Our Song (9 page)

Chapter Eleven

Becca

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, but it’s dark outside now. Even though I feel calmer now, I still feel a little sick to my stomach. I thought I was done feeling this way. About Trip. About myself. But I’m feeling more unsure than ever. Not about Trip. He still scares the crap out of me, and I hope I never see him again. But I thought I was done feeling insecure. Finished worrying about what other people thought of me and my dreams. I know what I want, and I know that Trip is not a good person. And yet, I somehow still feel like what I want is stupid, or unattainable. I’m feeling pretty worthless right now. I lie here, staring at the wall, and pull the blanket back up around me.

“Becca?”

I freeze for a moment, shocked to hear anyone’s voice. But then I remember where I am. And when I realize it’s Asher, I relax. “I’m awake.”

He immediately comes over from the bunk opposite mine, and slides onto the bed behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “What happened after I fell asleep?”

Asher takes a deep breath and holds it. After finally letting it out, he says, “I read all the comments on that post, and then I read your text messages. Which, by the way, you should know that you have some awesome girlfriends. You might not believe this, but the girls were all really supportive; your friends still really care about you. Before I could get to the voicemail, your mom walked into the room, and guessed at what had happened. She took your phone, and said she was going to talk with your dad. She said she’d have your dad call Trip’s parents. But after she left the room, I don’t know what happened. I’ve been in here, waiting for you to wake up.”

I’m a little surprised any of my friends were acting supportive of me, considering they don’t have a clue what happened between Trip and I. And it’s not like I went running back to my friends after I broke up with him. In fact, I’ve hardly done anything with them since the break-up.

But wait a minute. I’ve been sleeping for hours. “You’ve been waiting down here this whole time? Have you eaten lunch? Or supper yet?”

“No. I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

I sigh. I can’t believe he did that for me. “You could have woken me up. It’s pretty obvious I’ve been sleeping for a long time. You really need to eat.”

“So do you. But I’ll wait until you’re ready to go up there.”

I snuggle my back up against his chest, wishing we could just lie like this forever. “Or…”

“Or, what?”

“Or, you could go up and get some food, and bring it back down here. We can eat here in the room.”

Asher doesn’t move, or speak for a minute. I can’t see his face, but I assume he’s thinking about what our parents are going to say. “I take it you’d rather not see anyone else yet.”

“Not really.”

“Well, I can leave you alone too, if you want.” Asher starts to pull away from me. “Just grab you some food and leave you be.”

“No!” I immediately reply, taking hold of his hands in front of my torso. I don't have the heart to look into his eyes, afraid of what I might see there. “I mean, unless you’d rather eat with everyone else. You don’t have to stay here with me.” I probably sound like I’m desperate. Which is probably a huge turn-off for Asher. But maybe I am desperate.

“I want to stay with you. If you’ll have me.”

I let go of his hands and start to roll over, so Asher loosens his arms around me. I turn over as quickly as possible, and wrap my arms around his neck in a hug. “I will
always
want you around,” I whisper.

-----

Asher

Always.

I didn’t expect Becca to say that word to me, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t wished for it. For a long time, I might add. I slide my hands up her back, over her shoulders, and rest my hands on her arms. She pulls back slightly, so we’re facing each other, with only an inch or two of space between our lips. She’s still close enough that I can feel the warmth of her breath when she breathes out. “Do you mean that?”

She doesn’t say anything out loud, but she looks straight into my eyes, and nods slowly. I tilt my face towards hers until our foreheads are leaning against one another. “Then I always want to be here.”

I want to kiss her so bad I can taste it. But after everything she’s been through, I need that to be her decision. Just because she wants me to be here for her, doesn’t mean she’s ready for anything more than that. I close my eyes, and we lay like that for a minute or two. Just when I’m about to pull away and ask what she wants me to get her to eat, she tentatively brushes her lips against mine, as if
she’s
asking
me
if I want to kiss her. I don’t even hesitate to respond to that question. I want her to know
exactly
how I feel about her.

Her lips are so soft between mine, I can't help but be gentle, kissing her slow. Becca loosens her arms from my neck, only to run her fingers through my hair. It makes me desperate to touch her more. I pull her closer, resting one hand on her neck to keep her lips on mine, and the other on the small of her back.

Without warning, Becca's stomach growls, making us break apart as we laugh and gasp for air.

I grin at her. "Maybe I should head upstairs and grab us that food?"

She looks down, with a small smile on her face, and I would bet she's blushing, even though it's too dark to tell for sure.

"That's probably a good idea."

I reach out and tip her chin up, so I can see her eyes. Leaning over, I leave a quick kiss on her cheek.

"I'm on it," I say, as I walk out of the room.

Chapter Twelve

Becca

That kiss!
When Asher first went upstairs to see what he could scrounge up for food, I could hardly stop smiling. It felt so good to be in his arms. To feel his lips on mine. But now that he’s been gone for a few minutes, I’m starting to wonder if that was such a good idea. I really care about him. And I’m pretty sure he cares about me. Exhibit A: skipping meals just to make sure I don’t wake up alone.

But, did he kiss me because he feels sorry for me? Does he see me differently now that he knows what Trip did to me? And what if this changes everything? Asher has been one of my best friends for like, nine years. I would die if I couldn’t be around him anymore just because we couldn’t make a more-than-friends relationship work.
Ugh.
I don’t know what I want anymore. I just know I can’t stand to lose him.

