Bend Me, Break Me (8 page)

“Sounds good,” Coen said, taking the menu from me and dialing the number on his phone with no hesitation. Not everyone was a fan of vegan food and it was going to be awkward when the pizza arrived and he had to pretend he liked it. I wished he hadn’t asked me to stay.

“It’ll be here in a half an hour,” he said, ending the call and tossing his phone back on the bed.

“You’re probably not going to like it,” I said, but he flopped back on his bed next to me.

“Or maybe I will. Maybe I’ll like it better than regular pizza. Don’t be so quick to make assumptions about people, Ingrid. They can surprise you sometimes.” I pressed my lips together. I didn’t want to argue with him.

He sat up again. “Do you want another soda?” I nodded and he brought me one.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, one of his fingers tapping against the top of the can like it was a drum. My stomach twisted. I didn’t think I was going to like what he said.

“Yeah,” I said anyway. I was curious.

“Why don’t you… I mean… Is there a reason you don’t want to have friends?” He stuttered and his voice shook with each word. His finger tapped faster on the can until I wanted to put my hand over it to make him stop.

This was a question he wasn’t going to get an answer to. Not a real one, anyway. But for now, I could give him a little something. An almost-truth. Close, but not quite there.

“I don’t know. I just… I don’t really like most people and they don’t seem to like me. It’s just easier being on my own.” His finger stopped tapping and I could feel his eyes riveted on my face as I stared down at my hands, wrapped around my soda can.

“But how do you know if people will like you if you don’t even give them the chance?” I knew he was going to say that. I shrugged.

“I don’t know, I just do.” I looked up and silently pleaded with him to drop it.

“Well, I think you’re missing out,” he said, taking a swig of his soda. I was saved from answering by his phone buzzing. He typed something out and then set it back down.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Nothing. Just Marty.” Oh. I’d completely forgotten about him. He’d been kicked out of his room all day. I was sure he hadn’t spent all that time at the gym.

“Oh, is he wanting to come back? He can, if he wants.” I didn’t really want him to, but it wasn’t my right to keep him out of his own room.

“No, he’s going to hang out with some of the guys, so it’s fine.” I wanted to argue about it, but it wasn’t worth it. I was hungry and vegan pizza was on the way. It would be bad to leave now and stick Coen with all the food.

We drank our sodas and watched more
Justified
and then Coen got a text that the pizza had arrived. He told me to sit tight while he went downstairs to get it.

I didn’t know how long it was going to take to give the pizza guy the money and bring the food back, but I didn’t think it was going to take more than a few minutes, so I had to make my time count. I went to his desk first, pulling drawers open and finding only notebooks and paper and granola bar wrappers and old homework assignments. Abandoning the desk, I went to his bookshelf and scanned that. A few popular fantasy and science fiction novels, but he had some classic literature there. Tolstoy. He had Tolstoy. I let my fingers run down the cracked spines, as if he’d read them more than once.

I got so distracted reading the titles of the books that I lost track of time and nearly screamed when the door banged open. I whirled around, one hand clutched to my chest.

“Whoa, you okay? Did I startle you?” Coen said, balancing the pizza box in one hand and carrying a plastic bag with the pizza place’s logo on it in the other.

“S’okay,” I choked out, trying to smooth my face. I knew what it must look like. Like I’d been caught doing something wrong.

He set the box and bag down on the floor and looked around before going to his closet and bringing out a folded sheet, which he proceeded to lay out on the floor, as if we were in a park and having a picnic.

I got away from the bookshelves and hoped that if he opened up his drawers, he wouldn’t notice if things were in slightly different places than they had been.

“Floor picnic,” Coen said, grabbing some paper plates, plastic silverware and paper towels to complete the setup.

“Sounds good,” I said, sitting across from him. He opened the pizza box and looked at the pizza inside with skepticism.

“How about I try it first and see if it’s any good? Vegan can be really good, but it can also just as easily go really bad.” I’d had my share of awful vegan meals in my life. Some I still shuddered about when I recalled them.

“Solid plan,” he said, passing me a plate. I picked up a piece. It resembled a regular pizza, which was a good sign. Cheese was a difficult substance to duplicate well, but at least this stretched and looked like mozzarella.

I took a bite and chewed. Wow. Seriously. Wow.

“I’m guessing by the expression on your face and that little moaning sound you just made, it’s good?” Coen said and I stared at him. Moaning sound? I didn’t make a moaning sound. Did I? I hope I didn’t. How embarrassing.

I swallowed and nodded. “Yes, the pizza is good. It’s the best vegan pizza I’ve ever had, honestly.”

Coen was staring at me and then he pulled his gaze away and looked down at the pizza before picking up his own slice. He examined it as if it was something he’d never seen before and then took a bite. I watched his face and it morphed into a look of surprise.

“It’s good!” he said through a mouthful. “Holy crap.” I busied myself with my own piece and there was silence as we chewed.

Coen really did like the pizza, because he ate four slices. I stopped at three and sat back against his bed.

