Chapter Twenty-Seven Sawyer
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sawyer
Drawing my knees up to my chest in the dewy grass I’ve been sitting in for two hours, I wrap my arms around my legs and let the gaping hole in my chest take over. I don’t know which park I wandered to or how long it took to get here, but the sun was in full force by the time I found a shady spot under a tree off the walking trail with few to no people around.
The entire time, I can only think of one thing.
He says I’m his peace.
But he has no idea how wrong he is.
I’ll be his devastation.
Swallowing, I suddenly feel hatred rise from the deepest pits of my stomach. When I came here, it was for me. To find happiness. To find freedom. To find my own peace.
My bridge.
Myself.
I never wanted to drag anybody else into the hurricane of chaos that I’m in the center of. All because of a list. All to feel like I’d accomplished something before…
Tears well at the backs of my eyes, burning them until hotness sweeps over my skin. “I’m sorry,” I whisper aloud, not sure who it is I’m talking to.
In this moment, I wish my mother were here.
I wish I’d never left New York.
I wish I’d never needed to come on this journey to begin with.
Those hot tears spring from my eyes, and I grab my phone, hands shaking as I pull up my contacts.
Sniffling, I stare at my father’s name and think about Banks and his heartbreaking admission. I’ve been so lucky to have such amazing parents, but not everybody is as lucky.
The people who are most deserving of happiness in life seem to be the ones who suffer the most trying to obtain it.
My father picks up on the first ring. “What’s wrong, Sawyer? Do you need something? Are you okay?”
For a moment, my words get stuck in my throat, choking me. Lip quivering, I suck in a harsh breath and force out, “N-No. I need you. And I d-don’t know where I am.”
I hear his keys in the background. “Make sure your location is on and I’ll come to you. Stay right where you are.”
He’s here in fifteen minutes, pulling me into his arms as soon as he sees me tucked against the tree like a little girl separated from her family.
And in the moment, I am.
I feel lost.
And hopeless.
And empty.
“It’s not fair,” I cry into his shirt, soaking the button-up that he’ll have to change.
He doesn’t need to ask what. Life. Life isn’t fair. This isn’t. The pain. The circumstances. It all weighs on me little by little, building until the crushing weight caves in.
“I know, baby girl. I know.”
“All I wanted was to be happy.”
He wipes my face, his own eyes growing glassy as he watches the walls I built come crumbling down around me. “Tell me about it.”
So I do.
I tell him everything because I know he would never judge me. Every detail I’ve withheld from the people I’ve grown attached to. Every relationship that has developed since January. Every secret I’ve held onto for my own benefit, finally releasing some of the tension coiled around my heart. I tell him about what a bad friend I am to Dixie and how much I like Banks even though I don’t know his first name. I tell him about the classes I’m barely passing and how itchy my wigs are and how tired I am all the time.
It all comes out as if there’s nothing holding it back. Every tiny inconvenience bubbles past my quivering lips, begging to be heard after months of suppression.
And when it’s all out in the open in the quiet of his car, my father wraps me up in the throw blanket he brought me and pulls me into his side. “I wish there was something I could do to make this better for you. I would trade places in a heartbeat if it were allowed. Life will never be easy, no matter who you are or what you’re going through. But you know what? You’ve always wanted to be like everybody else. The girl with friends and boy problems, even if the latter kills me a little inside. So I’d say you’re finally doing it, kiddo.”
I blink up at him, his image blurry as I wrap the blanket tighter around me. “It hurts this bad?”
He pecks the top of my head. “Sometimes.” His voice is raw, raspy as though he’s trying his hardest to fight his own tears. “I suppose that’s how you know you’re truly living. When you find things that you love, it’s not always easy letting them go because they become a part of you. Your mother and I, all of us, have wanted nothing more than for you to experience that.”
If I knew this is what it felt like, I wouldn’t have wished for it at all. “What do I do, Dad?”
He strokes my arm, the friction keeping me warm against him. “You need to be honest. Not only with your friends, but with yourself.”
Be honest.
Such simple advice, but it’s not simple at all.
“They’re going to hate me.”
“No, they won’t. Nobody ever could.”
Another set of tears begins flowing, but these are silent. It’s only when my father can feel them against his shirt that he tries comforting me. “It’s going to be okay, Sawyer.” His arm tightens around me as he loosens a sigh. “It’s going to be fine.”
I’m not entirely sure who he’s talking to.
Himself or me.
And when he drives me home after buying me something to eat, I feel ten times worse that Banks doesn’t have a father as good as mine.
