It took her two weeks to start smiling again.
It hurt to breathe that day.
It was yet another sign that she was moving on. First, it was her eyes, the puffiness subsided and the red slowly started to fade. I’ve been watching her come back to life little by little, while I remain in my self-created purgatory.
After countless attempts of calling, texting, and knocking on her door, I finally had to face reality—it was over. It still is. She hasn’t spoken to me in almost three weeks. Every now and then, I’ll catch her glancing my way from across the classroom. I strain to see if I can find a shred of hope in her eyes, but who am I kidding? There’s no hope for the hopeless.
I fucked up, and I’ve been paying for it ever since. Most days, I don’t even want to attempt to do anything that would make me feel better. I don’t deserve relief. I hurt the only person I’ve ever loved. The one person who trusted me with her heart, and I let her down in the worst way possible. I never wanted to cause her pain. As fucked up as it sounds, I did what I did to avoid all that.
I thought that if I could get myself back to where I was when I first met her, when I had a little more control over my body, then I’d never again have to put her through what happened the night we were about to have sex. The last thing I wanted was to disappoint her again or to make her feel that she was the reason why I couldn’t get it up.
The thing is, I’m confused. I’m confused and angry and stressed the fuck out because I don’t know why I’m so messed up. I don’t know why everything revolves around sex and my constant craving to get off. It’s irritating as shit, and all I was trying to do was fix myself so that I could fix us. But in the end, I broke us—I broke her.
And here she is, looking healed with a semblance of happiness as she walks into the classroom with Micah by her side. The two of them now sit up front and away from me. Aside from the casual “What’s up?” when we pass each other in the halls, Micah and I don’t talk. It doesn’t bother me as much as I would have thought. I’d rather Adaline have him as friend than for her to be alone. After all, I’m the one who put the fracture in our small group, so I’m the one who should be ostracized.
She wears her golden hair down today, and I can still remember how soft it felt between my fingers when I would drag my hands through it. I can still remember how her heart would beat against my chest when she’d fall asleep on top of me while watching television. And I can still taste the little bit of what’s left of her in my mouth.
I have to look away when my stomach pangs in remembrance of how good it felt to be with her, to have someone like her love me and care about me when I’m so undeniably worthless.
I always knew she was too good to be true.
I flip open my textbook and pull out a pen when the bell rings. Chatter subsides from around the room when Mrs. Wexler instructs us to pass forward our homework, and for the next fifty minutes, I steal glances over to the girl who was once mine. I don’t know how I’m still managing to keep my grades up, when she’s all I can think about.
As the final seconds of class tick by, I’m overwhelmed with the same sinking feeling that comes every time she walks out of a class we share. It’s the definable divide that now separates us. Texts no longer tether us during the school day when we aren’t together. Nothing tethers us anymore—only memories.
“Yo, Kase. What’s up?” Rhett, a buddy of mine, shouts when I walk out into the crowded hall. He shoots me a high five and starts talking about the party he’s throwing this weekend.
I only half pay attention when I hear Trent’s voice from a few lockers down. “So, you guys coming tonight, or what?”
I peer over my shoulder to see Micah sling his arm around Adaline. His touch on her twists my gut. Whatever he just said causes her to laugh, but it’s when he kisses her cheek, that I uncoil.
In two quick steps, I slam my hands against his chest and push him away from her, with a gritty, “What the fuck, man?”
“Dude, chill.”
“Don’t fucking touch her.”
“Kason, stop!” My Everything snaps, grabbing my arm and pulling me back from completely losing it with my so-called friend.
Everyone around us stares as Micah steps up to me with a sneering, “What’s your problem, man?”
“Leave him alone, Kason. He was only kidding around.”
I look to Adaline and my chest seizes. “Are you two together?”
Too quickly, she lets go of my arm. A touch I wasn’t ready to lose. A touch that heals and wounds all at the same time; its absence only antagonizing my anger for everything I’ve lost, and I spit it out on Micah, because I wouldn’t dare accost Adaline. “Keep your fucking hands off her!”
“Why? You think yours are any better?” he goads me with a shit-eating grin. “You treated her like a piece of shit.”
And with everything I did wrong, I know I loved her the best way I knew how. In a flash of a second, I have my fist reared back, but Rhett pulls me away.
“She isn’t worth it, Kase. She’s just some chick.”
Jerking out of his grip, my neck flames when I get in his face, temper lost, and fume, “What the fuck did you say? Just some chick?”
