“W-what are you saying?” The words tumble out quietly, my voice rough.
“What I’m saying is…” he starts, but then stops. Just when I’m about to ask him to explain he continues, “The guys are going back tonight. I think you should go with them.”
My heart stops as I just stare at him, not understanding where he’s going with this.
He wants me to… go?
“W-what?” I stutter, confused with the turn this conversation has taken. “Are you breaking up with me?”
The words come out before I can stop them. I’m not even sure why that is the first question that comes to my mind. But it’s already out there, and there is no going back.
Nixon just stands there, staring at me. The longer he’s silent, the more my stomach clenches with unease.
“Nixon?”
“I—” Nixon massages his temples with slow movements. “I can’t do this, Yasmin,” he repeats as if those words explain everything.
What does that even mean? I want to scream at him, demand he give me an answer, but it’s like I’m glued to this spot, unable to move.
“Can’t or won’t?”
Instantly, I feel bad for putting him in this position. He’s been dealing with so much, and I’m asking him about us?
Is there even an us? We never defined anything. It was supposed to be just that one time. Until that one time became two and then three and then four. Until being without him left me wondering what he was up to and what was going on in his life. Until there was an ache in my heart when he wasn’t around or when I saw him hurting. Until I wanted to erase that hurt and make him feel better.
He lets his hand fall down, his fingers clenching in a tight fist. “Can’t. I can’t be what you need and at the same time take care of my family.”
“I can help you.” I grip his hand in mine. “Let me.”
But before I can even finish he’s already shaking his head no. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does.
“You’ve spent more than enough time here, Yasmin. I have to figure this shit out on my own.”
“So that’s it? You’re just going to push me away and stay here to deal with this on your own?”
“It’s best like that.”
“For who?”
“For everybody.”
“Liar.”
The word echoes in the empty night. My chest is heaving as I watch him, waiting for him to say something. Anything. But he stays utterly stoic, his face wiped of any expression.
My heart aches for him, for me, for us. But at the same time I know there isn’t anything I can do. If Nixon has decided he has to deal with this on his own, he’ll do it like that regardless of what anybody says.
Closing my eyes for a second, I force my lungs to open so I can inhale deeply. Only when I know I won’t break, do I look at him.
“Goodbye, Nixon,” I whisper, and then I walk away, leaving my heart behind.
“Have you talked to him?” Callie whispers in my ear.
“Nope, just like I said the other thousand times you asked,” I say, not bothering to lift my eyes from the screen as I continue typing away.
Sighing, she leans her head on my shoulder. “He’ll come around, I know it. He just needs time.”
That’s what she’s been telling me for days, ever since we left Nixon without saying goodbye. I wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince anymore, herself or me? Well, we didn’t say goodbye, since he didn’t bother walking us out. Nixon and I, we said what we had to, now the ball is in his court. I offered to help. He didn’t want it—didn’t want me.
“Maybe.”
I wasn’t so sure about it, but I didn’t want to get into that discussion. Not now, not ever, and definitely not with Callie.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m not the one who lost her mother, Callie. I’m fine. Just busy.”
Since coming back to campus, I’ve thrown myself into work. It was easier than thinking about a certain brokenhearted guy. And more pressing. I hadn’t even realized how much I missed. I’ve always tried my best to be ahead in my classes so I could juggle all of it, but it feels like all I’ve been doing the last few days is running against time.
There was homework to finish, reading to catch up on, essays to write, shifts to cover, and classes to attend. I was working myself to the bone, barely getting a couple of hours of sleep each night, and even after a week I still haven’t caught up on everything.
My professors were already giving me dirty looks because I’ve missed a few classes and couldn’t keep up with what we were working on, but no matter how much I tried, there was just never enough time in the day.
It feels like history repeating itself, and that’s what scares me. First semester I worked really hard to get where I was at and, in the span of a few weeks, it all fell apart like a house of cards.
Callie narrows her eyes at me. “You look tired.”
I feel tired. Worse than that, I feel empty. But there is no way I’ll admit that out loud.
“That’s why I’m going to stop by Cup It Up to grab coffee before I go to the library. Wanna join?”
Callie jumps to her feet and grabs her bag. “Is that even a question?”
Just mention coffee and she’ll forget about anything. At least this time, it’s going in my favor.
The consistent buzzing wakes me up. I moan in protest, squeezing my eyes shut. Both my body and mind are so tired I can barely move. The buzzing stops, but starts again shortly after. I try to wave my hand over my ear, hoping if it’s a mosquito or fly or something, I’ll make it go the fuck away and leave me alone, but it doesn’t stop.
Groggy, I open one eye.
Fuck.
My phone.
I jolt upright, my aching muscles protesting the sudden movement. Half blind, I reach for my phone and swipe to answer it.
“Hello?”
My voice is breathless, heart galloping a hundred miles a minute. Maybe it’s Nixon finally reaching out. Maybe he decided that he made a mistake and realized that he can’t do this all on his own, that he needs his friends. That he needs me.
“Yasmin? Where are you?”
My excitement instantly dies down like a deflated balloon.
“Coach.” I lean back in my chair and massage my throbbing temples. Just another man I haven’t seen in a while, but in this case it was me who did the avoiding, not the other way around. “Why are you calling me?”
He’s had my phone number, but in all this time he hasn’t used it once.
“Maybe because you should have been here an hour ago?” he says, clearly irritated with the whole situation.
An hour…
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Tuesday. How could have I forgotten? Why hasn’t my alarm gone off?
“Are you…”
“I was studying and lost track of time.” Standing up, I look down at my clothes, an old pair of leggings and wrinkled t-shirt. I’m a mess, but it’s been my go-to lately. It’ll have to do. “I’ll be there in a bit.”
“You look like shit,” Coach says as soon as he opens the door.