Bend Me, Break Me (25 page)

I was more confused than I’d ever been in my entire life. And there was something else, black and pulsing in my blood.

Betrayal.

He had lied to me. Not once, but every single moment we had been together. Little lies, strung together and wrapped around my neck.

I couldn’t breathe. My lungs refused to work.

Before I knew what was happening, I was back in the car. Coen had me in the backseat and was demanding that I breathe for him. He took my face in both hands.

“I need you to slow things down. Breathe just like me.” He inhaled slowly and then exhaled in a whoosh. I tried to follow suit, but my body didn’t want to cooperate. It took several more tries before my lungs inflated semi-normally.

“That’s my girl,” he said, using his thumbs to stroke my cheeks. Everything suddenly snapped back into place and I pushed him away.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” He jerked back and I followed him, scrambling out of the car.

“Don’t you touch me, you liar!” I screamed. He kept backing up, but there was only so far he could go on the shoulder.

“How
dare
you? You didn’t think I’d been through enough and you had to come and save me, you asshole? I didn’t need to be saved! I needed a friend, but it was a lie.
This
is why I didn’t let people in. Because they hurt you or they leave you or they die. Everyone always leaves!” Somehow I was right in front of him and I smacked a hand on his chest. It felt good, so I did it again. I couldn’t look at his face. I just kept throwing punches and hits and he just took it. Stood there and didn’t say a word as I unleashed everything on him. I was saying other things, but they weren’t words. They’d just become sounds.

Eventually my arms got tired and I started to slide to the ground, but he was there to catch me before I hit the dirt. He pulled me up and even though I struggled, he put his arms around me and tucked me under his chin.

His heartbeat thudded in my ear, almost drowning out the sounds I was making.

“How could you do this to me?” I said into his shirt.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ingrid. I’m sorry for the way it happened. But I’m not sorry that I met you. That’s probably a horrible thing to say, but I can’t take that back. It might have started out with a lie, but everything I feel for you is true. It was real for me. It
is
real for me.” His words vibrated against my skin.

I listened to what he was saying, but couldn’t respond. His fingers brushed through my hair.

“It’s real for me.”

I had no choice but to get back in the car when I started shivering so bad that I couldn’t stand. I hesitated for a moment, but got in the passenger seat. Coen turned the car on and blasted the heat as I shoved my fingers toward the vents.

“The seats are heated, so that should help,” he said and a few moments later I felt them start to thaw my legs. Coen pulled back onto the highway and took the first exit he could so we could turn around. Due to our crazy trip, we were several hours away from campus, so it was going to be a long ride.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” I said. He lifted one shoulder.

“I would have hit me too.”

Silence.

“Does your mom know about me?”

“No. I’ve never told her.

More silence.

“Was the kissing part of it?” I asked.

He fought a tiny smile.

“No. That was a complete surprise. Definitely not part of the plan.”

It hadn’t been part of my plan either, but it had happened and it had felt real. If nothing else, the warmth in my chest when he kissed me was always real.

“You should have told me.”

“I know. I tried to. I planned it. But then I kept putting it off because I knew that you would probably never want to see me again and I couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t handle not seeing you anymore, Ingrid.” In spite of everything, my heart still fluttered when he said my name.

“This is crazy.”

“I know. If someone told me this story, I wouldn’t believe it,” Coen said with a shake of his head.

“True.”

The intensity had faded and now things were… weird. Coen was a completely different person now. I didn’t know how to talk to this new person. What to say. If I even wanted to talk to him.

The anger at what he had done still simmered in my veins and I had no doubt it would boil up again when we got back.

I closed my eyes and leaned the seat back, pretending to sleep so he wouldn’t talk to me.

It worked.

He didn’t get out of the car when he dropped me off. We’d been gone so long that the sky was awash with the beginning light of day. Not knowing what to say to him, I settled on nothing and just got out of the car. At the last second, I remembered his jacket. Pulling my arms out of the sleeves, I folded it up and lay it on the passenger seat before shutting the door and walking toward my building.

Marty was snoring when I got back and he slept like the dead, so I didn’t bother to be quiet as I stumbled toward my bed and lay down. I was exhausted, but knew that sleep wasn’t going to come soon, if at all.

She’d given my jacket back. That was enough of a goodbye and probably the only one I was going to get.

It was over. Over and done and I had ruined it. I rubbed my eyes as hot tears spilled down my cheeks. I’d never experienced an emotion like this. I was alive and my heart was beating, but at the same time I was dying. Slowly. With every word she’d shot a hole in me and now I was crawling around on the ground, just waiting to bleed out.

It was all my fault. I’d done this.

I closed my eyes and all I could see was her face and all I could hear was her voice saying “how could you?” over and over. I was sure I’d be hearing it on repeat every day for the rest of my life.

I didn’t sleep and the next day I couldn’t make it to class. There was just no way. Marty gave me one sad look and just shook his head.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here. If you want to get drunk, I’m here. Whatever you want to do, I’m here.” I thanked him and he left for class.

I spent most of the day holding onto my leather jacket because it smelled like her. I knew it was going to fade, so I was trying to keep it in my memories. Seal it away so I would always have it. The memory of the sad girl that I had lost.

My mom called me that night and I thought about not answering, but if I did that then she’d just leave a rambling message and be worried about me.

“Hey, Mom,” I said, cringing at how dejected my voice sounded.

“Oh, Coen, what’s wrong? Are you sick?” Only two words and she knew. I wasn’t going to be able to deny there was something wrong.

