Day six was a Tuesday. I began to speak in sentences, broken sentences that usually didn’t relate to the subject at hand, but no one had the heart to call me out on it. I returned to Vance. Kimberly couldn’t meet my eyes for the first part of the day, but she finally attempted to have a conversation, which I couldn’t bring myself to participate in. She mentioned a dinner, and I reminded myself to ask her again when I can think straight. The day was spent staring at the first page of a manuscript that, no matter how many times I read and reread it, wouldn’t soak in. I ate that day, more than just the rice or a banana I had in the days before. Karen made a ham—I only noticed because it reminded me that she made one for the dinner Hardin and I had here in the beginning. The images from that night, the picture of him sitting next to me and holding my hand under the table, sent me back into my tragic state, making me spend the night in the bathroom vomiting up the small bit of food I had consumed.
As day seven dragged on I began to imagine what would happen if I didn’t have to feel this pain anymore. What if I just disappeared? The thought terrified me—not because of my death, but because my mind was capable of going to such a dark place. That thought snapped me out of my downward spiral and brought me to the closest thing to reality my mind can handle. I changed my shirt and vowed to never step foot in Hardin’s bedroom again, no matter what happened. I began to look up apartments that I could afford close to Vance, and online classes at WCU. I enjoy academics too much to close myself off and take online classes, so I ultimately decided against it, but I found a few apartments to look into.
Day eight I smiled, briefly, but everyone noticed. Day eight was the first morning that I grabbed my usual donut and coffee when I arrived at Vance. I kept it down and even went back for more. I saw Trevor, who told me I looked beautiful despite my wrinkled clothes and hollow eyes. Day eight was the shift, day eight was the first day that only half of my time was spent wishing that things had gone differently between Hardin and me. I heard Ken and Karen discussing Hardin’s birthday in a few days, and I was surprised to only feel a slight burn in my chest at the sound of his name.
Day nine is today.
“I’ll be downstairs!” Landon calls through the door of “my” bedroom.
No one has even mentioned me leaving, or where I would go if I did. I’m grateful for it, but at the same time I know my presence will eventually be a burden. Landon keeps assuring me that I can stay as long as I need to, and Karen reminds me how much she enjoys my company multiple times a day. But at the end of the day, they’re Hardin’s family. I want to make a move forward, decide where I should go and where I should live, and I’m no longer afraid.
I cannot, and refuse to, spend another day crying over a dishonest boy with tattoos who doesn’t love me anymore.
When I see Landon downstairs, he’s taking a large bite of a bagel; a dab of cream cheese rests in the corner of his mouth and his tongue darts out to retrieve it. “Morning.” He smiles, his cheek full and eyes wide.
“Morning,” I repeat and pour a glass of water.
He continues to stare at me while I sip my water. “What?” I finally ask him.
“You . . . well . . . you look great,” he says.
“Thank you. I decided to shower and come back from the dead,” I joke, and he smiles slowly as if he’s unsure about my mental state. “Really, it’s fine,” I assure him, and he takes another bite of his bagel, finishing it.
I decide to put one in the toaster for myself and try not to notice Landon staring at me like I’m an animal in a zoo.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” I tell him after finishing my breakfast.
“Tessa, you look so gorgeous today!” Karen exclaims when she enters the kitchen.
“Thank you.” I smile at her.
Today’s the first day that I’ve taken the time to get ready, really ready and presentable. The last eight days I have gone far away from my usual neat appearance. Today I feel like myself. My new self. My “After Hardin” self. Day nine is my day.
“That dress is flattering.” Karen compliments me again.
The yellow dress that Trish got me for Christmas fits well and it’s very casual. I’m not going to make the same mistake as last time and attempt to wear heels to classes, so my Toms it is. Half of my hair is pinned back, with a few loose curls tapering over my face. My makeup is subtle, but I think it suits me well. My eyes burned slightly as I dragged the brown liner underneath my eye . . . makeup surely wasn’t on my list of priorities during my downward spiral.
“Thank you so much.” I smile again.
“Have a great day.” Karen smiles, clearly surprised but very pleased at my return to the real world.
This must be what it’s like to have a caring mother, someone to send you off to school with kind and encouraging words. Someone unlike my mother.
My mother . . . I have dodged all calls from her, and thankfully so. She was the last person I wanted to speak to, but now that I can breathe without wanting to rip my heart from my chest, I actually want to call her.
“Oh, Tessa, will you be riding with us to Christian’s house on Sunday?” Karen asks just as I reach the door.
“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.
chapter eighty
HARDIN
Nine 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.