Author's Note: To anyone who still cares about this story, it means a lot. I wish it hadn't taken me so long to get back to. I am planning on finishing it, hopefully within the next month. Would love a review to know if I still have a knack for this :)
Chapter 13
I couldn't go home. Not yet. I was too on edge. And I knew that if I went home, if I had to hear Tori say something stupid or deflect Simon's questions or deal with dad's worried glances, it would push me over it.
Despite not having consciously registered that I had started my car and was driving, I suddenly realized I was on my way to the abandoned movie theatre parking lot where Chloe and I spent the late afternoon together forever ago. Chloe. Hard as I tried to keep thoughts of her at bay, she always found her way in.
I braked – maybe harder than necessary – and shifted into park – definitely harder than necessary. I let out a sigh, but it did nothing to assuage the tension in my body that now seemed integral to it. Groaning, I rubbed my temples. My anger had started to ebb on the way here. More specifically, my anger at Chloe had started to ebb on the way here. After weeks of pointedly ignoring her, of holding onto my anger for dear life and letting it cloud my view the times I would let myself glance her way, it was nice to see her, as crazy as it sounds, and even despite the circumstances. Even through her anger and my own, her feelings were still as clear as her blue eyes. And while I only took a second to register the lack of fear and disgust on her part during our library showdown, it was now at the forefront of my mind.
She was mad. And she was hurt. But otherwise, she seemed to regard me in the same way she always did. She didn't have trouble meeting my gaze. There weren't any judgmental shadows that fell across her eyes when she did. I mean, even though that was likely because she seemingly had absolutely no sense of self-preservation, my mind wandered back to what Simon had said a few weeks ago, about her caring about me, about her opinion of me not having changed. For a fleeting second, I let myself think he was right.
But she didn't know the whole story. She didn't know my side. She knew what I had done but even so, didn't seem to realize what I was actually capable of. She didn't know – couldn't know – despite her certainty, that I'd never lose control like that again. I didn't know that I'd never lose control like that again… I didn't want to let my anger and aggression get the better of me like that ever again. But I also didn't want to hurt that kid as much as I did. Intentions didn't mean anything. Chloe didn't know what she was talking about.
Plus, these very sound points aside, even if Simon had been right, I needed to face the glaring reality that Chloe was most definitely done putting up with my bullshit.
I can't depend on you. I can't trust you to always be accountable. I can still hear the hurt and accusation that coloured her tone. And then she fled down that hall. I mean, yes, that sick psychopath Liam was there, but still.
You could try to apologize to her, you self-righteous dumbass
Even with that thought in mind, I knew I couldn't do it, I couldn't make amends yet. It's not that I didn't want to clear things up. Yes, I was mad, but how could she, even for a nanosecond, think that I hated her? The concept was so ludicrous is was almost laughable. But if things got better between us – which was unlikely because, yes, sure, I had maybe overreacted and, on top of that, funnelled my self-directed anger into my anger at her – then things with Liam would surely get worse. And I was just trying to keep Liam at bay until I had figured out a more permanent way of squelching his disturbing pursuits.
I had originally started to avoid her to protect her. Why couldn't she see that?
Because she's a lot of things, but a mind reader isn't one of them. Also, she's a person with her own agency who can decided whom she spends her time with, my inner-voice reasoned. Even though I knew these things, it did nothing to assuage the full-bodied worry that encompassed me whenever I thought about Liam and Chloe. Because, when push came to shove, I didn't have a permanent solution, didn't know what to do. I could feel my frustration grow exponentially as a sense of helplessness descended upon me. Not knowing how to solve a problem was the bane –
My phone was vibrating. In truth, it had vibrated probably five times before this in the time since I got here, signalling missed calls. Maybe missed messages. Didn't know. Didn't really care. But the sound of the vibration finally became annoying enough to break through my steady stream of thoughts. I had 2 missed calls from dad, 2 from Simon, and a text that had just come in from Simon. I didn't bother to read it. Groaning, I shifted the car into drive and headed home.
Stepping into the front door, I saw Tori coming down the stairs. I saw the faintest hint of relief flash in her eyes, gone in an instant, before she smirked.
"You're in deep shit," she said, flouncing past me, seemingly thrilled by the prospect.
Resisting the urge to turn around and walk out, I followed in her path, down the front hall, thankful that I had a knack for moving quietly.
Turning into the kitchen, I saw Dad standing at the island, lost in thought, shoulders tense. Simon was pacing, buzzing with nervous energy, and he was the first of the two to notice me.
"Bro, where have you– "
"Derek," Dad said, sounding relieved. He chose his next words carefully.
"I don't want to police you – any of you – but I would like to know where you are. And for you to answer your phone," he said, sternly.