“I feel like I’m going to die,” I said, rubbing my stomach.

“That was seriously good. I mean, it wasn’t exactly like regular pizza, but it was freaking good.” He smiled and mirrored my pose, coming over and resting his back against the frame of his bed beside me.

This time the silence was thick and uncomfortable. Hard to breathe. Coen turned his head to look at me and I couldn’t ignore him, so I turned mine as well.

“Thanks for hanging out with me,” he said, but it felt like he was thanking me for more than that.

“You’re welcome,” I said automatically. “I mean, I like hanging out with you.” I couldn't believe I was admitting it, but I did like spending time with him. It was nice to have another human being to talk to. I’d underestimated how much I missed human contact like that.

“I like hanging out with you, too.” The air shifted in the room and got thicker, warmer. My chest got tight and he was looking at me in a way that made me want to look away, but I didn’t.

He leaned just a fraction closer and my eyes flicked down to his mouth. I blinked and then realized what was happening. I pushed myself away from him so fast, I smashed the back of my head on the frame of his bed.

“Fuck!”

“Shit!” we both said at the same time.

Pain burst through my head like a bright flash of light and I crumpled over, holding the back of my head.

“Are you okay?” Coen asked, but I was too busy dealing with the chaos in my brain to answer. The pain radiated and then started to dissipate. I opened my eyes (which had started to water) and found him leaning over me.

“Ow,” I said, and for some reason, that was extremely funny. I started to laugh and I couldn’t stop. I hadn’t laughed like this in… I couldn’t remember.

“I’m guessing if you’re laughing, that means you’re okay? Or maybe you hit the part of your brain that controls laughter?” Coen said, clearly concerned about my physical and mental wellbeing.

“I’m. Fine,” I gasped and kept laughing. He didn’t look convinced and hovered over me until I was able to put a cork in my giggles.

“I’m okay,” I said, rubbing the back of my head and sitting up.

“Can I take a look?” he asked, motioning for me to turn my head. I did, slowly, because everything was still sore. His fingers were gentle as he prodded the spot.

“No blood, but you’ve got a tiny bump. Sorry about that.” I turned back around and found that his face was red.

“It’s okay,” I said and struggled to my feet. I wobbled a bit and Coen rose to steady me.

“Whoa there.” I looked down at where he was holding onto my arm. I couldn’t breathe anymore. I had to get out of this room and away from him.

“I have to go,” I said, looking around for my bag. My study materials were still spread everywhere, so I just started cramming them into my bag.

“Oh,” he said, crestfallen. “Well maybe you should wait a second? You did hit your head kind of hard.” I couldn’t wait. I had to go.

Finally I gave up on trying to get all of my stuff back in my bag and just slung the straps over my shoulder and ran for the door. Coen called after me, but I shut the door and bolted as fast as I could for the elevator.

Yup, fucked that up. I didn’t know what came over me. One minute we were sitting there and the next I was leaning in to kiss her. No wonder she’d run.

It wasn’t my intent to kiss her. That wasn’t in the plan. After she left, I thought about chasing her, but that would probably just rub salt in the wound. I could text her later if I wanted to check on her. I didn’t think she had a concussion, but it didn’t hurt to be safe.

I shouldn’t have had her here. Now it was going to be nearly impossible to regain her trust. Maybe I should be the one smashing my head on the frame of my bed. I kind of wanted to.

I stared down at the remains of our floor picnic and wanted to smash it all to pieces. Instead, I texted Marty and told him if he wanted to come back, he could and he came through the door about twenty minutes later to find me holding my head in my hands.

“Whoa, buddy, what happened?” He sat down next to me on my bed and I raised my head.

“I fucked it up. Again.”

“How?” I sighed and wondered how I could explain without completely explaining.

“Let’s just say there was a moment and I tried to kiss her, she hit her head on the frame of my bed and ran away. So that happened.” Marty made a choking noise, as if he was trying to hold in a laugh and failed.

“It’s okay, laugh all you want. My life is hilarious.” I shoved him in the shoulder and he put his hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t help it. But you have some of the worst game of anyone I’ve ever seen. I should have stayed just so I could watch the failing.” I glared at him, but he just smiled and patted me on the shoulder.

“You don’t understand, Marty. This is important. I can’t mess this up.” The humor faded from his face.

“Why? What’s so special about her? I mean, you just met her.” Technically, yes, but it was so much more than that.

“I just like her, okay?” I said, just a bit too defensively.

“Okay, okay. No need to get your panties in a wad.” I wanted to punch him, but refrained.

“So you tried to kiss her and she jerked away. You need to find out why. Either she’s not into you that way, you surprised her, or she did want to kiss you and that scared her. It could go any way at this point.” He was right. I had no idea what was going on in Ingrid’s head. I liked to think that I knew her, but I really didn’t. Not as much as I wanted to.

“Yeah, I’m aware,” I said, running my hand through my hair.

“Cheer up. All hope is not lost. I think you need a drink.” He reached under his bed and pulled out a box that had a few cans of beer in it. I raised my eyebrows as he handed me one.

