I don’t know how many times I’ve read this page already. It’s some kind of romance between a rocker and his ex-girlfriend who cross paths again several years later. Kate loaned it to me after she read it, forcing me to read it because apparently it’s hot and I need some hotness in my life since Duke is not around anymore. It’s sweet of her to think of me, and I might even enjoy her book if I were in a better mood, but all I can think about is how my roommate can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Unfortunately, she’s growing on me and I can’t find it in me to drive her away.
“Stop pretending you’re reading. It’s been half an hour since you turned a page.” Kate sighs dramatically. She puts her shiny blonde hair in a messy bun, places her hands on her hips, and glares at me.
I close the book and sit up, groaning inside. She’s about to launch herself into a monologue which is going to be the fourth of the week and each one being about Duke and why I should contact him. Dutifully, I cross my legs, lean against the wall, and put my pillow across my knees. I know that I have to be sat comfortably when she’s in this mood.
“You know you’re driving me crazy?” I don’t nod, nor do I blink. It’s a rhetorical question, but it makes me uneasy. I know I’m not a typical student and it’s probably annoying her to have to put up with someone who obviously has issues and yet, she has never forced me to tell her why I am the way I am. “You’re a sullen girl, I get it, but since your fight with Duke it’s like ten times worse. Or maybe it’s because of your ex-boyfriend, but the point is if you don’t want to talk about it I can accept that, but what I won’t accept is seeing you even more closed up than you were before you met your TA,” she says all this with a deep frown, pacing our little room. “You don’t trust me enough to tell me your story, and that’s okay even if it kind of hurts, but I won’t tolerate the one word answers and you avoiding any kind of eye contact or seeing you letting those idiots bully you without a smart answer. It’s not you.”
I grit my teeth. For the first time since Monday and my confrontation with Duke, I feel a wave of anger. It warms me, which is a little weird, but I find it comforting, too. “You don’t know me, Kate. Don’t say my current behavior is not like me because you don’t know what kind of person I am.”
I can’t stand it when someone thinks they know what kind of person I am. Let’s face it; nobody would imagine that I am in fact a coward who can’t even defend herself in her private life. Nobody would think something like that about anyone. You can’t say you know someone even if that person is in your life for years. Just like, I didn’t imagine Sean capable of hurting me again and again. Just like, I couldn’t imagine myself being a silent victim of an abusive relationship.
I don’t know what she sees on my face or in my eyes, but she comes to sit beside me and puts a tentative hand on my clenched fist. Her skin is soft, softer than mine, and the heat of her touch frightens me. I can just about take her touching me, but it’s still hard. I still hate physical contact. However, I try to remain calm.
“I’m sorry, Skye,” she says, her frown slowly disappearing, easing the smooth lines of her heart-shaped face. “I feel bad when I see you so sad. And it’s hard not to ask you what’s wrong.”
I relax my hand and let her pat it lightly. “You don’t think I’m still into Sean?” I ask in a squeak, realizing that she’s closer to the truth than I thought she was. After all, I shouldn’t be surprised; she’s not dumb, not even close.
“Please,” she answers, pursing her lips before shaking her head dismissively. “I don’t know what really happened last week at the party with him, but I saw your face and you were completely terrified. Not exactly the reaction you’d have if you were still into that asshole.”
I pull my hand away and squeeze my pillow against my chest. If only it could be a shield engulfing me whole, hiding me from this life that is so not what I thought it would be. When I was a kid I imagined my college life like an adventure where I’d meet tons of awesome people with whom I’d party, laugh, hang out with, and even date. I imagined a life where happiness would be center stage. Instead, everything feels lonely, hurtful, and so hard. Sometimes, most of the time, it feels just too hard.
Then, I remember my main goal. I love Psychology so much. I work hard, not only because it helps me to deal with everything, but because I want to become a Psychiatrist and help people. I also need to understand why I dealt with Sean like I did and why he’s violent. I want answers, and one day I’ll have them.
