Beautiful Torment (20 page)

The phone rings at lunchtime. I know who it is, but I don’t answer, and the next time I look up I see Gracie.

Shit is it 3:00 already?

“You haven’t moved all day,” she says, and something about seeing me has her frightened. She hesitates before stepping further into my room.

“I almost threw it out,” she sighs. “I wasn’t even going to say anything, but I didn’t know if that would be wrong or not,” she holds up a piece of paper. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“You had the right idea.” My lip quivers.

What’s done is done, why does he have to make it worse? I never pegged him to be this kind of asshole.

“Right.” She looks at me, nodding her head like she wants to say more, but doesn’t.

She leaves my room with the note from him in her hand. Hopefully she puts it where it belongs - in the trash.

By the following week I’m still a zombie, going through the motions of what I’m supposed to be doing, but inside, I’m dead. 

GOODBYE, MTHS

I stay home, in the same position on the floor, wearing the same sweatshirt that doesn’t belong to me, the entire last week of school. I just have to go in next week for finals, and then I’m done.

I’m okay
, I’m constantly chanting, like some mental patient, thinking that maybe if I tell myself this over and over again it might come true.

Gracie sits with me most nights, rocking me lightly as I cry.

I don’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes all I see is
him
. And when I’m lucky, and my eyes finally get heavy enough to drift close on their own, I wake with a wetness that sticks them together, causing me to have to pry them open.

That Friday, I go to school, at the very end of the day, on the very last day before Monday’s finals begin I sneak in through the basement door and find my way to the rehearsal room.

I move my hands over the keys without pressing down. Tears stream down my face as I remember the time we were on this very bench. When I finally admitted my true feelings, and how none of that mattered in the end.

I’m still here when the final bell rings, ending senior year, my mind racing, never slowing down, still replaying the last moments I saw him.

Fuck, this whole time he was
married?!

He was with someone else.
I was the someone else
.

It was still real though, right?

Right?

Because on this bench, it still feels like it was.

I cry because I miss him, I weep because I shouldn’t, and by the time I calm down, it’s dark outside, and the room is now pitch black. I’m heaving heavily from my sobs as I walk back out and into the hallway. I should head home.

I don’t know exactly what time it is, but my legs are suddenly walking down the
wrong
hallway.
The right hallway
. This is not the exit.

His classroom door is shut, the lights are out, and the only glow in the entire area is at the other end of the hallway, coming from his closed office door.

I make my way to it, stopping just outside. My body falls forward, my forehead resting on the cold surface, watching his footsteps move on the other side, making the light alter brightness and shapes in the hall.

It’s late, why is he even still here, other than, of course, to unknowingly toy with my heart.

My eyes become a blur through the wetness again. When will the crying stop? Surely I have to reach a limit at some point, where my body can’t physical produce any more tears because I’ve run out. When will that happen?

“Hello?” He calls out and the knob starts to jiggle.

I run, tripping over myself, not stopping until I’m at my car.

I wish I could
want
to turn back time and change things. But deep down I know, if given the opportunity, I still wouldn’t. I wouldn’t alter a thing that happened between us.

I know he followed me, because he knew it was me on the other side of his door, just as I know if I look in my rearview mirror I’ll see him, standing outside of the school, watching me as I pull away. And maybe that’s why I don’t look, because I still can’t bare to see his face.

Chemistry is my last final, and I don’t worry about it because proctors monitor all exams, therefore I won’t have to see him.

The issue is, he wanted to see me.

As I leave the classroom my eyes find his. He’s been waiting, his right leg propped up as he leans against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

It’s feels like forever, yet no time at all since I’ve seen him, and his obvious suffering should make me feel better, but it doesn’t.

“Are we ever going to talk?” He croaks, but I keep on walking.

“Luci, please,” he begs, following me.

I close my eyes at the sound of my name. The memory that bombards me this time is of our first kiss. It replays over and over again - his hands, his words, his touch, the feeling of it
finally
happening. Suddenly, our last kiss pushes its way through, up to the very front. I wish I knew then to treasure it, because it would be our final. I bend over in pain. I need the sweatshirt. Why didn’t I bring the sweatshirt?

“Luci!” He reaches out, but I back away.

“What’s there to say?” I grasp onto myself tightly, trying to control the pain and tears.

“At least let me explain.” How dare he look
so hurt
, after what he’s done!

“Is there something to explain?” I prop myself against a nearby locker, righting my stance. “I mean, it seems pretty self explanatory. You’re married and your wife is about to have a baby.”

“Please, not out here.” His looks around, begging for me to follow him somewhere private, but I start walking the opposite way.

“I also have your report card,” he calls after me and I stop. “They did an eighth period hand out this year. You weren’t here when I gave them out.”

“I’m sure you can mail it.”

“I know I don’t deserve this, but
please
, let me just say what I have to,” he implores. “Then never have to talk to me ever again if you don’t want to.”

I hesitate at the
never ever
, the finality of things.

The next step I take is towards his office.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

“You have five minutes,” I spit. “That’s all.”

I focus on the floor as he rustles through the papers on his desk. This room has too many memories, and I’ve already been hit with enough for today. There is a pile of yearbooks in the corner, waiting to be signed. One lays open, full of well wishes from his or her friends.
I’ll always remember senior year!
, someone writes.

I’ll try to forget.

Hopefully one day I will.

Maybe one day I’ll live again, because right now I’m only existing, and existing is looking in the eyes of your soul mate as he hands you your report card.

“You lied,” I take paper from him. “After everything.”

“It’s complicated,” he shakes his head.