“No, just had a bad day. Didn’t sleep.” I sounded lifeless, which was on par with how I felt.

“What’s wrong? You sound so upset.” I clenched my jaw, but couldn’t stop the sob that tore its way out of me.

“Oh, Coen. Talk to me, baby.” I took a shaky breath.

“I did something and I hurt someone. Someone I really care about,” I said. I would eventually tell her about Ingrid, but that wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have over the phone. It wouldn’t be right. Thanksgiving was coming up and I was going home, so I could do it then. She was going to talk me out of coming back, and maybe I would let her. The best thing for Ingrid would be if I left and she never saw me again. Never had a reminder of how someone she thought was her friend had betrayed her.

“What did you do?”

“It’s complicated. But I don’t know what to do now. I know I can’t fix it, but I don’t know what to do.” I sniffed and grabbed a tissue to wipe my eyes and my nose.

“I wish I knew more details, Coen. I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” I pressed my lips together. I just couldn’t tell her.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” She sighed.

“Well, then all I’m going to say is that I know you’re a good person, Coen. And there are very few things that can’t be repaired. You may think it’s the end, but time has a way of changing things. People can surprise you. In good and bad ways.”

I had never asked her to tell me about when she’d met my father and how I had come about. They hadn’t been married when I was born and she had given me her last name and left him off the birth certificate. When I was very little, I thought Todd was my birth father until she told me otherwise.

It hadn’t been until I was a teenager and more curious that I’d found out who my birth father was. A convict. A person who had been in and out of jail for dozens of crimes. I had no idea if she’d known about that when they’d met. She’d been young, only nineteen.

“But what if I don’t want her to forgive me? I don’t deserve it,” I said, and then realized I’d slipped and used a feminine pronoun.

“You do, Coen. You’ve always taken things upon yourself, even when you were little. Like Atlas, holding the world on your shoulders. It scared me and worried me and I did my best to convince you that you didn’t need to be responsible for all that.”

“But I am responsible for this, Mom. I did this.”

“I wish I could give you a hug right now. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. But you’ve also always been independent and you seemed so sure this was where you wanted to be, so I let you go. Do you want to come home? You know you can anytime. You can transfer to a school here.” I thought about it, but I couldn’t do that yet. It would affect my GPA and Marty would have questions and it would just be too much to do this near the end of the semester.

“I know. I’ll be home for Thanksgiving, okay?”

“I love you so much, Coen. Me and Todd and even Ike, though he’ll never say it. We all love you. You were my light when all I could see was darkness. I will never, ever regret having you. Do you understand? You were not a mistake. You were a blessing. You were a gift that I didn’t deserve. And you are not him.” It was one of the only times she’d referred to the man who had given me some of my DNA.

“His sins are not yours.” Her words were another punch to my already battered self and I just wanted to get off the phone.

“I know,” I said, figuring if I agreed with her, she’d let me go.

“I love you, my son. So much.”

“I love you too.”

“Call me whenever you need to talk. Anytime. Day or night.” I told her that I would and ended the call.

I didn’t make it to class the rest of the week. I emailed my professors and claimed I was sick. It wasn’t far from the truth. If it hadn’t been for Marty, I might have wasted away. He made me eat and shoved me toward the shower and tried to get me to talk, even though I didn’t to. Slowly, he pulled the story out of me. Everything. My father, Ingrid, my plan that had gone so wrong.

“That is seriously fucked up, dude,” he said when he’d gotten it all.

“Thanks, that’s totally helpful,” I snapped.

“Whoa, calm down. If you heard this story about someone else, you’d think the same thing.” He had me there. I rubbed my face and realized I really needed to brush my teeth. They were all gritty.

“Okay, so this isn’t your garden variety relationship problem and I’m not really sure how you’re gonna fix this one. But I’d definitely hold back and follow her lead. You’re not going to get anywhere by talking to her if she doesn’t want you to.” It was solid advice.

“I don’t even want her to forgive me and talk to me again,” I said and Marty laughed.

“Yeah, you do. You’re not going to give up on a girl like that. I’ve seen the way you look at her and the way she looks at you and I don’t know a whole lot about love, but I’m pretty sure you’re neck deep in it.” I gaped at him and he just winked.

“Oh, were you not aware of that?”

No.

Yes.

Ingrid.

Love.

Did I love Ingrid? The second I asked the question, I had my answer. Yes. That was what the feeling was in my chest when I saw her. That elation at bringing her tea and hearing her laugh and just being with her. I’d told myself that I just liked her. That we were just friends. But then we’d kissed and everything had changed, but I’d told myself it was the same. If I was honest, I’d loved her from that very first moment. That very first second when she’d looked at me.

My beautiful Ingrid.

And now all I had was heartbreak.

The first thing I did when I got back to my room after Coen dropped me off was to gather everything he’d given me and put it in a box. I’d wanted to throw it away, but something stopped me. So I just filled a box and shoved it so far under my bed that I would forget it was there.

I lay on my bed and pulled out my poetry journal, flipping to a random page. Of course it was about Coen.

Fill my lungs with promises,

Fill my mind with smiles,

Fill my heart with whispers,

Fill my veins with kisses,

Fill my heart with forevers,

Until there’s only you inside.

I turned the page. I’d written a lot about him.

I showed you the box,

The box where I keep all the broken bits of myself,

Instead of turning away,

You put your hand in,

Looking for something,

A jagged edge, a cut, you recoil,

I know you’re giving up,