“Celebrating the win?” I surmise.
“I guess. KJ had some girls in the room, and I didn’t want to deal with it.”
I hear what he’s saying, but my thoughts are already drifting to something else—the tension between us and the reason why my brother is explaining why he’s here. “Have you tried to call her?”
“No,” he says quickly, like he thinks I’m stupid for even asking. “Should I?”
I’m surprised he’s asking for advice from me. “Maybe. I mean, the sooner we figure this out, the better, right?”
“Shouldn’t you call to apologize then?”
“I don’t think she will answer if I call,” I admit, wondering if maybe I should text her and tell her I’m sorry for how I spoke to her.
“I don’t think she’ll answer me either,” he says, but his phone is already lit up in his hand, and he’s hitting the button to call her. It’s so quiet, I can hear the phone ringing, and my hope dwindles with every tone that passes without her picking up. There’s not a prompt for a voice mail, but it doesn’t seem like she blocked him, which is a good thing…I hope.
“No answer,” he says, placing his phone on his leg.
“Probably too soon.” I rub my hands over my thighs, feeling an even bigger sense of urgency to do something now that I know she didn’t answer, but I have no idea what. I’m afraid if I go back over there, it could devolve even more.
“Maybe you should text her first and tell her you’re sorry for accusing her of using and for all the garbage you said,” Oswald proposes.
“Jesus, I called her a junkie.” I close my eyes and rub my forehead.
“And told her that her parents used money to make the problem go away,” he reminds me, and the bottom of my stomach falls down to my balls. I jump up to grab my phone off the counter to text her.
My thumbs fly over the keys.
Me:I’m so sorry, Waylynn.
I hit send, then start typing again immediately.
Me:I don’t want to say anything that will sound like an excuse for my behavior because there isn’t one, but please know I’m so sorry. I wish I could take it all back.
“I sent it,” I tell Oz, not feeling a lick better about anything. This isn’t like the other day, when I knew I made a mistake. I was in the wrong then too, but this is so much worse. I can’t just pressure her into forgiving me this time.
“Does it show she read it?” he questions.
I glance down just to be certain, but it only shows delivered, not read. “Not yet.”
FLIGHT WHEN THE FIGHT IS GONE
Waylynn
My chest aches,but I ignore it as I lock up the house and walk up to my room. For the first time in a while, it’s a relief to be alone. I go through all my normal motions, taking off my shorts and pulling on a pair of lounge pants, then goes the jersey. I brush my hand over the number before I shove it as far back in my closet as I can get it to hopefully forget about the thing.
It’s still pretty early for a Saturday, but it doesn’t stop me from climbing under the covers after I finish changing. I flip on the television to distract myself with a movie.
About halfway through the film, I get bored and start scrolling through social media. I should have known better. I’m not prepared for what I see.
I forgot I followed Oswald the other day. It feels wrong to see his face pop up in my feed so soon after he left my house, but there he is, standing next to a guy in a hallway that is packed with people. Because I’m dumb, I click on the hashtag with his name, and it takes me to a page filled with recent photos of him. The worst of which is him sitting on a bed with his face half concealed behind a girl’s neck, like he could be kissing her shoulder while she’s sitting on his lap wearing a coy smile.
My stomach pangs with a hollow ache when I see his fingers curled around her waist and hips. I can’t help but notice how pretty she is before I examine the rest of the room, but it doesn’t tell me anything about where he is. I’ve never seen where either of them live, and other than yesterday, when Memphis mentioned his place, which he knew was a bad idea, they have never even brought it up.
I commit the picture to memory, then scan the other recent photos. He’s definitely at a party. I’m pretty sure it’s at one of the dorms, but my suspicions are confirmed when I see into one of the rooms from the hall, and I recognize the same wooden bed Oswald was sitting on but with a pink bedspread.
I scroll through all the photos one more time to see if I can spot Memphis, but I don’t see him, so I type a hashtag and his name into the search bar. There are some photos, but I don’t think any are from tonight, and most seem to have been taken without his knowledge.
Seeing his face, even looking away from the camera, reminds me of the things he said tonight and the way he acted. I close the app entirely and toss my phone on the bed seconds before it lights up with a text notification.
