“What's wrong?” I ask confused at his erratic behaviour.
He sighs deeply, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Two days after the party I got called into the principal’s office—apparently they received an anonymous complaint about drugs being in my locker.”
“Drugs?” My eyes bulge out of my sockets, after all, this is Alex. Sweet, doe-eyed, who refuses to even touch a spliff, Alex.
He laughs in a sad, but still angry manner. “Exactly. I can't even smoke a cigarette. Addie, someone's fucking with me. I know it.”
I should admit that I know it too, give him a shoulder to cry on or to lean on. Yet, all I can think about is that my nickname coming from his mouth doesn't sound nearly as enthralling as it does when Juliette says it.
Addie.
It's hers. I've been called it my whole life, but when she calls me that, it seems so normal, so comfortable. It slips into every crevice of my mind and becomes a part of me, like she has my whole identity mapped out just by calling me that.
It's as if she truly knows me and I've become indifferent to her calling me that until someone else does…and I realize how unsatisfying it feels from their lips.
Once I realize what Alex is actually talking about, it's too late—he's already walking away and I can't bring myself to stop him…or to actually care.
Logically, I shouldn't. He's rich, he could find any other school and pay his way through. Then again, it still isn't right, but the dark part of me is a little satisfied that Juliette's jealousy took her this far, if she did this.
She's dark, cruel, and conniving. I used to hate that about her and hoard my moral high-ground over her, but now I'm no better than her, because I'm satisfied, even compelled at the thought of her doing this to Alex. I'm just like her in a way, maybe I always have been. Darkness lives in both of us, I just didn't realize how much I craved her darkness until now.
At least she didn't break his hand.
***
Once I'm in bed, I thank the heavens that that urge that nags me to study has slowly dwindled today. I'm content with just lying in my bed and taking a nap—or at least I was—until I hear my doorbell ring. It can't be Adam; he has a key and is also working late. It wouldn't be my friends either because I told them I wasn't in the mood to hang out.
My feet begrudgingly leave my bed as I walk down the stairs—moping. When I open the door, I almost fall backwards. I feel as though a truck has just knocked into me and sent me flying.
It's Juliette. Her face looks frantic, but she's as beautiful as ever.God. I haven't seen her in a whole week and I feel like I'm hallucinating.
“Juliette? Where have you been—”
“So, I was going through my photos and I realized that I still have that picture I took of you—when I put those funny faces on you in year eight …” I keep my mouth closed at her interruption and let her continue, bewildered at her words.
She pants heavily shutting the door behind her. “I realized in the picture you were wearing your headphones…so I sent them to someone I know…to find them.”
She pauses and opens the bag slung on her shoulder. Then she pulls out a pair of identical black headphones. “It took a while. I had to drive to Birmingham to pick them up as they were flown in from France—it was the only one we could find.”
I don't even realize that she's placed the headphones in my hand until I feel them. I'm too busy staring at her, almost speechless.
“Now, I know it's not your headphones and they don't hold the same memories…but I hope you can findcomfortin them,” she says and it dawns on me that she sounds nervous.
She never sounds nervous.
“Juliette …” I gasp out in a whisper. “You did this? Why?”
I expected her to tell me where she's been for a week, why she hasn't come to school. Maybe she would tell me that she realized she's gay, but doesn't want anything to do with me. Or maybe she would continue to stay in the closet, but I never expected this. Driving to another city all for headphones? God knows how much this even cost. I feel like I can’t breathe right now.
She doesn't answer and I take the opportunity to continue talking. “Thank you—”
“I'm a lesbian,” she blurts out, cutting me off. Her words and the tinge of pink overtaking her features makes my heart swell.
Lesbian. Not queer. Not gay. She's dived straight into the term and I know how scared that must make her to label yourself in such an obsolete manner, especially with what she's been through still, I can see the hesitation on her face.
It makes sense. You cannot undo years of denial within a week, but you can make a start. Although it still doesn't explain why she got these headphones for me.
“You did this because you're a lesbian?”
