I try to guilt myself into reviewing my answers. I tell myself I need this A, especially after my history final kicked my ass yesterday, but I just sit here. I am still sitting here, doing absolutely nothing, when I feel his fingers start to play with a lock of my hair. His knuckles brush against my shoulder blade, and butterflies burst from their cocoons in my belly and swarm.
I want to leave, and I want to stay at the same time. My thoughts are jumbled and chaotic and utterly confusing.
I want to forget dragging him into my lap and begging him to wake up. I want to forget about the sirens of the ambulance and the fluorescent lights of the hospital leaching the color from his face. I want to believe Everett when he says that Ian is better because he’s promising me normalcy. I would give anything for us to be normal again.
It’s not that easy for me though—I can’t just believe him—because I am broken. One more hit and my heart will never recover. They’ll lock me up for real this time. It won’t be just a hushed conversation between my parents and the doctor outside my room. My mother won’t defend me and say I’m not suicidal, I’m just grieving. She will agree with the doctor, and they’ll put me somewhere, throwing the words safety and for her own good around.
My parents won’t do it because they don’t care. They’ll do it because they care too much, and they’ll do anything, give anything, to protect their daughter.
Ian continues playing with my hair. I don’t know how long it’s been. Two minutes? Five? Ten? I continue to stare at the board. His touch warms every part of me, all the way down to that pulse that throbs between my legs.
I’m never going to be able to review my answers now. You have to be awake in order to read, and I’ve been holding my breath so long, dots of ash float in my vision. I am going to pass out.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t…
I stand abruptly, hitting my knee on the desk. Wincing, I grab my things and stuff them into my backpack. I walk to the front of the room and put my paper facedown on the pile of other tests. Ms. Edmonds gives me a small smile before I leave.
I don’t know where I’m going. My feet carry me down the hallway and outside. They carry me to my dorm, but as soon as I step foot inside my room, something clamps around my chest and squeezes. With shaky hands, I dig my pill bottle out of my backpack, screw off the cap, and take a pill. The hand around my heart barely loosens its grip.
I have to get out of here.
I have to go.
I need to leave.
— Ian —
Enough!
The moment Harlow leaves the classroom, I feel the loss like a punch straight to the gut. I slide my test across Ms. Edmonds' desk and follow behind her. I spot Harlow walking down the hall and leaving the building through the double doors.
No, walking isn’t the right word. Her feet are fast and quick, barely touching the marble floor before they continue forward. She is fleeing, and I’m in pursuit. I’m going to put us both out of our misery.
I must have lost my mind, but in my defense, I can’t take this anymore. Harlow asked for time, and I gave it to her. Weeks of it. Now, it’s time for this to end.
Patience has never been my virtue. Hell, I’m not even sure I have any virtues. I have always been a selfish bastard, and it’s taken everything I have over the last few weeks to not force her hand.
I miss her smart-ass mouth. I miss holding her in my arms and breathing her in, cinnamon and sugar. I miss everything: the way she wrinkles her nose when she is annoyed with me; how she rolls her eyes without a thought because she doesn’t give a fuck who I am and is oblivious to the fact that I am king of this campus; how her lips mold to mine like we were created out of the same clay and are made for each other.
Not even my closest friends have said shit about moving on. Everett knows I can’t, Archie knows I won’t, and Chase sees it for what it is—that I am stuck on this ride for all the ups and downs, the thrills and the chase of the next high.
Poor choice of words, I know, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it. When you can’t commit patricide and bodily assault is generally frowned upon as well, your options are limited. I miss her more than I miss the high though. I’d live the rest of my days painfully sober as long as I got to stand by her side.
I follow her through the snow, past kids milling about before their parents pick them up for winter break, but she’s got a few hundred feet on me. I watch as she disappears into her dorm. I’m still fishing my universal key card out of my pocket, swiped from one of the custodians, when she exits the dorm again. She still has her backpack and carries her violin case with her now.
It’s a miracle she doesn’t see me. If I am being honest, it sort of irritates and amazes me at the same time. She’s gone to the world, lost in her head like a paper sailboat on the high seas.
I want to stop her and make her talk to me, bring an end to this game of cat-and-mouse I’m pretty sure