Dad never made me feel like he thought I'd slip up, let my anger get the best of me, all things considered. Not before the accident, not after the accident. And I didn't like to worry him. I was sorry about that. But I was in a defensive mood and kind of felt like I was being policed. I was also tired though, and wanted to get to my room as soon as humanly possible. Before I could give him a half-hearted apology, Simon jumped in.
"What's wrong? What happened? Was it something with Chloe? I passed her in the hall after lunch and…" he trailed off, eyes widening at the sight of my glare.
"Oh, trouble in paradise," Tori questioned. "Did she get one question wrong on her math test and you overreacted?"
"Tori," I began, voice low, gracing her with the full force of my glare. "Do you think you'd internally combust if you weren't such a b—"
"OK," Dad interjected. "Everyone, enough. That's enough." He looked at each of us carefully in turn.
"I'm going to my room," I said, just looking at Dad. He nodded, and I could feel three sets of eyes on me as I turned and left, heading to purgatory.
Each miserable day rolled into the next. The highlights were when I caught Chloe glaring at me. I couldn't help but gaze back. It was our only form of contact, and it was better than nothing. I circled through the same feelings, sometimes in different order.
Anger at Chloe for being so curious; for thinking she was Freud and was some expert on my life; for being smart enough to figure me out and call me out on it; for being right about almost everything she said.
Anger at myself for doing something that so clearly divided my life into a before and an after. For wanting something I couldn't have.
Back to anger at Chloe for having a much bigger effect on me than I'd ever care to admit; for paying such careful attention; for making me want something I couldn't have and had never wanted before her.
I realized, rather uncomfortably, near the end of the week that I missed Chloe. The feeling caught me off guard at first. It had been so long since I missed someone that I had trouble placing the feeling. The last time it had happened was when Simon and I were 6. It had been a few months since Kit had brought me home and it was summer and Simon wanted to go to some arts and crafts week-long day camp thing that I had no interest in. The first day he went, I was fine. The second day, I was pretty fine. By Wednesday, I was pretty withdrawn, and on Thursday, when Simon was getting ready for the day, I couldn't help it and burst into tears. Through my tearful, messy explanation of my feeling, Dad had explained that I was missing Simon when he was gone and that it was perfectly natural. Simon, for his part, didn't go to camp that day or the next.
Missing her didn't make me want to cry like missing Simon did at 6. But I also didn't miss her in the same way I missed Simon back then. I missed her relaxing presence. Her laugh. The stubborn set of her jaw when she encountered a "hard" math problem and furrowed her brow and bit her soft-looking lips. I also, as much as I hated to admit, missed things I didn't really have the experience with to miss. I missed the feeling of her lower back against my hand, and my mind traitorously and frequently conjured memories of that hug – if you could call it that – that we shared on the football field. If I thought about it hard enough – which you do, I reminded myself – I could still feel the length of her body against mine. But we really only got that close after instances of Liam harassing her.
And then I'd think of Liam, and my anger would be focused on him. On the institution that let him get away with this behaviour. But then I'd remember that he hadn't given her any trouble since I had distanced myself from her.
Every day, I wrestled with this emotional turmoil. By the time I went to bed, I was exhausted from it, and yet it kept me up. And in those moments, as irrational as it was, then I'd be mad at Chloe for being bad at math, which was the real catalyst for this whole mess.
The week after our fight was just as miserable as the days leading up to this milestone. I knew it wouldn't get better, but figured it couldn't get any worse. However, I was proved very wrong at the end of the day when I saw that guy – the one who always spoke to Chloe without ever seeming to realize that she never listened – talking to her again. But something seemed different. He seemed even more nervous than usual. As much as I tried to ignore these things, I knew there was a dance on Friday. I quickly put two and two together and realized he was probably trying to ask her.
She should go with him, I knew that. Objectively, he seemed nice enough, and clearly liked her. And she could probably trust him to be accountable, I thought bitterly. And he probably hadn't inflicted a permanent brain injury on a teenager and, as a result, was probably less of a pain in the ass to be around.
Even though I knew all this, it didn't stop me from glaring at him, channelling all my frustration built up over the past week into that glare. If only it could make him disappear.
I blatantly watched their entire interaction, and could see him deflate upon hearing Chloe's response, which must have been a rejection. She was watching his retreating figure, but I was watching her. Why had she said no? Suddenly, her eyes met mine. I saw a flicker of sadness, but not much else. She wasn't looking at me like she hated me.
Maybe you can still fix this.
But how?
It took everything I had to stop myself from walking over to her, placing my hand on the small of her back, apologizing for all the wrong I did and am, and pleading with her to forgive me.
I turned at the sound of a knock on my door. Simon was leaning against the door frame, and I motioned for him to come in. This was already the most contact we had had in a week. He, Dad and Tori had given me a lot of space this past week, which was a little unusual, but I was too preoccupied to think of a reason why.
Before I could ask what was up, Simon took over.