“What is going on out here, Kason?” Mrs. Wexler scolds as she steps in. “You want to explain this outburst in the principal’s office?”
“It was a misunderstanding. Kason didn’t do anything wrong.” Adaline immediately defends, and I’m in shock that she would even care enough to keep me out of trouble.
“I suggest you all get to your next class and keep yourselves under control.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I respond, and when Adaline turns to look at me, I want to say something, anything, but I can’t. My heart won’t let me.
Before I know it, Micah’s pulling her away, and I want to fucking scream at him for putting his hands on what was supposed to always be mine. As they walk away, leaving me emotionally stalled in the middle of the hall, students begin to move about. Life resumes for everyone but me, and I wonder when it’ll be my turn to be able to move on like Adaline’s been able to do.
Rhett claps his hand over my shoulder. “Forget about her, man.”
With my heart in my throat, I don’t say another word as I turn my back and go about my day.
“You going to be at the Battle of the Bands tonight?” Rhett asks as we head down the hall.
“After what just happened, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“So, what the hell happened between you guys?”
“Nothing,” I grumble before turning down another hall and leaving him behind.
“If you’re hard up for her, she’s going to be there,” he calls out. “Trent’s band is playing.”
I spend the last two classes of the day wrapped up in my head, debating whether I want to show up at the school tonight for the annual Battle of the Bands contest. I figured that was what Trent was asking her about in the hall before I lost my shit, but Rhett just confirmed it.
I hate that, after all we shared, we’re so incredibly detached from each other. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to have her back, to have her understand that my heart was in the right place even though my actions were the wrong ones. How do I even begin to try to explain that fucked-up logic to her when it’s anything but logical?
When the final bell rings, urgency takes me by the throat as it does at the end of every day. I can’t get out of the school fast enough, and as much as I want to fight this off, I know I can’t. The more I deny myself, the worse I become. But at the same time, the more I give in, the worse I become. No matter what I do, it’s a losing battle. With each month, I’m more and more dependent on the rush that comes with each release.
Weak and powerless, I drive to the nearest gas station, lock myself in the stench-filled bathroom, and beat off. For the moment, I’m transfixed by the intoxication of pleasure that races through my bloodstream. My whole body singes in excitement as I work myself closer and closer. Gripping my hand on the edge of the sink, I close my eyes and imagine Adaline in the obscenest way and shoot my load into a wad of toilet paper.
With my dick still out, I try to catch my breath as shame devours the buzz of gratification. I look at myself in the mirror and curse the guy staring back at me.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
When I imagine all the possible responses, they all come up null. Because what the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I holed up in a skeezy bathroom, getting myself off to indecent thoughts of the girl I love? Nothing about this feels okay anymore.
Is it because I’ve never had to consider anyone aside from myself, so indulgence was always easy? It wasn’t until Adaline came into the mix that I started to see how corrosive this craving was. It’s made me lose the one thing I never wanted to lose.
Disgust snakes around me, and I zip my pants before bolting out of the bathroom. Every step is a battle to clear my head of my own tormenting thoughts. But torment lingers on, because it’s her day on my work schedule.
I was sure Adaline’s mother would’ve requested another employee to maintain their pool after she found out what I did to her daughter, but I haven’t been given a different route. It should be me to request the change, but, as pathetic as it sounds, I’ll take any thread that ties me to Adaline, even if it is cleaning her damn pool.
She’s my second to last stop of the day, and from behind the protection of my sunglasses, I sneak a peek up to her window. She’s tucked behind the wide slats of her shutters. She thinks I can’t see her, but I do. It isn’t the first time I’ve caught her watching me, but where there was once hope, now dwells dejection.
Maybe if she knew this side of me, the side I’m too ashamed and embarrassed to tell anyone about, she’d listen to me. I doubt I’ll ever be able to muster enough courage to expose my truth to her. I’m caged and locked up, imprisoned from the one person I want most of all.
I want to talk to her, if anything, to simply remind her of how much I still love her.
She continues to watch me as I gather all my supplies and head out to my work truck. And I know that even if I showed up tonight and found a way to corner her, it wouldn’t be enough. I don’t want to force her to listen to me. I don’t want to force her to do anything she’s either not ready to do or that she simply doesn’t want to do. All that would serve is my selfishness, and it isn’t me I’m concerned about—it’s her. If she’s to listen to me, it needs to be because she wants to. She deserves far better than some thoughtless, persistent asshole. She’s so damn delicate but so significant that she’s able to bring the sun to its knees every night. I just wish it were me still sitting next to her as it happens.