* * *
When the elevator doors slide open to the third floor of Julian T. White Hall, I stand taller and take a deep breath. My confidence has wavered since I made the decision to come here after a sleepless night once my father left, but it’s not going to stop me from coming here to say what I need to.
After giving up on sleep at almost four in the morning, I did some research on the college faculty website and found the office belonging to one Terry Banks. I debated my options, weighing them carefully because I didn’t want to make matters worse for the boy across the hall, who dropped off his usual treat for me in front of my door before his first class of the day.
I couldn’t face him knowing what I was going to do because I had a feeling he’d talk me out of it. Maybe for good reason, but I’d like to think reason was out the door the second I read between the lines after seeing what his father had done to him.
Life is never easy, no matter who you are.
Banks proved that I’m not the only one with problems that are hard. We’ve both been dealt a shitty hand in life. But his could be fixed.
Nerves bubble under my skin as I approach the open door at the end of the hall, glancing at the piece of paper I wrote his information down on this morning.
Before I knock, I take in the middle-aged man who looks harmless. Graying hair with speckles of the same dark brown Banks has. Clean-shaven. Glasses sitting on a fair-skinned face as he reads over something on the computer. When I make my presence known, I’m struck by the familiarity in his facial features when he looks up at me.
Banks looks just like him.
Their eyes are the same color brown, yet this man’s seem deeper, darker. Like there is a case of secrets hidden beneath the surface. A madness masked by false professionalism. An abyss that seems so…cold.
“Are you Professor Banks?” I ask, refraining from fidgeting as badly as I want to at his doorway. If I show my discomfort, he’ll feed off it. People like him always do.
He leans back. “I am. Can I help you with something?”
His voice is lower than Banks’s is, aged with experience and something that scrapes against my soul like nails on a chalkboard.
Swallowing, I force a smile. “I’m friends with your son. We’re neighbors, actually.”
Banks’s father sits silently behind his desk, a stoic expression making it hard to get a read on him. “Is there a point to this visit, Miss…?”
“Sawyer. Sawyer Hawkins.”
If my name has come up before, it doesn’t register on his face. He leans forward, “Well, Miss Hawkins, this time of day is reserved for office hours with my students should they need me. Unless you plan on signing up for one of my future classes, I ask that you make this visit brief.”
Maybe if he was even the slightest bit nice, I’d consider being cordial. But screw that. Banks is my friend. More than that, if I’m truly being honest with myself, if I could let him be.
If his father is willing to talk to a stranger like this, God only knows what his son has had to endure.
“Your son is one of the kindest people I know,” I start, walking into his office. “Which I’m assuming must come from his mother because I’d hardly say his manners are from your influence.”
Professor Banks sits straighter in his chair, his lips pressing into a firm line at the blatant insult that I throw at him unabashedly.
I ignore the way his eyes narrow as he peels his glasses off. I continue, “Nobody should have to endure the horrible things I’ve seen him go through, least of all from the people who are supposed to protect him.”
The second realization dawns on him, Banks’s father sets his glasses down onto the desk and tries condescending his way out of it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ms. Hawkins, nor do I like the tone you’re taking with me.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Well, I don’t like having to clean your son’s wounds when you’re done with him, so I suppose we’re both going to be leaving here unsatisfied.”
For the first time since I walked in, the man in front of me pales.
“Nothing to say now?” I press, nostrils flaring with disgust as he stares at me. “I don’t know what could possibly make you think hurting another person is okay, much less your son. My father would go to the ends of the earth for me. He would rather hurt himself a million times over than cause my brother or me any type of suffering. And if you knew what I’ve put him and my mother through, you’d know what wanting to take my place would entail. But he’d do it. If it were a choice, he would. And Banks…” My voice cracks from anger. From sadness. “Banks is miserable because he puts everybody first. Including you. And this is how you repay him?”
“Ms. Hawkins—”
“He could barely walk,” I cut him off. I only saw what Banks wanted me to, but I could tell by how he was moving that he was hurt far worse than the eye could see. Standing straight was impossible. Every little movement caused him to flinch. Whatever was done to him went deeper than one angry strike. “Since I’ve known him, he’s been covered in injuries that he refuses to talk about. But he still puts you first, even after everything.”
The aging professor grips the edge of the desk, his jaw ticking. “I would be very, very careful about what you say next, girl. These kinds of accusations are how people’s reputations get ruined.”