“Why?” I put my hands up. “It’s seems straight forward. You have a
wife
. You’re about to become a
Dad
. Does anything else matter?”

“None of that changes how I feel about you.”

How can he say that? How
dare
he say that!

“You’re a cheater,” I accuse. “You used me.”

“I’m not, and I didn’t,” he swears. “I filed for divorce at the end of last summer-”

“I don’t believe you,” I interrupt.

“Sit down,” he pleads, pulling out a chair.

I take a different seat, standing by my five minutes, wanting to just look at him one more time, in this very room. He falters, not believing I’d actually sit without hassle.

“I met with a lawyer in August and I can prove it if you’d like.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, he has a whole story, like I’m supposed to believe anything he says now.

“Luci, when you walked through my door in September I felt like the sickest person alive,” his face is full of disgust. “The way I wanted you, one of my
students
!”

“Sorry to be such a burden,” I mumble.

“I started seeing her again, because I felt so twisted. I had to do
something
to take my mind off you,” he sighs. “Yes, it was wrong of me to lead her on, and she knew damn well I was filing for divorce, but shit, I was desperate to try
anything
. I had to get you out of my head. I thought if I tried to refocus on her I could stop the feelings I had for you.”

“I even had the paperwork to transfer you into another class all ready to go,” he shakes his head. “But I couldn’t do it. I’d rather torture myself seeing you everyday than never see you again, to never look or talk to you again.” His eyes water as he looks into mine. “You were everywhere, my own, personal,
beautiful
torment
.”

I look away as he continues.

“I’ll never forget the look on your face when you saw me, and I’ll always remember the day I realized you wanted me too.
I couldn’t believe it
, and it destroyed me,” he swallows. “So I started fucking her again. I needed something other than my own hand to make you feel real. It wasn’t ever her I was with; it was you.
Always you
. I’d close my eyes and see your face.”

A single tear runs down my cheek as I open my mouth to stop him, not wanting to hear anymore, but nothing except air comes out.

“When you and I kissed, I thought maybe if I just got it out of my system I could get past it,” he says, as wetness forms along the rims of his red eyes. “I knew it was just an excuse. I was done from the moment I saw you, and destroyed the minute we touched. That night, I called her. Told her we were over, for real this time. Nothing could compare to you,” he pauses, offering me a sad smile. “A few weeks later, she called, said she’s pregnant-”

“You said I was the only one you never used a condom with!” I shout.

“You are,” he promises. “I didn’t believe her! I thought it was just a ploy to get me back. She said the condom must have torn, then she showed me the sonogram.”

I turn away, the tears streaming down my face.

“Yet you kept allowing this to happen, after you knew,” I snap. “And you never told me. How could you?”

“I know it was wrong, and inconsiderate, and a million other ways you can tell me how selfish I am,” he sighs, his fingers pulling at his face. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I just knew
couldn’t
refuse you. I
didn’t want
to
. I already fell too hard and I
needed
you.”

“So what, you had me throughout the day and then her once you got home? That’s sick!”

“No!” He shouts. “Please don’t think that little of me. I’ve been staying at my sister’s,” he kneels in front of me. “And God, Luci, please don’t think I touched her, because I haven’t. Not once since you and I started.
I can’t
. She’s not you.”

“I don’t believe you,” I sniff.

“I understand why, but it’s the truth.”

There’s a deep sadness to his voice as he tells me the next bit.

“Obviously, she decided to keep the baby, and I can’t be the person who leaves now, for the sake of the kid.” He falls quiet, his lips trembling.

“Great, so let me know where I should send the baby gift,” I stand.

“You know,” he stops me. “After I came inside you,” he says with a silent laugh and the memory cuts me like a knife, causing me to grab onto my stomach, just so I don’t fall. “I almost didn’t even bring up the whole doctor thing, because
I wanted to risk it with you
… because, shit, what if then it could be you then and not her? Then I could choose you!” He leans forward, and I know my ugly cry face is going strong. “But I realized how self-serving that would have been, and after all that I’ve already done to you I couldn’t. You’re so young and have so much ahead of you,” he shakes his head. “A bright future full of all the best things.”

“This whole time you knew we could never be real,” I sob. “And you let me fall, harder and harder.”

“Please stop crying,” he whispers. “I know I once again have no right, but I can’t take it when you’re sad… let me at least hold you while you cry, since it’s my fault.”

“No!” I pull back, even though he’s nowhere near me. He flinches, the knife hitting him too. “Your story changes nothing.”

“I know,” his tears fall now too. “For the record I wish things were different. That somehow you were older, or I was younger, and I met you before I even got married in the first place.”

“Stop,” I plead, but he doesn’t.

“I know it’s not fair. And I know what I’m about to say is equally as selfish, but I am in love with you, Luci. So fucking in love. I always have been and always will be. I can never change that.”

I say nothing as I continue my walk to the door. His five minutes are up and his words are too late.

“I think you’re a terrible person.”

I can still hear the echo of the door slamming shut as I head to my car.

Graduation is awkward, as mom tries to get pictures of me with everyone. Little does she know, I haven’t even talked to Chloe, Ashley, or any of my other friends in months.

Just when I think the humiliation is over, and we can finally leave, I hear her yell the name that most gets my heart beating and blood boiling.

“Mr. Harrington!” She shouts. Gracie and I exchange a look.

“Mom, please stop,” I quickly glance her way, Gracie protests as well..

“I just want a picture of you with your favorite teacher, so you’ll remember him,” she says as he approaches. As if I ever could forget.