out forever. When Krystal arrives, I leave and head for the bus stop, praying Connor doesn’t stop me. Halfway there, the sky turns gray, and the heavens open. Thunder claps, followed by rain so thick I can barely see a foot in front of me. “Fuck my life,” I grind out, removing my bag and holding it above my head as if it’s somehow going to protect me. Luckily, I don’t wait long for the bus to arrive, and when I get to the stop around the corner from school, I get off and bolt to the school for some cover. But the gates are closed, padlocked. I grip the iron gates with both hands and shake, cursing at the sky. “What the fuck?!”
I pull out my phone, dial Rhys’s number.
“Ava?”
“Why is school closed?”
“Student-free day. Why?”
“Goddammit!” I scream, and he laughs. “Can you give me a ride home? It’s pouring out, and I caught the bus.”
“Um… I’m a little… pre-occupied right now.”
Through the phone, I hear a girl giggle, then say, “Harder, Rhys!”
“Gross!” I hang up, take a second to feel sorry for myself, and then walk at a snail’s pace back to the bus stop. There’s no point in running; I’m already drenched, and there’s no shelter at this bus stop because rich kids don’t take buses. They have drivers or their parents’ credit cards to Uber everywhere.
I drop my bag on the ground and lie across the bench, letting the raindrops fall directly on my face, mixing with the tears that can’t seem to quit. Cars drive past, splashing dirty road water on me, and I don’t even care enough to move.
