After We Collided (The After Series) (51 page)

“Sunday?”

“The dinner they’re having to celebrate their move to Seattle?” she tells me as if I should know this already. “Kimberly said she told you about it? If you don’t want to go, I know they’ll understand,” she assures me.

“No, no. I want to go. I’ll ride with you.” I smile. I am ready for this. I can be in public, in a social setting, without cracking. My subconscious is mute for the first time in nine days, and I thank her before following Landon outside.

The weather mirrors my mood, sunny and somewhat warm for the end of January. “Are you going on Sunday?” I ask him once we get in the car.

“No, I’m leaving tonight, remember?” he replies.

“What?”

He looks at me with a wrinkled brow. “I’m going to New York for the weekend. Dakota is moving into her apartment there. I told you a few days ago.”

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve paid more attention to you instead of making it all about me,” I tell him. I can’t believe how selfish I’ve been to not even pay attention to him telling me about Dakota’s move to New York.

“No, it’s okay. I only briefly mentioned it, anyway. I didn’t want to rub it in your face when you were . . . well, you know.”

“A zombie?” I finish for him.

“Yes, a very scary zombie,” he jokes, and I smile for the fifth time in nine days. It feels nice.

“When will you be back?” I ask Landon.

“Monday morning. I’ll miss Religion, but I’ll be there right after.”

“Wow, that’s exciting. New York will be incredible.” I would love to escape, to get out of here for a while.

“I was worried about going and leaving you here,” he tells me, and guilt fills me.

“Don’t be! You already do way too much for me; it’s time I do things for myself. I don’t want you to ever think about not doing something for yourself because of me. I’m so sorry that I made you feel that way,” I tell him.

“It’s not your fault, it’s his,” he reminds me, and I nod.

My headphones go back into my ears, and Landon smiles.

IN RELIGION, PROFESSOR SOTO
chooses the subject of pain. For a moment I swear he’s done it on my behalf, to torture me, but when I begin to write about how pain can cause people to turn to or away from their faith and God, I’m thankful for this torture. My entry ends up being filled with thoughts about how pain can change you, how pain can make you much stronger, and in the end you don’t need faith as much. You need yourself. You need to be strong and not allow pain to push you or pull you into anything.

I end up going back to the coffeehouse before yoga to acquire more energy. On my way back to yoga I pass the environmental studies building and my mind goes to Zed. I wonder if he’s in there now. I assume he is, but I don’t have a clue about his schedule.

Before I can overthink it, I go inside. I have a little time before my class begins, and it’s less than a five-minute walk from here.

I look around the large lobby of the building. Just like I might have expected, large trees fill most of the massive space. Sticking to the theme, the ceiling is mostly skylights, giving the illusion that it’s almost nonexistent.

“Tessa?”

I turn, and indeed, there is Zed, wearing a lab coat and thick safety goggles on top of his head that push his hair back.

“Hey . . .” I say.

He smiles. “What are you doing in here? Did you change your major?”

I adore the way his tongue hides behind his teeth when he smiles, I always have. “I was looking for you, actually.”

“You were?” He seems astounded.

N
ine days.

Nine days have gone by without speaking to Tessa. I didn’t think it was possible for me to go a single day without speaking to her, let alone nine fucking days. It feels like one thousand, and each hour is more painful than the last.

When she left the apartment that night, I waited and waited to hear her footsteps rush through the door, and I waited for her voice to begin screaming at me. It didn’t come. I sat on the floor waiting and waiting. It never came. She never came.

I finished the beer in my fridge and smashed the evidence against the wall. The next morning when I woke up and she was still gone, I packed my shit. I got on a plane to get the fuck out of Washington. If she was going to come back, it would have been that night. I needed to get out of there and get some space. With alcohol on my breath and stains on my white T-shirt, I left for the airport. I didn’t call my mum before I got there; it’s not like she had anything going on anyway.

If Tessa calls me before I get on the flight, I’ll turn around. But if not, then too bad, I kept thinking. She had her chance to come back to me. She does every other time, no matter what I do, so why is this time so different? It’s not like I did anything, really; I lied to her, but it was a small-ass lie and she overreacted.

