For them, as long as they could throw money at the problem—the problem being me—everything was right in the world.
I’ll never forget all the sad looks my teachers would give me, like I was a fucking orphan; some unwanted puppy left by thedumpster in the rain. I forced smiles and worked extra hard just to prove I didn’t need anyone. That they didn’t have to feel sorry for me because I was fine on my own, cooking dinners for myself and getting to school on time at the age of fourteen.
I wanted everyone to believe they could do what they needed to, because I’d be alright. But I wasn’t. I was fuckingalone. I was heartbroken. But I pushed through and worried about keeping everyone else content. And then I did the same with Sydney. And like a fucking idiot, I’m back to being heartbroken and alone.
Nate keeps telling me I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t chill out with the training and isolation, but what’s the point of having a mind if all it’s doing is running me into the ground? Fuck having a mind. Fuck having thoughts. Fuck memories and dreams and everything that makes them. All I know is I’m here today, whether I want to be or not, and I couldn’t care less about what happens tomorrow.
I guess that’s what happens when your heart is ripped out of your chest. You stop dreaming about the future and start clawing your way through the present, just trying not to drown. You stop chasing sunsets and settle into the dark, praying the sun doesn’t rise.
Everyone’s out here looking for beginnings, but I’m still choking on an ending I never saw coming.
“Mr. Cooper!”
Damn, this guy really has a hard-on for me today. There are thirty other students in here, move the hell on already!
I swallow my frustration before opening my mouth. “What?” It comes out more aggravated than I intend, and I know there’ll be a “See me after class”coming shortly. I can’t fucking win.
“Sorry, Mr. Stanley,” the girl on my right interrupts. “It’s my fault. I asked Mr. Cooper for his notes from last week. I should’ve waited until after class. I apologize for the distraction.” She glances at me quickly before offering our professor a remorseful smile.
I barely look her way. I wonder what caused her to lie for me. Had she been watching me, sensing the low-humming storm that I’m drowning in? Did she observe my doomsday aura from across the aisle and want to throw me a rope to save me? Or does she just want to get the hell out of here as fast as the rest of us?
“Very well, then,” he responds before turning back to the whiteboard. “As I was saying…”
He falls back into the mundane rhythm of his droning lecture as I return to my downward spiral of thoughts. The ones that keep the pain alive and the wound freshly salted. The ones that whisper my mistakes back to me on repeat and have me swearing I will never be stupid enough to look for love again. Or anything like it.
Track2
“Pretend” Nat King Cole, 1953
JAKE
I GATHER MY books and pack up my bag the second the lecture ends. I’m out the door in the second that follows. Austin's warm October air hits me with a breeze, and it actually annoys me. October weather should be cool and crisp with leaves that change color by the hour, rather than lively greens glimmering in the light and a summer wind whipping around. Everything about it is wrong.
I probably wouldn’t feel this way if I was able to go home to Jersey, but that’s not an option. It hasn’t been for five long months, and I think it’s starting to get to me—this feeling of being trapped on this side of the country just so I can keep avoiding all the things I don’t want to deal with. The questions from family and friends I don’t want to answer. The potential run-in with Sydney, or worse—Sydney andE.
The second his eyes locked on mine that day, I knew exactly who he was. It was like I had always known. I only heard hisname once before, but when I saw him, everything clicked. It was written all over him. It was written all over themboth. And I just stood there, shaking his hand, like a fucking moron.
I try to rid my brain of the images I’m so tired of seeing. Day and night, all these miserable memories flood my mind like a cassette stuck in the deck. I wish there was a way to bust the tape. Pull out all the guts so it can’t be played ever again.
“Hey, Cooper!” A voice calls from behind me. I keep moving forward, not recognizing who it belongs to, or even the name, honestly. I’m too distracted by my own mind.
“Hellooo,” the voice sings. “Mr. Cooper,” she says in a playful taunt. I’m not sure why, but my brain registers then, catching my attention.
I barely turn around before a delicate hand is on my shoulder, stopping me and tugging me around. Gray-blue eyes that seem almost familiar meet mine. My brows furrow as my eyes search her face. I don’t think I know her. I would have remembered full pink lips, cherry-kissed cheeks, and skin that’s reminiscent of days spent in the sun.
The girl is undeniably beautiful. She has that girl next door vibe with a bite on the end, and her eyes—they’re the kind that change color depending on the day, or maybe even the hour. Tiny yellow rays surround bold irises encapsulated by the lightest blue I’ve ever seen. They’re cold and striking, but there’s a warmth within them. Staring at them too long is enough to shock you right out of your universe.
Not that I’m noticing. I’m just trying to place her.
She grabs the strap of her bag and readjusts it on her shoulder. Her golden brown ponytail swings behind her, the tails from a bow bouncing along with it.
“Hi,” she says with a warmsmile. “How’s it goin’?”
My eyes dart left and then right before they’re back on her. “Good, I guess?”
“Oh good, okay. Well, I just wanted to say you’re welcome.”
The twist of her lips pulls a memory to the surface. A bakery—no, a café. An angry patron snapping at her while she quietly reassures him that he needs to calm down. A woman struggling with her bags, and her stepping in before I even have the chance to move.
