CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: SIMMER DOWN
If only time could mimic steps. Sometimes I want time to walk alongside me. Other times I want it to run right passed me.
It always does the opposite.
I've been back in my routine. Wake up, run, class, homework, sleep, and repeat. If only I could just run away these last few weeks of classes. Pound time away into the cement with my sneaker.
"Another run?" Stephanie's annual question of the day.
Today, I just laugh and run in place before closing the door behind me.
My ponytail swings back and forth along to beat echoing in my ears from my earbuds. I walk down to the center of campus as a warmup before beginning to run.
I run away the assignments I have to do when I get back. I run away the dread of other assignments due in the future. I run away the dull routine of today. Most importantly, I run away the slight sting in my chest that still burns every time I catch a glimpse of dirty blonde hair.
"Did you know you even have a freckle inside your iris? Right there below your pupil."
It was cold this morning, but now the sun is out and searing my skin. It doesn't take long for my underarms, the back of my neck, and under my nose to feel slicked with sweat. I also have to alternate my phone between my hands whenever the sweat starts to build there.
All the pounding of my feet, my heart, and my blood comes to a stop when I glance up from my sneakers. The same way a flower stretches its petals to the sun, or when two squirrels duel for the same nut.
"Wait!"
My feet scrape against the pavement as I turn around and head back in the other direction. I didn't stretch enough for sprints, but my heartbeat is already ahead of my music. I can feel people glancing back as I pass them, but I keep pushing. I keep pounding. I keep praying that frayed shoelace comes undone and trips him. Gashes and scrapes and blood.
"I like you too." The blood had rushed straight from my heart and right to my cheeks, but it didn't matter because he smiled at me. He smiled that rare, teeth showing, million-dollar smile.
"Lacie," Trent breathes. He finally manages to grip my elbow and turn me around to face him.
I rip my arm away but that's the only thing I can manage to do in between sucking in deep breaths. Trent's chest heaves up and down as he attempts to do the same.
I taste blood when I swallow. That's how I know this is going to hurt tomorrow and not just physically.
Trent's lips part, but then a car beeps and jolts both of us back into reality. We both take a step towards the parked cars beside us, so we don't get hit by the car trying to maneuver through the parking lot.
There's both sweat and wrinkles on Trent's grey t-shirt, but the frayed shoelace is still intact. His hands are on his hips as he continues to breathe in through his chest before he walks the few steps over to the curb and plops down.
He digs his hands into his hair as he shakes his head. "I'm sorry for chasing you." He looks up. "And for . . ." His head falls back down between his legs. "Everything."
Everything.
Everything that used to be so crystal clear, so warm and fuzzy, now makes my eyes squeeze shut and my head shake.
Someone smiles or laughs, and my intestines knot together. Not only because it's not the same but also because it's no longer how I remembered. Everything is tainted, saturated, and stained with what was and what could have been. Seven months of memories stained with nothing but potential.
It's like scrubbing at a carpet stain. You scrub and scrub, but all it does is keep spreading. All it does is make everything worse.
I need it to stop spreading.
My legs are thankful the second my butt hits the cement, but the world seems quiet after I pull out my ear buds. The breeze that blows by only makes my skin feel hotter and messes up my hair even more.
Trent's head ping pongs between me and the license plate in front of him. His hands won't stop leaving red marks in his skin before his shoulders sag, and he ducks his head again.
The car in front of me rumbles as it starts up before it pulls out of the spot. Now everyone who walks by has a front row seat to the two of us, somber, sweaty people, sitting on the curb.
"They just wouldn't stop pestering me," Trent says. "They were pestering me for weeks, and I just hate"âhe passes a glance my wayâ "I just hate when people think they know me."
I tuck my knees into my chest and wrap my arms around my legs.
"I know." Trent holds his hand up. "I know that is not an excuse. I just . . . I just felt so boxed in, and IâI choked."
I shift my leg and nudge the four silver pebbles resting beside my shoe. "I can't say I understand. I just . . ." I can feel his eyes on me, blinking back at me, but I keep my gaze on the pebbles. "I just never pegged you for caring about what people think." But then again, he would step back and smile behind his hand and look past me as if making sure no one else was around. As if I wasn't even standing there. I knew all along, but I ignored it because it felt like a stupid meaningless thing compared to all of our stupid meaningless things.
"It's not that. It's just . . ." Trent scratches his jaw. "No, yeah . . . I guess . . . I guess it is." He winces. "But I've just never been good at all thisâopening up to people. But it was easy with you. You know me, while they just know what they want to hear . . ." Trent swivels his knees around to face me. "Lacie, I really am sorry."
"Sorry I heard, orâ"
"No," he sputters.
"Because what if I wasn't there? What if I heard nothing? Does that change anything?"
"NoâI mean, yes." He shoves his fingers back into his hair.
"How do I know you weren't just telling me what I wanted to hear? How do I know you weren't lying to me?"
"Becauseâ" his hands go flinging into the air as he searches for the right words, but then everything goes still again. Everything goes quiet again. His voice softens. "Because I may lie to them, I may even lie to myself, but I would never . . ." He swivels around again. "I would never lie to you."
"Who said that was a bad thing?"
"Because I like to cuddle."
"I love when you talk science to me."
"I would never force you to do anything."
"Look, I . . ." Trent scrubs a hand down his face. "I know my credibility with words is shot right now, but I need you to know that I didn't mean what I said. I swear, I didn't mean it. And you didn't deserve itâany of it." His head falls back down between his legs.
The red car in front of him revs as it starts up and slowly backs up. You would assume that with such a loud and obnoxious engine that the person driving would be careless. But instead, they take their time. Their movements are slow and cautious as they back out of the spot. They leave us with an even wider view of both the parking lot, but also the world beyond. Pale blue sky, wispy clouds, trees tops, and buildings.
I focus my gaze on Trent as I lay my head on my arms. "I . . ." I breathe in through my nose. "I forgive you." Not because I want to, but because I need to. For the sake of all the assignments I can't concentrate on. For the sake of all the muscles I keep pulling in my legs. For the sake of slowly moving forward.
Trent lifts his head and stares back at me. We stay like that for a few seconds just drinking each other in. Every time my chest expands on an inhale, his contracts on an exhale.
More car doors slam and rumble as they start up. There are distant conversations and laughter. But I still can't bring myself to move.
"I miss you." Trent's voice is soft.
My gaze finds the pebbles on the ground again as my heart squeezes in my chest. I would love to wrap my own fingers around it and squeeze out all the ache myself, but instead it remains there. I'm still scrubbing and scrubbing away.
Trent lifts his hand and scratches at his neck. Then his jaw. Then he goes pulling at the muscles in his cheeks. "What can I do?" His eyes go burning again, burning into me. I flicker my eyes up just in time for the puppeteer to go tugging at his eyebrows and his lips but tugging down instead of up. "What can I do to fix this?"
My tongue presses against the roof of my mouth as the word "nothing" almost falls from my lips. Almost. But it doesn't because it's too final.
I still can't let all this amount to nothing. No matter how many times I scrub and wring out my heart, I still don't want there to be nothing.
So, I continue to sit there with my cheek pressed against my arms as the late afternoon sun shines down on us both. "I don't know."