Hate (15 page)

His answering sigh rumbled from his chest to mine, transferring not only the vibration but the emotion that went with it.

“I was just gonna say the same thing to you.”

I hugged him tighter, and before I knew it, he was doing the same, breathing the same rhythm as me and tucking my head even further under his chin.

I took a deep breath in at his neck and rested my lips on the thrumming pulse of his vein.

Our hearts weren’t alternating anymore. Now they were beating together.

We stood that way for hours, literally, just breathing each other in and exchanging strengths and weaknesses.

When we separated, it was because of two words.

“Happy Birthday.”

His hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin silver chain, a slender chain link hanging off of it as the charm. He didn’t offer an explanation, and stupidly, I didn’t ask for one as he clasped it around my neck.

I should have stayed there even longer. Because when I looked back at this moment later, I’d hate it.

I would hate that it was short-lived.

And I would hate that, following the separation afterward, it felt like nothing but a lie.

THE INSIDE OF MY MIND was an extremely vulnerable place. With no outside conversation to walk its haunted halls, all of my self-deprecating thoughts morphed and expanded, filling every void with their darkness.

I’d created this situation.

I’d pushed for more from a friend than he was ready to give, and his solution was to relieve the pressure.

Exit me.

Or, looking even deeper,
I’d pushed away people so much that when I lost two friends, I was left with no one.

Logic suggested that it was just the loneliness talking. But being that I was still meters deep, wading through the slog-filled trenches, I couldn’t sort the truth from convenient, yet contrived, fiction.

But all the evidence was stacked against me. Blane was someone I didn’t know. Withdrawn, he hardly ever acknowledged my existence, let alone had an actual conversation with me.

His persona went from looking like a bad boy to actually being one, often leaving the school building during the day to smoke a cigarette.

I knew because I watched. Every move he made, I saw it. And the more I saw, the more I hated.

I could feel the lack of control on both of our parts, his to care and mine to save him.

Not to mention, he rode his motorcycle fast and stupid, two things he’d never done in the entire time he’d had it. Granted he hadn’t been riding one for that long, only seniors in high school, but things were different, and it wasn’t because he had more experience. He was reckless, and he was stupid.

And as a result, a churn set up residence in my gut permanently.

January 2002

THE FIRST TIME I SAW Blane after Franny’s funeral was January seventh, two thousand and two.

It was his birthday.

The irony of his birthday being after mine when he was practically full grown in the womb wasn’t lost on me, but it wasn’t like it was years. In fact, it was less than a month. In the scheme of things, I didn’t really think that actually amounted to anything.

We had a snowstorm of decent size, and as a result, school was closed.

And I hadn’t been able to get him off of my mind.

“What are you sitting around here moping for?” Gram asked, her omnipresence in my room feeling extra claustrophobic with the unavoidable incentive to stay indoors provided by the snow.

In years past, Blane would have been here, dragging me out in the snow for fun and snowball fights, or my favorite, midnight walks down the utterly quiet streets of snow-covered suburbia.

The silence was often deafening, the stars seemed brighter, and a general sense of peace settled deep in my chest.

But not this year. So far, there’d been three whole days of school, two days of the weekend, and one incredibly long, snow-filled day without even a peep from my best friend.

I shrugged, as per usual, not really wanting to get into the whole conversation with my grandmother.

“NeeNee,” she prompted.

Unwilling to fight, I grunted my response. “Blane and I
always
spend snow days together.”

Something worked behind her eyes for several seconds before she asked, “Since when do you need a man to do anything?”

My answer was simple. “I don’t need a man. I need Blane.”

Hers was even simpler, her brown eyes frank. “So go get the bastard.”

So I did. At least, I tried. But when I got to his house, after walking a long two and a half miles through the quiet snow-filled streets of our town, he only said a total of six words to me.

When he opened the door, I led with what I thought was best. “Happy Birthday.”

His smile was wry, almost ugly when he said a far too simple, “Yeah.” It was laced with sarcasm, and I could tell it was meant to spit in the face of the idea that this birthday was anything resembling happy. I knew the feeling, but I didn't push the subject.

“You wanna take a walk with me?”

His answer was only slightly less derisive. “No. Thanks.”

I looked to my snow boots, willing the tears to stay locked away inside.

It was one thing to cry because I needed to, because the release was necessary for survival. It was entirely another to do it in front of Blane now.

When I looked back up, his face was hard, the muscle in his jaw jumping with tension.

“I’m sorry, Whit,” he whispered, his blue eyes softening, but not giving in.

Not giving in at all.

The door clicked shut gently in front of me, Blane’s retreating back visible through the glass.

April 2002

APRIL SHOWERS MAY BRING MAY flowers, but they also brought a crap-ton of emotional shit.

Maybe that’s why the flowers grew so well. All that fertile compost.

On what would have been Franny’s eighteenth birthday, April thirtieth, two thousand and two, I decided to visit her grave—something I hadn’t done since we’d buried her.

And apparently, I wasn’t the only one.

I rounded the bend in the cemetery, flowers in hand and a package of Mentos (Franny’s favorite) in my pocket, crested the hill, and saw someone already there, on his knees in front of her headstone.