If anyone should be pissed off, it’s me. She brought Zed to my fucking house. On top of that, Landon comes barging in like the fucking Hulk and slams me into the wall? What the actual fuck.

This whole situation is utterly fucked up and it’s not my fault. Well, maybe it is, but she can come crawling back to me, not the other way around. I love her, but I’m not making the first move.

Day one was spent mostly on the airplane sleeping off my hangover. I got many dirty looks from snobby-ass flight attendants and assholes in business suits, but I could give a fuck less. They don’t mean shit to me. I took a cab to my mum’s and nearly choked the driver. Who charges that much for a fucking ten-mile cab ride?

My mum was shocked and happy to see me. She cried for a few minutes, but thankfully she stopped when Mike appeared. Apparently the two of them have begun to move her things into his house, and she plans on selling hers. I don’t give a shit about that house, so it’s no skin off my back. That place is full of shit memories with my drunk asshole of a dad.

It’s nice to be able to think these things without Tessa’s influence. I would feel slightly guilty being rude to my mum and her boyfriend if Tessa were here with me.

So thank God she isn’t.

Day two was exhausting as shit. I spent the entire afternoon listening to my mum talk about her plans for the summer and dodged her questions about why I’m home. I kept telling her if I wanted to talk about it I would. I came here for some goddamn peace, and all I get is more annoyance. I ended up at the pub down the street by eight. A pretty brunette with the same color eyes as Tessa smiled at me and offered me a drink that night. I declined somewhat politely, my kindness only coming out because of the color of her eyes. The longer I stared at them, the more I realized they weren’t the same as Tessa’s. They were dull and held no life behind them. Tessa’s eyes are the most intriguing shade of gray that appears blue at first glance, until you really look at them. They’re nice, as far as eyes go.
Why the fuck am I sitting at a pub thinking about eyeballs? Fuck.

I saw the disappointment in my mum’s eyes when I stumbled
through the door after two in the morning, but I did my best to ignore it, mumbling a shit apology before forcing my way up the stairs.

Day three was when it started. Small thoughts of Tessa kept sneaking in at the most random times. While watching my mum hand-wash the dishes, I thought of Tessa loading the dishwasher constantly, making sure there was never a single dirty dish lying in the sink.

“We’re going to the fair today. Would you like to come?” my mum asked.

“No.”

“Please, Hardin, you’re here visiting, and you’ve barely spoken to me or spent any time with me.”

“No, Mum.” I dismiss her.

“I know why you’re here,” she said softly.

I slammed my cup down on the table and stormed out of the kitchen.

I knew she would catch on that I was running, hiding really, from reality. I’m not sure what type of reality there is without Tessa, but I’m not ready to deal with the shit, so why does she have to pester me about it? If Tessa doesn’t want to be with me, then to hell with her. I don’t need her—I am better off alone, the way I had planned to be all along.

Seconds later my phone rang, but I ignored the call as soon as I saw her name. Why did she call me? To tell me she hates me or she needs her name off the lease, I was sure.

Goddammit, Hardin, why did you do that?
I kept asking myself. I didn’t have a good enough answer.

Day four began the worst way possible.

“Hardin, go upstairs!” she’s begging. No, not this again. One of the men slaps her across her face and she looks at the staircase; her eyes meet mine and I scream. Tessa.

“Hardin! Wake up, Hardin! Please wake up!” my mum screamed and shook me awake.

“Where is she? Where’s Tess?” I choked, sweat soaking my skin.

“She isn’t here, Hardin.”

“But they . . .” It took me a moment to collect my thoughts and realize it was only a nightmare. The same nightmare I’ve had my entire life, only this time it was so much worse. My mother’s face was replaced with Tessa’s.

“Shhh . . . it’s okay. It was only a dream.” My mum cried and tried to hug me, but I gently pushed her arms back.

“No, I’m fine,” I assured her and told her to leave me alone.

I lay awake for the rest of the night trying to get the image out of my head, but I couldn’t.