“Drop it,” I snap, my eyes glued to her widening eyes. I feel the muscle in my jaw jumping. Everything in me is screaming for me to run away as far and fast as I can.
She doesn’t look away. She just nods and something passes there, something that looks like hurt. My stomach clenches. I hate to hurt people’s feelings, but I don’t want anyone else in on my dirty little secret, not after how Duke has rejected me. Never again!
“Do you know why I never drink alcohol?” she asks me suddenly, surprising me with the change of subject. I don’t say anything, but I relax slightly. “I don’t care if my friends like to get wasted, I simply can’t stomach the idea of drinking alcohol.” She levels her gaze down and plays with my comforter, her gaze lost in her thoughts. She looks very different all of a sudden. Right now, she’s not my bubbly roommate who loves to flirt with everyone. “You know my family has money. My father is very successful in his work. He’s considered the best lawyer in Chicago and he works very hard. I always found it inspiring and that’s why I want to make him proud, that’s why I’m studying law.” She takes a deep breath and I see her hands shaking a little. “My mother is a stay at home mom, but she is a trophy wife. It seems easy and all, but when I was nine I realized that she had a real drinking problem. Growing up, my Dad had to hide her weakness, sending her to rehab only to see her drinking again within a month or less when she’s back home.” She sniffs and a tear falls from her haunted green eyes. “So yeah, alcohol is really not my thing. I tried beer and wine once, but almost threw up as soon as it touched my tongue.” She shrugs like it’s nothing, but I can see now that this explains everything.
What should I say? What should be said when someone confides such a story in you? It’s not like I know what it’s like to have parental issues. My parents are awesome, caring and stable. I can’t relate to her story and her pain, and yet, I understand how it must have been to grow up like that. No matter what, she’ll always have scars but she seems to deal with them much better than I’m dealing with mine. And I’m ashamed that I seem unable to have a real life even now that I can.
“Why did you tell me that?” I whisper, unable to ignore the huge lump in my throat.
“Because now that you know my secret, maybe one day you’ll trust me enough to tell me yours.” She smiles at me sweetly, her kindness present all over her face. It should convince me, but instead I want to shut her out even more.
“I’m not sure, but maybe,” I lie. I feel guilty about leading her on like that after she trusted me by telling me something so personal.
She sighs and frees her hair that falls swiftly all around her face. “So tell me,” she puts her chin on her hand, her eyes still on me, “will you talk to Duke?”
She’s never going to drop this. I don’t know what Duke did to her, but it’s annoying when all I’m trying to do is forget about him and how he has turned my life even more upside down. Not looking at him in my Psychology class is hard enough, but when Kate keeps bringing him in to the conversation it is worse.
“No.”
“Even if I tell you that I know he’s not feeling well?”
I snap my attention back to her. She’s got me now. Despite the anger I have toward him, despite the fact that he disappointed me big time, I’m still anxious for him. After what he told me about his girlfriend, I can’t help but be nervous that maybe his depression has not entirely disappeared like he’s claiming.
“What do you mean?” My fake nonchalance is ridiculous, but Kate doesn’t call me on it. Instead she shrugs and stands up, turning on the radio.
“I bumped into him today and he barely muttered a word. He was all weird and told me he had things to do.”
“And that’s what you’re calling not feeling well? He was probably in a rush,” I reply, annoyed. I play with the sleeves of my black sweater. My hands are freezing, like always when I’m out of my comfort zone which is quite often.
“You didn’t see the look on his face. It was like all his family died or something.”
My heart misses a beat. I clear my throat, unease creeping back in. Kate turns back to me and her eyebrows shoot up.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn her ruefully. Without any words, she knows that I know what his problem is and by the look on her face, she wants me to do something about it. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow if I see him.”
“You don’t have his number?”
“No.” Weird when you think how much we confided in each other, but we never thought to give each other our phone number. Maybe it’s a sign that neither of us—despite what we claimed—wanted to have anything beyond a temporary confidant. Maybe I should just suck it up and see how he’s doing. I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror if his depression got the better of him.