That’s what he’s worried about? His reputation ? My heart hurts for the boy who cooks me dinner and cuddles me to sleep. Who is willing to give me casual and put up with the brick wall I built between us to prevent us from being more. How could somebody who receives so little love be capable of offering so much of it?
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I whisper, shaking my head slowly. “We all get one chance at life, and you’ve decided to be a miserable, abusive asshole. And you don’t even care an ounce about what it’s doing to your son.”
Slowly, he stands, remaining behind his desk with his palms flat against the top. “I highly suggest you stop while you’re ahead. There’s a lot to lose for you as well. One day, that mouth is going to get you into trouble.”
Suddenly, and maybe surprisingly, I start laughing in disbelief. It’s maniacal, causing the man to look even angrier than before. But I can’t stop. Can’t help myself.
Swiping at a tear, I give him an empty, distant smile. “That’s the thing, professor. I have nothing left to lose because life has already taken so much from me. Your son… He still has the world at his fingertips. It’s not too late for him. Not like it is for me. If speaking up gets me into trouble, at least it’ll have been worth it.”
All he does is stare, not grasping the reason my chest deflates.
I’m not being completely honest. Banks is someone in my life I have to lose, and he doesn’t even know it.
I loosely lift my shoulders, letting them drop heavily, and tell him the same thing my conscience has been saying to me. “If you can’t love him the way he deserves, the best thing you can do is let him go.”
Those words sink in, sinking, sinking, sinking until they land in the bottom of my heart.
Instead of sticking around to hear him cuss me out, blackmail me, or deny the obvious, I walk away with my head held high but my heart in the pit of my stomach with the realization of what I have to do.
I don’t go to class the rest of the day.
I go to the college store to find the boy behind the counter. When he sees me, he rounds the corner and walks to me. “What’s wrong, Birdie?”
I’m careful when I curl my arms around his middle, not squeezing but feeling his body heat soak into me.
I don’t say a word as I rest my cheek on his chest and listen to his heart drum against my ear, its pace picking up as I loosen a sigh.
One last time.
I want this one last time.
Eventually, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer, ignoring the bite of pain he must be feeling.
When I look to my right, I see Lucy smiling at us before she disappears into the back to give us some space.
“Talk to me,” he murmurs, brushing hair away from my face to get a better look at my somber expression.
I think about the sage advice I gave to his father, knowing I should listen to it myself.
For Banks’s sake.
But in this moment, I don’t.
Because he tilts my chin up, stroking my jaw with the pad of his thumb as those muddy eyes do a once-over across my face that I feel deep inside my chest.
“Nothing is wrong,” I lie, swallowing the truth when his thumb lands on my bottom lip.
Banks is smarter than that. “I don’t buy that for a second. But I know what might help you feel better.”
My eyebrows jump as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his truck keys.
The confusion makes him chuckle. “Don’t be mad, but I looked at your list when you were sleeping the other day. It was on the nightstand.”
That stupid list.
He wiggles his keys. “What do you say? I think everybody should know how to drive, and it looks like you could use the distraction.”
“You want to teach me how to drive?”
A small grin curls half his lips. “If my Birdie wants some freedom, that’s what I’ll give her.”
I’m struck speechless, staring at him like an idiot. Then, ever so slowly, a smile returns, and I almost forget about my encounter with his father.
Almost.
“There she is,” he says, tweaking my lips.
“You’re working,” I point out.
Lucy pops her head out of the back, clearly eavesdropping on us. “I’ll cover. You two get out of here.”
Banks winks at me, grabbing ahold of my hand and walking us out of the store, but not before grabbing a Pop-Tart and passing me the silver-wrapped treat.
I can’t focus on that though.
All I can do is look at our conjoined hands.
It’s mundane.
Probably mindless for him.
But nobody has ever held my hand before.
A lump reappears in my throat, sticking to the back of it and making it hard to swallow.
In the sea of faces that we pass, nobody seems to pay us any attention. For all they know, we’re just another couple on campus. Nothing special or out of the ordinary.
And it’s…nice to blend in. For once.
Then I see Dawson, who’s walking from the west side of campus.
His eyes go from me to Banks and then down to where we’re joined.
He’s too far away to say anything to, and I can tell Banks doesn’t notice him at all as he guides us to the student parking lot.
I raise my free hand to wave.
Dawson doesn’t return it.
That’s when I realize he’s just another one of the victims I’ve hurt.
Let him go.
Let him go.
Let him go.
Banks was called selfish once, but the only person that truly describes is me.