"I told Chloe you were going to the dance," he announced.
While a part of me was annoyed that he was still talking to me – this time, inventing stories about me – to Chloe, a more dominant part was intensely curious about their conversation. Did she bring it up? Did she want to know if I'd be there? Simon must've brought it up. If Chloe knew me at all, which she seemed to, she'd know I'd have absolutely no interest in that dance.
"And she believed you?"
His lips quirked. "Well, I actually told her Dad was forcing you to go as a way of getting you out of the house, which isn't completely beyond the realm of reasonable possibilities."
I was torn about asking how she reacted and asking why he lied in the first place. He looked smug. I went with the latter.
"But why would you tell her I'm going to a dance I have no intention of being at?" I honestly could not muster up a logical reason for this.
Simon let out a small snort.
"Derek, I wish you gave me more credit. Even though you can be a pain in the ass, you're still my brother, my best friend, and even though I thought this day would never come, I gladly ceased the opportunity to act as your wingman." He looked very proud. I was at a loss for words.
He continued, "Listen D, we don't need to talk about it, but it's obvious you care about Chloe. You may as well have it printed on a t-shirt." He forged on, ignoring the protest bubbling at my lips.
"If you didn't care about her so much, you wouldn't have cared about her knowing about the accident. You wouldn't be in such a foul mood about not speaking to her. And you wouldn't be smiling to yourself like you were doing a few weeks ago, before all this shit went down."
He had me there.
"And Derek, somehow, she cares about you, too. I could tell she's frustrated with you, but when I told her you were going – so I could test out the waters, by the way, and assess whether you had messed up past the point of return – I don't know, she looked kinda… hopeful. And, D, when I told her about the accident last week, you should have seen her. It was so obvious that she cares about you, that she feels for you and – and, it kind of seemed…" he trailed off, hand rubbing the back of his neck, just like I did when I was nervous or uncomfortable.
"What? Seemed like what," I pressed, hoping I was imagining the slight desperation in my voice.
He took a breath. "It kind of seemed like she was trying to figure out why you didn't seem to care about her in the same way, or, if you'd be willing to care about her in the same way."
I was confused. Simon was silently looking at me. I had never heard the word 'care' used so much in a sting of sentences in my life.
"What," I asked lamely.
Suddenly, Tori poked her head into my room. Clearly she had been eavesdropping, that wicked–
"Oh my god, Derek. How you can be doing college-level math work yet be so dense is beyond me. What Simon was trying to say was that, Chloe has a crush on you, and clearly has some interest in you being at the dance that she will also be at."
She was pantomiming something inappropriate with her hands. Simon beat me to slamming the door on her. We could still hear her laughing through it.
Simon was blushing. I was overwhelmed.
"What if she changes her mind? What if she doesn't want to forgive me," I asked, quietly.
"What if she doesn't change her mind and wants to forgive you," Simon reasoned. "The only way you'll find out is by showing up."
And with that, he turned and left, leaving me to repeat Tori's words over and over and over, and explore the possibility that she could be right, and what that would mean.
It was Friday. It was 8 o'clock. The dance started an hour ago. I was still in my room, frozen with nervousness and self-doubt.
Tori passed my room on her way downstairs to be picked up by her date. "Look Derek, I don't really care about what you do normally. But don't stand her up. Don't stand up a girl who's willing to fight for you. Even you're not that much of a jackass." And with those words of wisdom hanging behind her, she was gone.
It was 9 o'clock. I was going to go. I was going to deal with this head on, like I should have done weeks ago.
I was pacing around my room, trying to figure out what I'd say, when Dad knocked on my open door.
I stopped pacing. He looked relaxed, hands in his pockets as he leaned against my door frame. He also looked… sentimental?
"Derek, I really planned on having this conversation with you at some point. But you never seemed that interested in girls, and next thing I knew, you were 17, and well, now we're here."
Did he seriously want to have that conversation right now?
Picking up on my anxiety, and looking slightly he embarrassed, he said, "No, no, not that conversation. But do you know—"
I was nodding fervently. Chuckling nervously, he dug his hands deeper into his pockets, but looked right at me and forged on.
"Derek, I'm really proud of you, and I know you still struggle with this, but you're an upstanding young man and you deserve to be happy. Any girl would be lucky—"
"Dad," I interrupted. I was dying. This is it. This would be the death of me, and I wouldn't be able to apologize to Chloe first.
"Right, right," he said hurriedly, "back to the point."
"Anyways, why I originally came up here, was to tell you that, well, girls – women – are complicated. You won't fully understand them, ever. But if this Chloe can make you so angry, imagine how happy she could make you. Isn't that worth giving a shot?"
He looked at me knowingly. A moment later, I was running down the stairs at top speed, barely breaking pace as I jumped in my car and drove, maybe a bit too quickly, to school.
