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“You’re important to me,” she finally offers, and somehow that stings more than anything else she could say.
Instead of standing here and letting her see my tears, I spin around and leave the room.
If I were as important as she claims I am, she would’ve remembered that I was coming to stay with her for spring break rather than looking surprised and asking me if something was wrong when I showed up on her doorstep three days ago. You don’t forget important people.
Nash is the important person in her life. I honestly want my sister to be happy, but I just never thought it would come at my expense.
The guilt is bad enough to deal with.
Despite wanting to throw everything across the bedroom they’ve designated as mine, I softly close the door, turning the lock for good measure.
I spend hours sitting on the bed, waiting for the sun to dip below the horizon. I don’t leave my room and walk out of the house until there’s nothing but quiet everywhere.
I ignored my sister’s sobs and Nash’s attempts to try and make her feel better. I hate that it’s easier for people you love to hurt your feelings than those that you hate.
My feet move slowly down the driveway, and I consider that maybe I should’ve packed a bag so by the time I make it to the end of the extremely long driveway, I could just keep walking.
I’ve done this every night since I got here, wishing I’d feel his eyes on me by the time I near the road, but I never do. Even in the pitch-black, the creepiness I felt on campus never threatens me here. It leaves me feeling lifeless, unwanted, undesired… completely alone.
Knowing he’s truly done with me hurts more than it should for a guy I simply hooked up with twice.
Realizing that he has probably found a different toy to play with brings a level of pain I have no business feeling.
It seems everyone in my life finds a better way to spend their time than wasting it on me.
Chapter 16
Donavan
If admitting to a problem, or a weakness in my case, is the first step then I figure facing it and being able to walk away from it would be the second step.
As I watch her once again swaying to the music, I don’t feel any closer to getting over this shit than I did when I was hundreds of miles away.
Unlike the last time I was here, she’s drinking heavily. Her arms are heavy, the movement of her body to the music seeming forced more now than ever. From what I’m watching, it’s clear she doesn’t want to be here, so it makes no sense why she is.
Even the guys around with their eyes on her don’t approach and it makes me wonder what she’s done in my absence to cause them to act that way.
Several girls pass by, looking at her with disgust, shaking their heads at the sight of her, before whispering god knows what to their friends.
She’s worse than a fucking mess, and her spiral seems to now be circling the drain. I don’t notice the guy that she was with that first night I was sent to protect her and it makes me realize I didn’t see him the last two times either.
I don’t exactly have time to fucking worry about some other guy right now because as each minute ticks by, she seems less and less capable of even standing on her fucking feet.
As much as I want to intervene, I don’t. It’s not my place. Who would step in if I weren’t here? Why doesn’t she have friends? Where the hell is that roommate of hers I’ve seen around before?
It’s been months since I was here. This seems to be the semester opening party, but tonight doesn’t seem like a celebration to her. Makeup streaks down her face with random tears, making me wonder what has happened to her in my absence. How many nights has she spent acting this way? How did she spend her summer?
The party carries on, getting louder and louder. She only stops dancing to grab another drink.
I watch as the guy manning the keg shakes his head, looking at her with such disgust you’d think he was looking at a dirty homeless person encroaching on his space rather than a drunken college girl.
She walks away after spitting cuss words at him, but she doesn’t return to the dance floor. People move out of her way, choosing to talk shit about her as she passes rather than offer a helping hand.
I jolt, fighting the urge to rush to her, when she trips at the bottom of the steps.
A group of guys laugh harder as she struggles to stand rather than helping her. My need to follow her as she stumbles away is the only thing that keeps them from dying tonight. The sight of blood on her skinned knees is nearly enough to make me take their heads off, and I don’t mean that in a metaphorical sense either.