“So do you plan to go to his place or something?”
I don’t even know if he lives on campus. God, it’s so weird to realize how little I know about his life and yet I know something so life altering about him. “I think I know where to find him tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“It’s ... he told me something about his past and I’m pretty sure he’ll be there if he’s feeling down.”
“Cryptic much?” She grabs another romance novel off her bedside table and tucks herself into her bed, still fully clothed.
* * *
I wonder what I’m doing here. The sun is bright today but I can’t feel its heat. It’s still freezing, which is not that surprising since it is still winter. Most of the trees are bare and it’s kind of creepy with the tombs scattered everywhere.
Some people are visiting and a couple who look like tourists are taking pictures of the view of Seattle and Washington Lake. The scenery is eerily serene and yet my heart is hammering in my chest and heaviness settles in my stomach.
I adjust my scarf against the breeze. I pull on the long sleeves of my sweater and hide my hands and cold fingers in them. Without moving, my eyes look around at the people. Some look like they’re ready to crumple into tears, but most of them have a bittersweet smile on their flushed face from the winter weather.
I’m ready to go back to my dorm, I want to get away from the cemetery, when my gaze settles on a tall and muscular frame I’m beginning to know well.
He’s standing in front of a dark grey stone that shines in the soft rays of the sun. His head is down, deep in thought, and his dark eyes never leave the tombstone. His broad shoulders are slumped down, not straight and fierce like usual, and it’s this last detail that convinces me to walk toward him.
He stands motionless with his hands in his jacket pockets; he’s more intimidating than ever. He seems so untouchable, more so than I ever was to him. My boots crunch on the ground but he doesn’t look up. Maybe he didn’t hear me walking to him, nor does he feel me next to him.
I fidget with my sleeves under my leather jacket, unable to break the silence. Somehow, it feels wrong to interrupt his moment with his dead girlfriend, which sounds crazy in my head since I don’t even believe in God or an afterlife. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t respect other’s beliefs and this moment that should be private.
For no reason, my eyes fill with tears. I blink several times to make them disappear. It’s not a time to cry, it’s not about me or about how much it hurts to be next to him after he left me. It’s not about me. It’s about him.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me, his voice raspy as if he hasn’t spoken in hours.
He doesn’t look at me. His eyes are fixed on the scripts on the stone in front of him. His face is pale, even with his naturally tanned complexion. His eyes are hollow, and the dark rings tell me he probably didn’t sleep much all week.
I read the scripts on the tomb and the lump in my throat feels worse. Underground, there’s someone many people loved. Right here, there’s someone whose death ruined many lives. Just in a blink of an eye.
Juliet Trenton
March 4th 1991 - April 17th 2009
We will always love you, miss you, and think about you.
“I wanted to see how you are,” I say in a broken voice that makes me blush. I shouldn’t lose it like that. It’s not helping.
“Or you want to gloat at seeing that in fact I’m more messed up than I told you?” He sounds so harsh. I shake my head and hold my ground. He’s doing exactly what I did with him. He’s trying to drive me away because he’s too broken to face or interact with anybody, but he seems to forget who he’s talking to. I’m not a student easily thrown off.
“Don’t worry; I’m not here to compare scores.” I look away from the tomb and glance at the view of Seattle. “Kate told me you didn’t seem to be feeling so well, and I knew where you’d be so ...”
“So you thought coming here was a good idea?” He laughs harshly, the muscles in his square jaw contracting and relaxing. “Leave me alone, Skye.”
Maybe I should leave but I don’t. It’s probably not the best way to help him, nor am I the best person to help him since I can’t even overlook my own past, but I can’t turn away and let him drown in his sorrow. It’s hard to witness and it’s killing me inside. It hurts to see him hurt like that. He doesn’t look like the Duke I met just weeks ago, the annoying TA who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Now it’s my turn to not take no for an answer.