Day four continued just as it started. My mum ignored me all day, which I thought I would want but it turned out I was sort of . . . lonely. I began to miss Tessa. I kept finding myself looking next to me to talk to her, to wait for her to say something that was sure to make me smile. I wanted to call her, my finger traced over that green button over one hundred times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I can’t give her what she wants, and that isn’t going to be good enough for her. It’s better this way. I spent the afternoon looking up how much it would cost me to move my shit back here to England. This is where I’m going to end up anyway, so I might as well get it over with.

We would never work, Tessa and me. I always knew we wouldn’t last. We couldn’t. It wasn’t possible for us to be together always. She’s too damn good for me and I know it. Everyone knows it. I see the way people turn to stare at us everywhere we go, and I know they’re wondering why that beautiful girl is with me.

I had been staring at my phone while downing a half bottle
of whiskey for hours before I turned off the light and fell asleep. I thought I heard the buzzing of my phone on the nightstand, but I was too drunk to sit up and answer. The nightmare came again; this time Tessa’s nightgown was soaked in blood and she cried for me to go away, to leave her there on that couch.

Day five I woke up to a flashing red light on my phone indicating that yet again I’d missed her call, only this time it wasn’t intentional. Day five was when I stared at her name on the screen before looking at picture after picture of her. When did I take so many? I hadn’t realized how many pictures I had snapped without her paying any mind.

While looking through the pictures, I kept remembering the way her voice sounds. I never liked American accents—they bore me and they’re annoying—but Tessa’s voice is perfect. Her accent is perfect, and I could listen to her speak all day, every single day. Will I ever hear her voice again?

This one’s my favorite
, I thought at least ten times while looking through the photos. I finally settled on a picture of her lying on her stomach on the bed, her legs crossed in the air and her hair down, tucked behind her ear. She had her chin resting on one of her hands and her lips slightly parted as she took in the words in front of her on the screen of her e-reader. I snapped the picture the moment she caught me staring, the exact moment that a smile, the most beautiful smile, appeared on her face. She looked so happy to be looking at me in this picture. Does . . . well,
did
she always look at me that way?

That day, day five, was when the weight appeared on my chest. A constant reminder of what I’d done, and most likely lost. I should have called her that day while staring at her pictures. Did she stare at my pictures? She only has one to this day, and ironically I found myself wishing I’d have allowed her to take more. Day five was when I threw my phone against the wall in hopes of smashing it, but only cracked the screen. Day five was when
I desperately wished she would call me. If she called me, then it would be okay, everything would be okay. We’d both apologize and I’d go home. If she was the one to call me, then I wouldn’t feel guilty for coming back into her life. I wondered if she was feeling the same way I was. Was every day getting harder for her? Did every second without me make it harder for her to breathe?

I began to lose my appetite that day. I just wasn’t hungry. I missed her cooking, even the simple meals that she would make for me. Hell, I missed watching her eat. I missed every goddamn thing about that infuriating girl with kind eyes. Day five was when I finally broke down. I cried like a bitch and didn’t even feel bad about it. I cried and cried. I couldn’t stop. I tried desperately, but she wouldn’t leave my mind. She wouldn’t leave me alone; she kept appearing, she kept saying she loved me, and she kept hugging me, and when I realized it was my imagination, I cried again.

Day six I woke with swollen and bloodshot eyes. I couldn’t believe the way I’d broken down the previous night. The weight on my chest had magnified, and I could barely see straight. Why was I such a fuckup? Why did I continue to treat her like shit? She’s the first person who has ever been able to see me, inside of me, the real me, and I treated her like shit. I blamed her for everything, when in reality it was me. It was always me—even when I didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong, I was. I was rude to her when she tried to talk to me about things. I yelled at her when she called me out on my bullshit. And I lied to her repeatedly. She has forgiven me for everything, always. I could always count on that, and maybe that’s why I treated her the way I did, because I knew I could. I smashed my phone under my boot on day six. I went half the day without eating. My mum offered me oatmeal, but when I tried to force myself to eat it, it nearly came back up. I hadn’t showered since day three, and I was a fucking wreck. I tried to listen as my mum told me the few things
she needed me to get from the store, but I couldn’t hear her. All I could think of was Tessa and her need to go to Conner’s at least five days a week.