I slowed my pace, unable to tell who it was and not wanting to intrude.

Of course, when I got closer, the long hair made it painfully obvious.

My step slowed to a crawl, my ankle twisting and turning to decide if I should turn and leave or keep walking on my current course.

Blane hadn’t talked to me since his birthday in January.

And this time, I meant zero words.

His head stayed down in the halls, and he may as well not have been in class. I didn’t know what his grades were like, but as far as participation went, he had a big, fat goose egg.

Torn, I chose anyway, keeping my path, steeling my nerves, locking my spine, and headed directly towards him.

He was the one avoiding me. If it was really that important to him, he was going to have to do a better damn job of it.

Franny was important to me too, and I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to visit her grave when I wanted to whether he was there already or not.

When I was ten feet away, he turned, having heard my footsteps against the blacktop path.

He closed his eyes tight, reaching out to touch her headstone and whispering a tortured, “
Goddamnit
.”

I bit my tongue to keep from saying something snarky in return and clutched the flowers tighter to my chest.

Birds chirped a contrasting happy melody, the rhythm of their tweets reminding me of a chime.

I cleared my throat several times around the nasty words I wanted to spew until I managed to control them.

“I’m sorry for interrupting.”

He nodded without turning around, his hand still stretched out against the chilly stone in front of him, the etched word ‘Franny’ directly under his fingers.

As per usual, I had to grit my teeth against the sudden rush of tears.

Instead, I watched as Blane got to his feet slowly, a long-sleeve thermal, jeans, and his motorcycle boots the only things on his body.

There were fresh flowers already on the base of her headstone. I assumed they were from him, but they could have been from anyone. I would have guessed that several people would have come to visit her on her birthday.

Blane turned around slowly, and I expected him to brush past me, rush down the path without a word.

My old friend wouldn’t have done that, but this was a guy I didn’t know anymore.

But he didn’t. He gave me his eyes when he turned, and there were tears in them.

Instinct made me step forward and reach for him before I realized it wasn’t my place. I forced myself to stop and drop my arms, but before I was even fully still again, something flashed in his eyes, and he was on me. His long arms wrapped around me. His stubbly chin tucked into my hair at my throat.

Warm air tickled the shell of my ear as he spoke softly directly into it. “
I’m
sorry. But it’s not because you interrupted.”

And then he was gone, walking down the path with his hands in his pockets, the sight of his retreating back making it hard for me to breathe.

June 2002

GRADUATION DAY.

A time for celebration. A time for jubilation.

For everyone but me.

I’d worked hard to get here, keeping my grades up and finally pointing myself in an actual direction. I knew people skills were normally a good thing for counselors to have, but I’d made up my mind, and I was willing to take the gamble.

Unfortunately, graduation, for me, was about more than that.

It was the end of a not all together awesome era, and the turning of an irreversible page.

I was scared that once I didn’t meet Blane in the halls on a daily basis that he’d disappear on me completely, and I didn’t know how to prevent it.

Since that day in the cemetery it had been better. God, compared to the months leading up to that it been amazing.

Blane acknowledged my presence and even smiled in my direction. But we were still miles from being friends, and once again, time had run out.

I watched him throughout the ceremony from his place in front of me, and I even cheered when he walked across the stage. His eyes met mine, his head whipping around at the sound of my catcall, and he smiled.

My heart flipped over in my chest.

After I took my turn on the stage, the cheers from my parents and Gram nearly ear-drum-damaging, I shifted nervously waiting for the end. My knees jittered, and my fingers rubbed at the material of my gown nervously.

I had decided that morning, that no matter what, I wouldn’t let him leave without talking to him. If I had to chase him, if I had to scream, if I had to slash his fucking tires, I would do it.

But when the ceremony ended and our caps had been thrown, he found me.

I couldn’t help but bitch. “Well, there goes my chance to slit someone’s tires.”

His eyes widened comically, and another smile settled all the way into his eyes. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“Trust me,” I agreed, “You don’t.”

My heart jumped and screamed in my chest, but my vocal chords refused to follow suit. I couldn’t seem to find the words. I couldn’t seem to describe what I was feeling.

All we’d had. All we’d lost. And all I hoped like hell we’d be able to find again.

He stood and stared too, a couple of mutes, fully transformed from their previously chatty selves.

The air felt empty without our banter filling it.

My fingernails dug into my palms, the anger at not being able to speak overwhelming me to the point of shaking. He looked down to his boots and then up again, and then reached out and pulled me into his arms, slowly, like he was reeling me in.

He tucked my head under his chin, wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me tighter than he’d ever held me before.

I felt his chin leave the top of my head, and the soft silk of his lips replaced it. They lingered there, at the top of my forehead for what felt like forever. And at the same time, it felt like no time had passed at all.

He stepped back, took one look at my face, and then pulled me back in again, placing one last kiss on the soft skin of my jaw.

And then he was gone. Weaving his way through the crowd, his blue gown blending in with all the others as it went.

Damn, but I hated the sight of him walking away from me.