“Um, why have you been hiding this from me?” I asked. He popped the top of his can and shrugged as he sipped.

“I was saving it for a special occasion.” I snorted.

“So this qualifies as a special occasion?” He stretched his long legs out on his bed.

“Yeah. Sure. Heartbreak always qualifies.” I gave him a look.

“I’m not heartbroken.”

“Whatever, dude.” He leaned back and motioned for me to give him the remote. We still had
Justified
going, but I had stopped paying attention a while ago. He flipped to CNN and turned the volume up. He was a Broadcast major, so he was almost always watching or reading news of some sort. Sometimes it grated on me, but right now I was so tired that I didn’t care.

“I’m not heartbroken,” I said again.

“Sure,” he said in a way that told me didn’t believe me at all.

I texted her later and got a response that she’d made it back to her dorm and that her head was fine. I sent an apology for the almost kiss and didn’t get another reply.

The thing that bothered me the most was that it seemed like she wanted to kiss me. I wouldn’t have gone for it if she hadn’t given me the signals. Or maybe I just thought I saw signals and completely misinterpreted the whole thing and now my entire plan was ruined.

Probably. That would be how my life was going.

This time when I showed up for class, I had her tea, but I had something else. A card.

“What’s this?” she asked, taking the tea from me. That was the first good sign.

“An apology card. They didn’t make one that says ‘I’m sorry I tried to kiss you’ so I got the one that was the funniest.” She raised an eyebrow and then opened the envelope to pull the card out. It said I AM A JERK on the front and inside I’d written three words. I’m sorry. And my name.

She almost cracked a smile and then read the inside. She looked up at me and I waited.

“I’m sorry, too. I’ve been thinking about it and I didn’t mean to… to act like that. I’m just… I’m so confused.” She ripped her hand through her hair and I wanted to just wrap her up in my arms and tell her it was going to be okay. That we were going to figure it out. But class was going to start and we had to take our seats.

“I’m just not ready for anything… I mean—” she trailed off.

I took a risk and put my hand on her arm.

“Seriously. It’s okay. We’re still friends. No permanent harm done.” I gave her a smile and almost got one back. Almost.

She was contemplative as we left class. Lost in her own head again.

“We can pretend Sunday didn’t happen, if you want,” I said. She looked at me in shock, as if she’d forgotten I was walking next to her.

“Oh.” She paused. “We don’t have to. It was a good day.”

It
was
a good day.

“We should do it again,” she said and I couldn’t help the little rush of happiness that shot through me. Yes. Progress. Maybe I hadn’t fucked things up too horribly.

“Cool. Yeah, anytime.” I knew I sounded too eager, but I didn’t care.

“Okay. I’ll see you on Wednesday,” she said as I left her in front of her next class.

“See you on Wednesday.”

The card was cute, I had to admit. He was so apologetic, as if he’d done something absolutely horrible. That made me feel guilty, more than anything else. He didn’t deserve to beat himself up about it.

I did realize one thing as I tried to pinpoint my feelings. I liked spending time with him. It was nice. There was an ease to him that I envied and liked to be around. Maybe it would rub off on me and I’d learn how to be human again, at least a little bit.

Every time I thought that life was going to get a little easier (not better. Never better), I was struck in the face with a reminder.

This time it was a note. A bit of paper that fell out of one of my books and fluttered on the floor like a sad little bird.

A grocery list with five items, written in my mother’s hand. Apples, flour, butter, coffee, toothpaste. My legs folded on themselves and I found myself on the floor, staring at those seemingly ordinary words.

She must have used it as a bookmark and forgotten. She did that a lot. Used whatever she could find to mark her place. People who dog-eared pages should be put in prison, she’d say. My hand trembled as I held the paper. I couldn’t stop looking at it. Not even when my legs went numb and my hips started to hurt and my stomach started to growl. I couldn’t move.

It took everything inside me to close my eyes and let the paper drop back to the floor. I tipped sideways, curling in on myself. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how anymore.

She must have been buying ingredients to make apple galette. Her ancestors were French, and she always liked to pull out her grandmother’s recipe book and make something like that. It made her spirit smile, she said.

I heard a strange sound and realized it came from my own mouth. It was the kind of sound a wounded animal would make. Pitiful. Hopeless. I reached out with one hand and dragged myself across the floor to my desk, then used my chair to get myself to a standing position again.

My television was blaring something, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember what I’d been watching. It didn’t matter. Reaching out with my foot, I slid the bit of paper under my bed. Once it was gone, my lungs were able to expand and I took a shaky breath.

My head ached. Everything ached. My soul ached. I got a bottle of water from the fridge and took some aspirin before I climbed into bed and shut off all the lights except for the television. I wasn’t going to get any sleep, but at least my eyes were occupied with watching the images on the screen.

I knew I looked bad from the way Coen looked at me on Wednesday. I’d barely slept in two days and it was catching up with me. Even naps were difficult. If I didn’t get a few hours today, I was going to take a sleeping pill and hope it worked this time.