Year Four/Week Eighteen – Present
A month of no contact.
A month of repair.
I thought I’d be more hurt, thought the next time I saw him my heart would rip out of my chest.
It was embarrassing what happened between us. Utterly fucking embarrassing.
Spilling my secrets, my life story to someone who didn’t care. God, I was an idiot.
But over Winter break, I learned three valuable things:
1) Time heals everything.
2) What you think other people think about you is really what you think about yourself.
3) One man is not all men.
The last one I was still trying to work on, but slowly and surely, I would get to where I needed to be.
Jace was sitting in the second row when I walked in; his hair freshly cut, a new earring in place of the cross he’d always wore.
Memories of that night flashed in my brain; me standing naked, stripped of all my defenses and his pleas to leave me alone. That face of pure guilt when he heard me open my mouth and realized he couldn’t help me.
No one could.
But no one mattered.
For Christmas, Fawn bought me a polaroid and some film. Try and get back into old hobbies, she’d said, and dragged me to festive markets and holiday events.
I’d taken over one hundred photos over the break, seven of which I adored. That beat me up at first, thinking I wasn’t even good enough to handle a camera. But seven was better than six, and six was better than none.
We purchased some fairy lights with clothespins and strung the polaroid photos across my wall, reminding me that I had memories to look back on, and moments to look forward to.
Each day after that, I vowed to take one photo a day, and purchased a disposable camera to fit in my purse.
It felt surreal, seeing life through a different lens; coffee shops became romantic, public parks felt magical, tiny neighbourhoods carried more mystery than I could ever fathom.
All because I started to love life again.
Loving life wasn’t the same as loving myself, mind you. But I’d come to realize that taking space from Jace made me feel better about myself, not worse.
The pressure I carried to be the girl he wanted was overwhelming and unattainable. I’d broken every part of me trying to fit into that pretty, perfect mold. I’d lost sight of who I was just so he could glance in my direction for one second – because that one second was my heroin. And he watched me overdose.
I planted myself right beside him, something I knew he wouldn’t expect, and smiled. “How was your break?”
Like nothing. Ever. Happened.
I got this. I can handle this. I’m better without him.
His eyes flickered, as if he was in utter disbelief. I figured as much, but the words that came out of his mouth threw me for in a spiral.
“You’re supposed to hate me,” he said, barely a whisper.
No.
Fuck. No, no, no.
I can’t feel anything. I can’t.
“You don’t hate me,” he stated like a question.
Yes, I do! I wanted to shout. You ruined me!
“I don’t hate you.”
I hated myself.
“Blu…”
I turned to face forward as Prof. Granger pranced in, a jolly glee trailing her aura. “Hopefully you all had time to do the Marshall McLuhan readings over break.”
A series of groans and sighs filled up the classroom as she commenced her lecture, replacing the tension hovering between Jace and me.
His stares pierced my side throughout the entire seminar, but I couldn’t face him. Luckily, she decided to shelve the break and compensate by ending class early which allowed me to slip through the doors and dart towards the exit.
But Jace caught up with me, and called my name.
“Blu.”
I’ll be damned if I turn around.
“Blu, please.”
I turned around.
“What?” I demanded, sharp, guarded. There goes my attempt at healing.
He wore a sad expression, almost hurt. Why was he hurt? What did I do to him?
“I can’t even explain to you how sorry I am,” he shook his head, pulling me away from the crowd of people leaving the building.
“I’ve thought about texting you so many times, but there was absolutely no way I could convey what needed to be said in person. Please,” he begged. “Please hear me out.”
It took everything in me to say, “I’m standing here, aren’t I?”
A small grin formed at the corner of his mouth, so slight I would’ve missed it had I not spent the last four months paying attention to all his mannerisms.
“That you are.”
“Get on with it, Jace.” This wasn’t me. I wasn’t cruel. He was. I had to remember that.
He swallowed before he spoke, softly and collected. “I’m not good with feelings; I don’t know how to navigate them and I’m sorry that you were on the other side of that. I care –” He reached out to touch me, but I moved away.
“I care about you, Blu. I care about your life and your past and everything that you’ve been through. I want to hear about it, I want to be your friend. I want…”
There was hesitation, but my reaction remained still. No part of me wanted to show any more emotion, even if he had.
“What do you want, Jace?”
His throat bobbed. “I want to do it right this time. You and me.”
You and me.
He wanted us.
He wanted this.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I’d spent months thinking about this moment, contemplating my reaction if he finally gave me what I wanted?
This past month away from him allowed my heart to rest. Why was I ready to get hurt again? Why did I want to?
When he reached out to hold my hand, I let him. I fucking let him. Like a breathing girl who claimed her casket, he killed me in all the pleasant ways.
His eyes were so kind, so warm and forgiving; a calm sea surrounded by blades of pointed grass. That’s who Jace Boland was.
A delicate man with sharp edges – one who possessed a good heart, but needed someone to teach him how to use it.
Could I be that someone?
Have I not suffered enough?
My mind wailed at me, warning me to walk away no matter how bad it hurt. To never turn back even if he called after me. To run, to run and escape the chains of loving someone who couldn’t love themselves.
I knew all these things.
I chose to ignore it.
I chose to butcher my heart.
My hand crawled up his sweater, wrapping around the base of his neck as I pulled him down to hear me say, “You and me.”
And kissed him.