“Alright, I’ve got some grilled fish, cheese and crackers, corn, mashed potatoes, and a banana. I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for, so I grabbed a little bit of everything.”

This. This is what I love about Asher. He is so considerate, and thinks about other people before himself. I don’t deserve him.

Grabbing the banana, and peeling it, I say, “Thank you. And not just for the food. For everything you did for me today.”

Asher picks up the grilled fish with his fingers, and tears a piece off before popping it into his mouth. “There is no need to thank me. I wanted to do it for you. I just wish there were something I could do to take away what he did to you. It’s not fair that he did all those things, and you are the one who is still suffering for it.”

I don’t want Asher to feel sorry for me. I don’t want
anyone
to feel sorry for me. So much of what happened could have been avoided if I just would have handled everything better. So I try to change the subject. “Say, we never finished that game of corn hole.”

Asher has a contemplative look on his face. He finishes eating his fish, chewing slowly. Then he says, “I forfeit. What you told me this afternoon answered at least one of the questions I wanted to ask you anyway. So you can take the win. What three questions would you like to ask me?”

Well, if he had asked me that before I turned my stupid phone back on, I would have been able to spout off three questions without really even thinking about it. But for some reason, now, I feel like everything is changing around me. And the questions I would have asked him earlier seem petty, and stupid. I take the last bite of my banana, and put its peel back on the plate. I think I’m going to start with one that seems kind of unimportant, and build up to the question I really want to ask him.

“Alright, here’s my first question: what schools are you going to apply to?”

“Way to start off with a tough one, Becca,” he grumbles. He thinks this is hard to answer? I thought he’d already have this all figured out. “I haven’t decided for sure what I’d like to major in. Of course, I will apply to Syracuse University to get my BA in architecture, since my parents went there. It’s all they ever seem to talk about. I’m not really sure I want to go there, but I would get a legacy scholarship if I decided to attend, and they have one of the best architecture programs in the country. I’d like to apply to Ohio State University and Texas A&M because they have great landscape architecture programs. But I’m not sure that’s what I want to major in either. Lately I’ve been considering studying journalism, and if I decided to do that, I would really like to go to Northwestern University. Some of the best journalists graduated from that program. Although there are a couple other schools I’d be okay with attending as well.”

"Wow. We might actually be applying to a lot of the same schools if you decide to go that route. I didn't realize you cared so much about writing. Although, I guess it shouldn't surprise me. You work on the school paper, and you've always gotten better grades than everyone else on every essay or narrative we’ve ever had to write for school." Growing up in a small town, it’s not like we read the New York Times or travel the globe. But maybe that’s why he’d like to do it for a living.

"Not
every
writing assignment. That poetry unit in Ms. Tate's class last year? Your writing was a thousand times better than mine. Or anyone else’s for that matter."

I just shake my head at him.

“You got another question for me?”

I’m not sure what to ask. I know what my third question will be. But I want that to be last, in case I need to leave the room after his answer. “Umm…question two: before I told you what Trip did to me, why did you think I broke it off with Trip?”

“Well, this is a much easier question. I figured you had finally gotten tired of his douche-baggery. No guy should
ever
ask a girl to change for him. And it was obvious he was making you change. You stopped doing things you loved. And I’m not just talking about spending time with me. I never saw you eat lunch with your friends anymore, and when you thought no one was looking, you looked so lost, so stuck inside yourself, like you were trapped. It seemed like the only thing you were still doing that you loved was singing. But even that changed. When we started practicing that duet, at first, you were pouring everything you had into singing it, but not singing it
with
me. About a week and a half after you broke things off with Trip, I started to see tiny bits of the old Becca trying to break through to the surface, but even then, you still were holding back with me. I’m glad you felt you could trust me today, to tell me what really happened.”

I am on the verge of tears again, but for a very different reason. He’s right. I had changed. And not for me, or in a good way. And he had seen through it all, even if he didn’t know the specifics at the time. But there’s something I need to know. “Alright, here’s my last question: do you feel sorry for me?”

-----

Asher

Is that really what she wants to know? She has the power to ask me anything in the whole world, and she wants to know if I feel sorry for her. I don’t really understand why this question is important to her.

“Well, yeah. Nobody should ever have to go through what you—“ but I don’t get to finish that thought.

Becca jumps up, turns to face the door, and says, “I think I’m ready to talk to my parents. I need to know what they did while I was sleeping.” Then she takes off, almost at a run, heading upstairs.

Did I say something wrong? I’m not exactly sure what just happened, why Becca bolted like that, but I follow Becca up the stairs. Although at a much slower pace. I, like Becca, don’t have a clue what happened after Amy took Becca’s phone to Rich. I’d really like to know what’s going on, but even more than that, I refuse to let Becca go through this alone.

***

When I get upstairs, Becca is already tucked under her mom’s arm on the love seat, and her dad is sitting backwards on a dining chair across from them. Part of me feels like I’m intruding, especially since Becca is getting her comfort from someone else. But if I’m going to help her get through this, I have to know what’s going on, what’s being done to protect her, and make her feel safe.

There’s a wooden rocking chair on the other side of Becca, so I quietly walk over and sit in it. Once I’m seated, Rich looks around at all of us, sucks in a deep breath, then sighs out, “Okay. Here’s what happened…”