I am very sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. I am sad to say that I've been having quite the writer's block lately. Because of this, I had a hell of a time deciding what should happen in this chapter and where to take everything from there. Hope you enjoy it. As always, comment and critique are welcome. Thank you to everyone who is reading.
*******
I call repeatedly. I text repeatedly. And I get ignored repeatedly.
I'm leaning against his locker when he walks up wearing his usual scowl and leather jacket.
"Hi," I say.
"Hey," he replies, the word lacking so much emotion that he might as well be telling someone what color the sky is. I don't move from his locker so he stands in front of me with a look that says I should get my speech over with so he can get through this day. I take a deep breath as if to say that I regret the mess I have made, which I do.
"I didn't mean it," I say in a tone much less aggressive than my usual. He stares at me for a moment, giving me false hope that maybe this statement is enough to make him forgive me, and then he scoffs and I know that it isn't that easy.
He leans in and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face, "And you still can't bring yourself to make an apology." He pulls back and glances at the locker that I stand in front of as if to question whether anything he needs in there is really worth it. He obviously decides it isn't because he pivots and walks away without another word.
"Still no luck?" I hear from behind me. I turn to see my sister frowning at me. She has warmed up to me since last Friday; she found out that the party she wanted to go to got busted an hour and a half after it started and that because of our dinner she wasn't there to be involved in that.
"Plenty of luck," I reply, "all bad.'
"What are you going to do?"
"I…don't know."
"Wow….I should document this. It is the very first time I have ever heard those words leave your mouth."
She's right. For the first time in as long as I can remember I am unable to find a solution to a problem. I fear that the helpless feeling is the reality of the situation.
******
The cool water pricks my toes as it lightly scrolls over them. I stare at the movements, observing the sequence of each one causing the next. The sun sets further toward the horizon. Nearly an hour has passed now.
Dry pieces of sand sprinkle onto my hand and pull me out of my reverie. I look up and the only thing that keeps me quiet is the shock.
"You're stealing my place," he says wryly. I stand up, lacking the energy or will needed to argue that the beach doesn't belong to him, and begin walking back to my car when he grabs my hand, "that's it? No argument at all?"
I yank my hand out of his hand and shake my head in response to his question, "all the sudden you want me to talk to you?"
"Don't turn this around on me," he says, his tone becoming harder. He huffily takes a seat on the sand and ignores me. I can't bring myself to walk away and I am not sure if it is because I don't want to leave or because I know I need to stay.
"I'm sorry," I say. He doesn't respond, but somehow I know he heard me. Minutes go by and the silence between us remains. I take a seat next to him.
"That was weird," he looks over at me with a small smile, "….but I believe you."
"I probably should have said it sooner," I say apologetically. He nods in reply but makes no effort at a verbal response, I assume because he doesn't want to dwell on it and make me feel worse than I already do, "I should probably get home."
The sand makes it difficult to walk too fast, but I don't mind since I don't want to leave any sooner than I have to. My hand is wrapped in his as we reach the edge of the sand, so when he drops it suddenly I look up at him to see what is wrong. He is looking toward the parking lot, a vague look of panic and dread on his face. I follow his gaze to his bike, where a girl I recognize from school is standing. Her hair is so blond that it is almost white and her orange make-up is caked on. Patrick looks at me to gauge my response.
"I see you brought company," I say flatly.
"No, I--"
She waves at him excitedly and bounds toward us. With as tight as her shorts are I have trouble imagining how she could possibly even walk in them. She plants herself in front of him with less than a foot separating them.
"What're you doing here?" He asks. I can hear the impatience in his voice, but she doesn't pick up on it.
"I haven't heard from you since Saturday night and I wanted to see if we can get together again sometime. It was…" she smiles devilishly and I swear I can feel my lunch come up into my throat, "fun."
Since I am less than eager to hear about their wonderful Saturday night together I leave them behind as I proceed toward my car. I hear him call my name, but instead of turning around and listening to anything he has to say, I get into my car and quickly peel out of the parking lot.
*********
I slam the door because I can just kick myself for wasting so much time worrying about such a stupid relationship. I could kick Patrick for making me believe that he actually cared about this relationship. It's like he just hopped the fence and left me standing here alone.
I keep my phone off, close my blinds and lay down on my bed. I close my eyes, wondering if he is even fretting over this. I'm wondering if he is just going to get another slutty blond girl to use to keep his mind off of me or if he is actually concerned about upsetting me. I've been upset with him before and never seemed to bother him. Why should I expect anything different? Because we were decidedly a couple for all of two days?
I sit up, unwilling to let myself mope around and neglect reality because of a guy. I pull my textbook out of my backpack and start the homework that was assigned. I am close to finishing when I hear a knock on my window. The blinds obstruct my view of the window, but I know who is outside and I don't want to talk to him. The knocking stops after a while.
After enjoying the peace for a few minutes there is a knock on my bedroom door.
"What?" I ask impatiently.
"I need to borrow your shampoo," says my sister. I don't ask questions because I always regret it when I do.
"Come in and--" before I can finish my sentence the door opens. Patrick is shoved in and the door is quickly pulled shut behind him, "I'm going to cut her hair in her sleep," I mutter as I close my textbook. He walks toward the bed and sits down on the edge.
"It was nothing," he says, referring to our current predicament.
"That's where you're wrong," I say. I stand up and walk over to my desk, "You can get mad at me for calling our relationship a fling but you don't see how wrong it is that you went out and did God knows what with some desperate blond chick?"
"We were--"
"Arguing," I finish for him, "not broken up."
He steps forward and before I know what is happening I am in arms and he is kissing me. My brain is telling me to pull away and say something snotty. My brain is trying to tell me how sick it is that only two days ago he was making out with that trashy blonde girl who had probably been around the entire town. But my brain is also telling me how much I loved this feeling of being in his arms. I curse it for sending such mixed signals. Finally I let the little voice in my head take over and I pull away.
"No…" I turn around and walk a few feet in the opposite direction, "No."
"What?"
"No, I am not just going to let you kiss me and make everything better. You still slept with—"
"Whoa," he says, raising his hands defensively. I glare at him inquisitively, "It didn't go that far."
"It went far enough for me to not forgive so easily."
