Emerson
Rob’s watching TV in the basement apartment of his parents’ house, where he’s lived ever since finishing college. I walk in without knocking and find him watching ESPN. . . . Rob tosses the remote aside and flashes his alligator grin when he sees me, the smile he uses when he thinks he has a chance of getting some. I flare my nostrils at him in reply.
“Rob,” I say, putting my hands on my hips and delivering the lines I rehearsed on the way here. “It’s over. We are over. You can’t keep coming around and acting like I’m still . . . yours.”
I was never yours, I want to add.
He’s on his feet instantly, his arms coming around my waist, pulling me close. My body tenses, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “Rob,” I protest. “Get off me.”
“Awww, babe, come on.” He nuzzles his lips against my neck and I jerk away. “What is it?” he asks, frowning at me. “Are you on your period or something?”
I shove him hard in the chest and he stumbles back toward the sofa, laughing. “Guess that answers that. Why don’t you go away and come back in three to five days?”
For a few seconds I stare at him dumbfounded. It’s as if the veil has finally been lifted from my eyes. What was I on? What did I ever see in this person? Jake’s expression when he saw Rob pawing me was the catalyst. He was horrified. And now I am too. Horrified that I ever let Rob touch me or talk to me this way.
“How can I get it through to you that we are over?” I say.
Rob smirks again. “You always say we’re over. You said it a week ago and then three days later you came running back, just like you always do.”
“I did not!” I yell. I need my head read. Why did I ever start dating him?
Because you had to, I remind myself. Because it was the only way to stop the noise. And because I was lonely. I hate to admit it, but it’s true.
Rob Walsh made all the gossip and the bullying and the name-calling go away and he distracted me from thinking about Jake. That’s why I started dating him. But why am I still dating him? We have nothing in common, and after three years together neither of us has ever said the L word. It’s not that kind of relationship. I’m not sure what kind of relationship it is. One of convenience, I guess.
The truth is it felt like Rob was all I deserved. Most people told me it was more than I deserved. But comments like that were nothing compared to the nasty things hurled toward me up until then. Comments I won’t think about. Can’t think about. And from Rob’s perspective, he probably saw me as easy, in more ways than one. He’s never had to put in any effort, which was probably the appeal for him.
Rob drops down onto the sofa and reaches for the TV remote. He turns off the game and looks up at me, his expression unusually serious. “Is this about wonder boy?” he asks me.
“What?”
“Jake. Is this about him?”
I swallow. What? “No.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Really?”
“Why would it be about Jake?”
“Because you guys were always hanging around when you were younger. You were best friends, weren’t you? And now he’s back and suddenly you’re breaking up with me.”
“I’m not suddenly breaking up with you. I already broke up with you last week. And probably a half dozen times over the last three years. It’s not like this is coming out of the blue.”
“Yeah, but you never mean it. We’ve established that.”
“Stop telling me what I do and don’t mean! You’re always doing that.”
He rolls his eyes at me, his sign for whatever. That’s another thing he always does: makes me feel like I’m some hysterical, nagging girlfriend all the time. “So if it’s not because of Jake, is it because I forgot your birthday?”
“You always forget my birthday.”
“No, I don’t.”
My eyes roll of their own accord. “Listen, we’ve broken up,” I say. “We’re not getting back together again. Ever. Okay?”
The puzzlement on Rob’s face is a picture. He frowns at me, his nose wrinkling. “Like, never ever?”
“Like, never ever,” I say, feeling as if I’m channeling Taylor Swift.
He studies me for a beat, slowly nodding to himself. “I was going to dump you anyway. You just beat me to it.” He reaches over and picks up the remote, switching the game back on and racking up the volume until the walls vibrate.
“Okay, then,” I say, my words instantly swallowed by the noise from the TV. “I guess I’ll see myself out.”
I head down the driveway, feeling a weight roll off my shoulders. As if I’m Atlas and someone just lifted the world off my stooped back. Why the hell didn’t I do that sooner? I think about texting Shay to let her know. She’ll be so thrilled. I can picture her doing her happy dance, whooping for joy.
As I’m unlocking my bike, I hear the angry growl of an engine and turn in time to see Reid Walsh howling up the street in his truck, music pumping through the open windows. He screeches into the driveway, missing me by bare inches, and hops out, twirling his keys in his hand.
“Haven’t seen you around in a while,” he says in the affected drawl he’s experimenting with.
“I’ve been busy,” I say, stuffing my bike lock into my bag. There’s still no love lost between Reid and me, though thankfully I don’t have to see him much these days as he’s at college in San Diego.
“How’s your dad?” he asks.
I turn to him. It looks like he’s smirking; his lip is turned up at the edge. My body quivers with rage. I step forward, hands clenching into fists. Reid feigns fright, backing into the car, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
“What?” he asks. “What did I say?”
Breathing hard and fast, I get within a step of him. My blood boils and my hand itches to ram itself into his smug, stupid face, but he’s taller than me and built like King Kong.
“Don’t ever talk about my father,” I growl at him through my teeth.
He laughs. “I hear it’s him who can’t talk.”
He pushes past me like I’m a piece of trash and heads toward the house, walking with a swagger that would, under normal circumstances, make me laugh.
My arms start shaking. My legs, too. Tears sting my eyes, threatening to fall. It’s the same feeling I had in the locker room all those years ago. I can’t move, can’t speak. I’m paralyzed.
“Asshole,” I finally manage to whisper as he slams the front door shut behind him.