Love Storm (28 page)

By the time he reached his car, I was there, waiting for him.

"Hey," I greeted him.

He blinked, and immediately looked away. "Hey," he muttered. He didn't look very much different, though I could tell he was very tired – his eyes were bleary and his posture was more slumped than usual.

I got right into it. "You've been avoiding me."

"I know," he said. I was taken aback. This was not the reply I had been expecting. Well, I couldn't say I didn't value honesty. He unlocked the doors and dropped his backpack in the backseat.

"Why?" I asked, furrowing my brow as he shut the door again.

Zack sighed, and when his golden eyes connected with mine, they seemed more bottomless, more infinite, more mysterious, more incomprehensible than ever before. It was like we were back to square one again. He offered me a slight smile tinged with sadness and wistfulness. "My dad blackmailed me, you know," he said, gazing off toward the direction of the football field, which was empty. The parking lot around us was emptying rapidly and good natured shouts and happy yells sounded – everyone was glad for a two week break. I ignored them.

"Answer the question, Zack," I said impatiently.

He laughed; I knew it as the short, bitter laugh he saved for ironic situations. "I can't," he replied, humorless smile still in place. "I really can't. I don't know how to."

I was getting angry. "Zack," I said. "Please tell me. Are you mad about that dinner I had at your house with your parents? Is that it?"

"No, it's not," he said. "I only wish it was that simple."

I blew out an exasperated breath. "If that's not it, what is it then? Don't abandon me now. Don't. It's bad enough that Eva's leaving. Don't get all high and mighty on me now. I thought we had something. I thought we were friends." I frowned at him.

-Zack-

I stared at her for a long moment, then said, "Did you? Are you sure? After all," I chuckled again, my chest aching, "I'm just a stupid jerk. Look, I've really got to go. Have a nice break."

With that, I got in my car and backed out of my parking space, not looking at her once. I left Winter standing there, most likely either A) livid and on the verge of screaming out in frustration, or B) hurt and confused. With the way things were going, she was both.

Once I was safely on the highway, I thought back to our conversation and what she had said. Her words echoed in my head:
"Don't abandon me now. Don't. It's bad enough that Eva's leaving…I thought we were friends."

Suddenly I was laughing so hard I had to pull over in the middle of the highway. I pounded my steering wheel until I accidentally honked my horn. It got to the point that tears were streaming down my cheeks, and I didn't know if I was laughing or crying.

"God, I must be going insane," I said to my reflection in my rearview mirror. "I'm going absolutely crazy." I turned on the engine again.

My head hurt something awful and a sharp pain pierced through my temple, just as the familiar pounding started up. It probably didn't help that I was only getting, at the most, two or three hours of sleep every night. Even Victoria had noticed something was up – now, she packed me huge lunches which I gave to Brock the moment I got to school every day, and she watched on with worried eyes at dinner when I pushed my food around on my plate, drinking my glass of water but not eating anything. I didn't care. I was never hungry during the day anymore – breakfast was all I required, and sometimes a snack of some fruit or bread in the late evening when my body really needed it. I was never tired. I didn't feel anything, or, at least, I tried not to – because feeling hurt too much.

Once I got home, I did the same thing I had done for the past three weeks – I went upstairs and shut myself in my room and turned up the radio. It was my savior. I didn't care what I listened to, as long as there was something filling up the quiet – news, weather reports, 70's rock, talk-shows, jazz, it didn't matter. I wasn't listening to it anyway. I just couldn't stand it when it was silent, because it left too much space for thought, and I didn't want to think. Nothing mattered anymore. I was numb to the world.

As I sat down on my bed though, I released a breath I didn't know I had been holding in.

It had been good seeing Winter again. Too good. Maybe it was because I had been avoiding her for weeks now, but when I saw her today, she had literally taken my breath away, and the old symptoms started up again – thumping chest, fluttering stomach, all that. I could barely think when I was around her. She was stunning; for god's sake, she was gorgeous – but the best part was, she didn't even know it. And it made her all that much more beautiful. I liked to think that I was the only one who saw it, because all of the other guys at school sure as hell didn't, otherwise she would have guys hitting on her every other moment. I couldn't be with Winter though. I couldn't. She was too pure to be with someone like me, a messed up, depressed, self-pitying kid. She didn't deserve that; she didn't deserve any pain.

That was why I was avoiding her. Because I knew that inevitably, I would bring Winter pain when I had to tell her I was leaving. And she didn't need that. I'd have to tell her sometime though – and my rationale was that if I distanced myself from her, made her dislike me, much as I hated it, that it would be easier for her, even though it was killing me.

I stripped down to my boxers, ignoring the draftiness in my room, and started doing push ups.

Today's radio station was some sort of rock station. Linkin Park blared out from my sound system as I did push ups, over and over again, up-down, up-down.

I'm tired of being what you want me to be,
Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface.
I don't what you're expecting of me,
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes.

Up-down.

I was counting down the days. I even had a slip of paper taped up above the headboard of my bed. I glanced at it now: from today on, there was two weeks of winter break, Dead Week, then four days of finals. Then it was the semester break, a five-day weekend. I'd be leaving then.

Up-down. Up-down.

Every step that I take is another mistake to you.

Another push up. Up-down.

It wasn't much. Starting today, 28 days. That was barely a month. I did some quick mental math. 19 out of those 28 days, I wouldn't be at school because of winter break and the weekends and such. I subtracted in my head – that made nine days of school left at Branner High. I had exactly nine days left in which I had to leave Winter alone until I was shipped out of America for freaking Italy. Nine days left that I could watch her at lunch time out of the corner of my eye, absorbing her personality, her movements, the way she ate and the way she threw her head back a fraction when she laughed. Nine days when I could discreetly watch her in the halls, at her locker, swearing at her lock when it refused to open for her.

