"Okay, now look."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you're lying, the killer is still there." Cat whispers from behind her two hands, since they are blocking her view from watching the brilliance that is The Scissoring in front of her.
"Cat, I think the whole point of a movie is for you to watch it."
"But it's scary." Cat doesn't whisper this time, and a grumpy looking middle-aged man behind us leans down and, because his mother probably never taught him how to say it and not spray it, drizzles his salvia all over us as he tells us to shut up.
I flip him off and push away my now spit-drenched popcorn, and look at Cat again.
Even in the dark, she's beautiful.
I mean, not that I was really looking, but, how could someone not notice Cat Valentine? Her eyes, two wide pools of brown that shimmer and shine even with the lack of light. Her nose, up-turned and perfectly sculpted by an angel. Her skin, blemish free, creamy and soft-
Wait. Wait.
I press the palms of my hands into my thighs and direct my attention to the movie screen before me. The pretty main character girl's best friend just died and the rest of the actors are in a hot pursuit to figure out who the killer is.
No. No, I'm not doing this again. I'm not. I can't. This, this is weird. It's not right.
I steel myself the rest of the film, trying so desperately to concentrate, to take some kind of satisfaction in all the blood and gore and scissors, but Cat is a freaking magnet. With each second, I found myself more and more pulled to her, some invisible rope was tied to me, it wouldn't let go.
She was suffocating me.
When the screen finally fades to black and a million names pop up, I practically jump out of my seat and, almost trampling an old man in the process, I find my way out the exits and push through the doors.
The moment I step out, bright hot afternoon light hits me, and blinds me, but I don't care. I can finally breathe.
My chests heaves, and my lungs inflate, but that doesn't help with the lump of anxiety that has wedges itself in between my throat and mouth.
Why am I feeling like this?
Why is she making me feel like this?
In all my years of living, I have never questioned my sexuality. I never, ever was attracted to a person of the same sex and I'm not going to start now, just because Cat gave me a little, insignificant kiss on the cheek.
"So, where do you want to go for lunch?" Cat's voice is light and airy, and when I turn, she's just standing behind me with her hands behind her back. She looks so sweet, so innocent, and it actually begins to make me sick.
This is worse, ten times worse than I felt about my breakup with Beck.
"Cat," I swallow. "Cat, we can't do this anymore."
"Do what?" She sounds genuinely confused, and glances over her shoulder at the structure of the movie theater. "Go to the movies? Alright, I guess we could rent them from now on, but-"
"No." I stop her. "No. We … we can't hang out anymore."
"Why?" Both her eyebrows rise like question marks.
"Because … because we just can't, okay? I-I need to deal with this on my own. I know you're just being a good …" I swallow. " … friend, and I thank you for that, but just … stop. Stop it, okay?"
I let the words spill out of my mouth and out into the air between Cat and I. My stomach clenches and unclenches as I finish my little speech, and there is something tugging me to make a run for it to my car and drive away as fast as I can.
But my feet don't respond, and Cat's staring at me with watery eyes.
"Did I … did I do something wrong?"
"No," I run my hands through my hair, twisting it up into a loose ponytail, and then letting it fall down my shoulders. "No, you've been so good to me today, and last night, but, it's just too much. I want to be alone right now."
For some reason, I expect Cat to just burst out into tears or run away like a frightened gazelle, or something along those lines. But, shockingly, she doesn't.
She nods, and steps closer to me, so close the vanilla scent is radiating off her again, and her fingers clasps around my wrists. "Okay, I can respect that. I'll leave you alone now."
And then she lets go and with a flick of her head, motions over to the section of the parking lot where my car is waiting patiently.
The ride home is silent, except for the occasional outburst of conversation that's one sided on Cat's part.
Since she walked all the way to my house last night, I drop her off on the curb of her street, and she's all smiles and animated hand motions as she says goodbye and skips up to her front walk.
I grit my teeth and give her a terse nod, but it doesn't feel right.
Even when I'm home, stuck in between my sheets and my comforter, eyes trained hard on the zigzag patterns that cover my ceiling, it just doesn't feel right.
Cat is a wonderful person, and I'm a monster. When I hit rock bottom, she was there to pick up the pieces. She was there. Not Tori, or Andre, or Robbie (whom I'm sure all read my Slap status as Cat did), or even my own mother.
That's not how you're supposed to treat someone who cares about you. Who (maybe) loves you, as a friend of course. That's not fair to her. I'm not that kind of person, I'm not going to pretend to care and then just abandon her.
God, I'm turning into Beck.
Springing from my sheets, I clutch my phone and punch in Cat's number as fast as my fingers will allow.
She picks up on the second ring. "Hello, Cat speaking."
"Hey," I start, my lungs inflating. What do I even say? "It's me, Jade."
There is some shifting around on her end of the phone, and then a sharp crunching noise, like when you shove a handful of chips into your mouth. "What's up? You feeling better?"
"Not really." I swallow. "I'm calling because … I just feel really bad. I'm not sure if I hurt your feelings or anything."
"You did hurt my feelings," Cat's voice is quiet. "But, I still care. I've always cared about you, Jade. Just because you yelled at me doesn't mean I'm going to stop. And besides, you always yell at me."
My heart feels like it's about to break through my ribs, and I busy myself with picking at a loose piece of black thread on the hem of my skirt.
"I'm sorry for that, like seriously sorry." I swallow, again. God, why is this so hard? "I know I might've come off a little mean earlier, but I want you to know that it's not you … it's me. I just need a little time, you know?"
"Of course," Cat's voice is genuinely understanding, and I'm silently grateful for that. "I guess I was a bit too assertive. We'll take it slow from now on. We can hang out when you're ready, okay?"
I'd like that more than you know. "Sure."
"See you Monday?"
"It's a date." The last word lingers on my tongue.
"It's a date." She echoes, and I don't have to be looking at her to know she's smiling.
When I hang up, my heart has found it's place back where it belongs beneath my lungs, and it feels like for the first time since my breakup with Beck, I can breathe.
Hey!
So, I don't know why, but I like this chapter. Something about it makes me smile when I read it over.
Well, I hope you've enjoyed it! More to come soon!