“Come here.” I reach for her arm and pull her as close to me as she will allow. Her arms cross in front of her as I crush her against my chest. She doesn’t fight me off, but she doesn’t hug me. She stands still, and I’m not sure if the worst is over.
“Tell me what you are feeling.” My voice comes out awkward and short. “What you are thinking?”
She pushes against my chest again, with less force this time, and I let her go. She bends down at her knees and picks up one of the pages.
I had originally starting writing this as a form of expression, and, honestly, because I’d run out of shit to read. I was in between books, and Tessa, Theresa Young at the time, had started to intrigue me. She started to annoy me and piss me off, and I found myself thinking about her more and more.
When she was in my head, there didn’t seem to be room for anything else. She became an obsession, and I convinced myself that it was a part of the game, but I knew better than that, I just wasn’t ready to admit it yet. I remember the way I felt the first time I saw her, the way her lips looked so pouty, and the way I cringed at her outfit.
The skirt she wore had touched the floor, and her flat shoes were causing the damn thing to drag across it awkwardly. She stared down at the floor when she spoke her name for the first time—“Um, yeah . . . my name is Tessa”—and I remember thinking she had an odd name. I hadn’t paid much attention after that. Nate was nice to her, and I was irritated by the way she stared at me, judging me with those gray eyes.
She nagged at me every day, even when she didn’t speak to me, especially then.
“Are you even listening to me?” Her voice breaks through the memory, and I look over at her to find her fuming again.
“I was . . .” I hesitate.
“You weren’t even listening,” she accuses, rightfully so. “I can’t believe you would do this. This is what you were doing all of those times I came home, and you would put your binder away. This is what I found in the closet just before I found my father . . .”
“I won’t make excuses, but half of the shit in there is from my intoxicated mind.”
“ ‘Trash’?” Her eyes scan the page in her hand. “ ‘She couldn’t hold her liquor, she stumbled through the room in a messy way, the way tasteless girls move when they drink too much to impress others.’ ”
“Stop reading that shit, that part isn’t about you. I swear it and you know it.” I pull the page from her, but she quickly snatches it back.
“No! You don’t get to write my story and tell me that I can’t read it. You still haven’t explained anything.” She moves across the living room, lifting a shoe from the rug near the front door. She pushes both feet into her shoes and adjusts her shorts.
“Where are you going?” I’m prepared to follow her.
“I’m going for a walk. I need air. I need to get out of here.” I can tell she’s mentally cursing herself for giving me any bit of information.
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. You won’t.” Her keys are in her hands, and she gathers her messy hair above her head, twisting it and tying it back to control it.
“You are barely dressed,” I point out.
She sends me a murderous glare. Without a word, she leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
Nothing was accomplished just now, nothing solved. The plan I had to control the complications turned into a fucking disaster, and now shit’s even more complicated. I kneel down on the floor, forcing myself not to follow her, throw her over my shoulder while she’s kicking and screaming, and lock her in her room until she’s ready to talk to me.
No, I can’t do that. That would be backtracking on all the “progress” I’ve made. Instead, I gather the scrambled pages from the floor and read over some of the words, reminding myself why I decided to try to do something with this shitty writing in the first place.
“What is that you keep trying to hide over there?” Nate leaned over, being nosy as ever.
“Nothing, man, mind your business.” Hardin scowled, staring across the courtyard. He didn’t know how he started sitting here every day, at this exact time. It had nothing to do with Tessa and annoying-ass Landon meeting at the coffee shop every morning. Nothing at all to do with that.
He didn’t want to see the obnoxious girl. He really didn’t.
“I heard you and Molly last night in the hallway, you sick fuck.” Nate flicked the ashes off his cigarette and made a face.
“Well, I wasn’t going to let her in my room, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Hardin laughed, proud that she was so willing to blow him at any moment, even in the hallway next to his room.
What he didn’t tell them was that he’d turned her down and ended up jerking off while thinking of a certain blonde.
“You’re an asshole.” Nate shook his head. “Isn’t he an asshole?” he asked Logan as the third boy approached the run-down picnic table.
“Yeah, he is.” Logan held his hand out for a cigarette from Nate, and Hardin tried not to look at the girl in the potato-sack skirt waiting to cross the street.
“One of these days you’re gonna fall in love, and I’m going to laugh my fucking ass off. You’ll be the one giving oral in the hallway, and the chick won’t let you in her room.” Nate got a kick out of mocking him this way, but he could barely hear him.
Why does she dress that way? he found himself wondering as she rolled up the sleeves of her long-sleeved shirt. Hardin watched, pen in hand, as she walked closer, her eyes focused on the sidewalk in front of her, and she apologized too many times when she bumped into a puny boy, causing a book to fall from his hands.