I've become so numb, I can't feel you there,
Become so tired, so much more aware,
I'm becoming this, all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you.

It was starting to burn now, but I kept on going. Up-down, up-down. Keep going. It wouldn't hurt if I didn't think about it.

Okay, so maybe it seemed a little freakish that I was half-stalking Winter, but I had to store up images of her. It'd be a long time until I could see her again. In fact, I probably would never see her again. We'd each graduate from different schools, and she'd probably go off to college. The thought ripped my heart into little shreds and I could envision the pieces in my mind, bleeding and pumping weakly.

I gritted my teeth. How many had I done now? 50? 60? I'd keep going until I thought I reached 100.

Can't you see that you're smothering me,
Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control,
Cuz everything that you thought I would be
Is falling apart right in front of you.

More push ups. Was I at 80 yet?

I hated myself. I really did. I hated myself, passionately loathed the Zackary Crowne that was too weak to fight back and stand up for himself in the face of his father. His stupid, idiotic, moronic, evil father who didn't have a heart.

Every step that I take is another mistake to you.
And every second I waste is more than I can take.

That was enough push ups. I allowed my body to collapse onto the carpet, and after a moment, I turned onto my back to do crunches.

Actually, I mused, my father did have a heart, because it made him human. And only a human could be as cruel as he was. I ignored him nowadays. My mother seemed to be a little sympathetic, but I didn't talk to her either because ultimately she was on his side. She had agreed to his idea and wasn't stopping him from carrying it out.

More crunches, even, smooth movements honed from weeks of boredom. I had discovered this trick of pushing my body to the edge of its limits in order to keep my sanity.

I've become so numb, I can't feel you there,
Become so tired, so much more aware,
I'm becoming this, all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you.

He had blackmailed me. That was the only thought that kept running through my head. My father had blackmailed me, the bastard.

He had told me that if I didn't want to go to Italy, it was fine, but that he'd hire a tutor so I could get home-schooled. I had told him I'd rather have done that than go to Italy, but then he'd said that he and my mother would move here, to California, permanently and bring their company here too. I had said that was fine, thinking I could simply spend all my time out of the house, even though it would be more tiring. My father then added on the finishing touch: he said if we all stayed here, he'd also make sure that I wouldn't ever, ever see Winter again. I thought sourly that I had been too obvious about my feelings about her. I didn't doubt that he would find a way to cut off my contact with her. He was crafty enough. It would be easy for him if he was here, and I knew I couldn't live if I wasn't allowed to even talk to her. She didn't know it, but she was my world – who did I have besides her? Who else could make me laugh with their little antics? Who else could bring on that happy, giddy feeling that happened every time I saw them?

So there it was. I didn't want to get home-schooled, because it meant I'd definitely be cut off from Winter, and I didn't want to live with my parents. All that together would be the closest thing I'd ever experienced to hell.

My father had let me come to my own conclusions. The next day, I had told him I'd go to Italy.

At least this way, I could communicate with Winter a little. Maybe call her, if she'd let me. E-mail her, send letters to her, anything so I could still know her and think about her.

That was pretty much my half-assed, sad plan. I'd ignore her for a while (it'd be good for her, in the long run), and after I moved away, I'd make it up to her. We could be long distance friends, or whatever. I still wouldn't be able to see her everyday, but it was better than nothing.

As I completed another crunch, I thought disgustedly that it was the sickest, most twisted plan I had ever come up with. Who knew? With my luck, it'd probably fail anyway.

But I know I may end up failing too.
But I know you were just like me,
with someone disappointed in you.

I finished my crunches and slowly relaxed my body, stretching outwards and arching my back slightly, feeling the burning sensation in my abdomen. I patted it absently – one thing was for sure. They don't tell you to do push ups and crunches for nothing. My muscles were tight and lean everywhere now. I actually had the gentle outlines of a six pack, something I had never had before.

I got up and pulled on some shorts, a t-shirt, socks, and my running shoes. Time for my daily afternoon run. I grabbed my walkman off my desk and left the house, silent as a ghost. No one ever knew I was gone, and no one ever noticed when I came back.

Today I chose what I had dubbed the Galvest-Branner Run. It was simple – from my neighborhood, I'd run through the residential area to the main street, cross over onto the levee which bordered the bay, and run along it until I reached Branner High. I didn't know how long it was exactly, but I figured if it took me seven minutes to get to school by car at 45 miles an hour with red lights and stop signs included, it was about a pure five-minute drive away. That made it three and three quarters miles going one way, seven and a half miles total back and forth. It was one of the medium distance runs I had to choose from. Wow. I was becoming a mental math genius. Maybe it was only because I was simply bored enough to want to know the actual distance and lazy enough that I didn't want to get out my calculator.

I settled into the pace easily, enjoying the rhythm of my feet on the pavement and the cold, biting winter wind on my skin, automatically taking the path I had chosen. Some classical music ran through my head phones, and I changed the channel. Classical was good for piano and filling up the silence in my room, but not very good running music, I had found. I pressed the tuner button until I found my alternative station, matching the beat of the song with my foot falls. I always did this. It allowed me to jog slowly at times and sprint more at others.

I was home within an hour. I was getting faster from all this running, and found that I actually liked it. It even took my mind off the continual headaches I'd been receiving. Maybe I should have done cross country when I had the chance. I stood on the driveway for a while, breathing hard, shaking out my legs and stretching. I had found out the hard way that after a seven and a half mile run, your body gets awfully sore the next day.