I can feel my eyes widening even further as his face grimaces.
“When I was about nineteen years old, there was a new girl in town who all the guys were going crazy over. And I mean all the guys. The jocks, the nerds, the musicians, the normals.” He smirks and I force myself to smile, still fearing that somehow his story could end with a proper thrashing for me.
“She played hard to get with all of them, but I ignored her because I already had my woman. If you know anything about women, then you know that when a guy genuinely has no interest in them it somehow makes them want that guy even more. She was that kind of girl.”
I cringe, all too familiar with the kind.
“Joanne was never the super jealous type at that time and she trusted me completely. She knew all the other boys were falling over themselves to get to this new girl but she also knew I only had eyes for her. Looking back at it now, I realize that for all the years that we were together, I had taken her trust for granted. Before the end of her first summer in town, I had made out with her, only once and there was a bit of fooling around. We never went all the way, but when Joanna found out about it, she was devastated. It broke us. It took months for me to win her back.”
“But you did,” I whisper, leaning into his story.
“You bet your sweet ass, I did,” he chuckles, draining his glass.
I lean my own glass to my head and empty the contents, feeling myself sober up a little as the last drop touches my tongue.
“We’ve been married for twenty-one years. That’s longer than you’ve been alive.”
“Congratulations,” I raise my empty glass to him, and he nods.
“Don’t miss the point, kid. If you love my daughter, and I suspect that you do, you’re going to have to win her trust back.”
“She hates me,” I say in a pathetic whisper. “She really, really, she hates me.”
“Of course, she hates you now. I hate you now, too. I’ve just learned the art of controlling my emotions, but that does not mean I do not feel them. They have to be there for me to have something to control,” he explains. “I’m angry with you. My wife and my daughter are the most precious things to me, and you hurt my kid. Whether or not you meant to has no bearing in the grand scheme of things. That was one of the morals of the story. I had good intentions in the beginning, and I did not mean to hurt her, but I did and I didn’t get to use my intentions or the reality of my feelings as an excuse. I used them as my reason to win her back.” He pauses to make sure I’m still with him. “The other moral of the story, Maverick, lies in the strength of our bond. We were able to move pass my indiscretion and I haven’t been that version of stupid since.” He smiles and I grin back at him. “If you hurt her, you can’t fix her pain with lies,” Hhe says and I tilt my head to look at him, as my vision clears up.
He stands and walks over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it.
I somehow manage to bring my legs into gear and walk with him to the door.
“Chris,” he cocks his head back and nods. “I’m sorry.”
He nods again, his gaze still fixed on mine. “Fix this, Maverick.”
50
My parents were unusually quiet as I got ready for school this morning. I suppose they don’t quite know the rules of how to deal with a daughter who ran away to get married only to return devastated.
My mind flashes back to the night before last night. Even now, as I hide inside the girls bathroom and think about it, I feel sick. There’s a burning sensation in my stomach and a general bubbling that has me queasy.
I can hear whispers outside the stall doors and I instinctively know that they’re all talking about me.
‘They weren’t even there when you came in Beth. They don’t know you’re in here,’ the calmer more rational side of me speaks up, but I douse her with a pitcher of frigid water and continue on the woe is me crusade.
Snobs whispering about me is nothing new, so it shouldn’t bother me.
Except today, everything seems to be bothering me.
I could barely sit still in class. I skipped lunch and hid in the book room just so I could be alone.
I’ve endured a lot since starting school here, and I think I’ve been pretty tough dealing with these bullies and persevering. That girl still exists within me. I know that. It’s just that I failed her. Stupidly, I walked into the cage of the head viper and didn’t have the foresight to realize that one way or another, he’d rip my head off. And then, instead of fighting to stick my head back in place, I’ve reduced myself to a ball of tears. A part of me is crying because he hurt me. The other part is wrecked because I miss him.
When the final bell rings, I wait for the dolls to clear out before stepping into the light. I could use a bit of makeup myself...if only I could bring myself to care about all that today.
When the hustle and bustle of screeching feet and shouting students die down, I sneak out of the restroom, checking the corridors for strays before heading out to the track. Ordinarily I would use my free time to do something academic, but not today. Today, I need to blow off steam. I have half an hour until I’m free to leave this place and I plan to use every minute of it clearing my head. I need to regain control of my life, of my emotions. I refuse to become that girl. I refuse to become Jessica. I will not have a meltdown over Maverick because I’m quite sure he’s doing okay wherever he is. I don’t imagine he’s lost sleep over me or shed so much as a tear. I was just a game to him. Obviously.
The hardest target. The one who didn’t want him. Now he’s had me, he can add me to his list of conquests and move on with his life, leaving me to pick up the pieces of the ruination he caused.
I take off jogging the moment I reach the track and I can feel the burn in my lower legs before I’m even on my second lap. It’s the burn that I’m after. I need it to distract me from the pain in my heart, so I go faster, pushing to a full sprint with my bag on my back. If anyone saw me, what a sight it is they would see. I’m sure I look like a maniac going around the field in full uniform with my bag strapped to me, but I don’t care how I look to anyone here. Not anymore.
After ten laps I’m close to collapsing, so I force my legs to carry me up to the stands. It hurts. My legs, my lungs, my heart. They’re all on fire. For right now, I’m okay with however hot they care to burn. Maybe all my thoughts will burn right away with them. I’m in the bleachers for about fifteen minutes before accepting that that won’t be the case. I also know that I need to leave. But where the hell am I supposed to go? Definitely not back to Maverick. And home? Somehow I can’t stand the thought of showing up there either. The silence, the whispers, the careful tone when my parents speak to me…I can’t handle that right now and so I sit. For one hour and then two. Two hours and then way too many more.
51
Christopher told me to fix things, but it’s impossibly impossible to fix things with someone who wants nothing to do with you. I’ve been like a zombie these past few days – if zombies could use phones.
Needless to say, I’ve shot over the point of pathetic, filling Beth’s voicemails with pleas for her to call me. She has done no such thing. Not that I’m surprised.