The Story Of Us

8. Violet

8

VIOLET

I don’t want to blame seeing Isaac out to dinner on Friday for the reason that I locked myself away all weekend, but I can’t lie to myself that it didn’t contribute a tiny bit.

Avery convinced me to go out for dinner to celebrate getting through our first week back at school and I was enjoying myself right up until the moment we walked into the restaurant and I saw Isaac. He was sitting next to Olivia, her hand resting on top of his, and it felt like my heart stopped beating for a second.

There was a time when I could touch his hand like that either to get his attention or just for the comfort of it. He would flip his around almost instantly, lace our fingers together, and stroke the back of my hand with his thumb to reassure me that he was there for me without saying a single word.

Seeing them sitting side by side with her hand on his just made me realise that was something we never did in public, and now we never will. I’ll never be able to even brush my fingers against his again, and that realisation sent a full body ache through me. By some stroke of luck, it ended up being a thirty-minute wait for a table, so we decided to go somewhere else instead. I don’t think I could have handled staying there a moment longer.

The main reason I stayed in my room all weekend, though, was because of an argument with my mum. We were having our usual Saturday morning phone call, and it started fine with both of us catching each other up on how our weeks had gone. She was a little annoyed that I hadn’t called her since Monday, but I told her I was busy. I didn’t want her to bring up coming home again because I didn’t want to tell her face-to-face that I was planning on moving away for university.

When she brought up applications, though, I decided to bite the bullet and get it over with. I’d explained that I’d thought about it a lot over the past few months, and it was something I really wanted to do, told her all the positives that I’d been listing in my head over and over again, ready for this conversation.

I didn’t tell her that another reason was because I was growing tired of her constantly hovering around me and that it was only worse this summer after I told her about Isaac. I know her constant check-ins are because she cares but it can feel suffocating. It feels like even though I’ve lived away from home for six years now, she still thinks I’m the eleven-year-old who first came here.

Her reaction was less than enthusiastic, and instead, I got a long lecture about leaving her just like her husband did. Even after all these years, she’s still not over it, but I think I understand it. I was wrecked after Isaac broke up with me, and our relationship was nowhere near as serious as theirs. They were together for years, got married, had a child, and he still decided to leave. Even though I’ve never met him, I wonder if my mum can see him in me, and I worry that by moving away, I’m doing the same thing he did.

But I can’t let the actions of someone I don’t even know stop me from living the life I want. I tried to reassure her by saying that I would visit home often and call as much as I could, just like I’d been doing since starting at Coates, but she didn’t want to hear it and just told me she would call me later.

The rest of that day was spent wallowing in my bed, and I only left because Avery came to get me for dinner. She stayed in my room the night, and I explained everything that had happened to her, leaving out any parts about Isaac.

I still don’t have it in me to tell her about him, even after speaking to him this week and being made to work with him on a project. She tried her best to cheer me up the next day, raiding her snack drawer to make a picnic for us. We sat on the field and read for a few hours, and then she ordered Chinese food for dinner, which we ate in her room while watching a movie.

She didn’t bring up what happened with my mum again, and I was so grateful for that. We hugged and said goodnight, and I felt so lucky that the universe pulled us together and gave me my best friend on the first day of school.

Even though I managed to not see Isaac all weekend after the restaurant incident, there was no avoiding him during homeroom or English Lit. Mr. Victor has started shortening homeroom, though, only taking about five minutes to take attendance and give any updates we might need. Most people stay in the room, anyway, until first period, but I leave it as soon as I can just to minimise the amount of time I spend in the same room as Isaac. I thought after a week, I would be used to seeing him again, but it still leaves my stomach feeling weird.

When it gets to my last class of the day, I drag my feet towards the English classroom, and as I pass Isaac’s seat on the way to mine, I try to pretend I’m not wondering where he is. I get to my desk and start taking my books out of my bag, arranging them, and placing my pencil case next to them. I play around on my phone for a bit as everyone else starts to filter in.

It’s like the air in the room changes when he enters. His familiar scent washes over me as he gets closer, and I have to close my eyes as I try to ignore it.

“Violet.”

How many times can he say my name like this, so tenderly, like we’re still the same people we used to be? How many more times until it stops hurting?

“Can we please talk? After school?”

I open my eyes but don’t look at him, can feel his stare burning into the side of my face, can see him in my periphery dipping his head to try and catch my gaze like he’s done so many times before, when I would pretend to ignore him.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me, but we have to work on this project together. Let’s just run some ideas through together, and then we can work on it separately.” He pauses for a second, and I finally look up at him just to see him tilting his head in that once cute way of his as he considers his next words. “I do want to talk about what happened last year, too, but we don’t have to until you’re ready.”

“Until I’m ready?” He tries his best to hide his shock at my harsh tone, but I can see it because I still know what every little expression of his means. That doesn’t stop me from continuing, though, the anger and hurt that’s been simmering for a few months finally coming to the surface. “Ready for what, Isaac? We said everything that needed to be said. You don’t have to talk to me anymore.”

“Violet, I always want to talk to you.” He’s quiet, but I can still hear the shakiness in his voice.

His eyes scan my face, and I do the same to him, taking note of all the little features that have changed since the last time we were this close a few months ago before it all went wrong. His green eyes peek over the frame of his glasses and bore into mine. I have to fight the urge to push his glasses back up his nose.

I hate how I still want to do those things to him, how much I miss the comfort of being close to him, but I can’t get over what he did. I look away from him, focusing my stare on the desk in front of me instead and hoping he doesn’t see the glassiness of my eyes.

“Can you meet me after school?” He dips his head closer to mine again and hesitates a bit before adding, “Our spot?”

My breath leaves me when he says those two words, it’s like a gut punch. The last time I was in that room I was sat waiting for him before finally giving up any hope of him coming.

I turn back to him, wanting to see the sincerity on his face, but also so that he can see what hearing those two words did to me. It was all we needed to say before, just a text with those two words, and we’d both be there within minutes, desperate for any chance to be alone with each other. I know he’s thinking about it, too, by the way he starts chewing on his lower lip, a nervous habit that I used to find so endearing.

“How do I know you’ll actually show up this time?”

The words are out before I can stop them, and he flinches. I keep trying to hurt him, and I hate myself for it, but it feels like the only way I can make him feel even a little bit of what our breakup did to me. He closes his eyes with a tight shake of his head before opening them again, and I can see a shine in them that makes me want to take back what I said. I open my mouth to say I don’t even know what, but he speaks before I can.

“I deserved that. I’ll be there, I promise.”

But he’s broken promises before and even though my head is telling me not to, my heart so desperately wants to believe him.

“If you don’t show up, then I’m telling Mrs. Harper and Mr. Hale that we’re not working together.” It’s the only leverage I have right now. We both know I can easily tell them that I don’t want to work with him, and I even tried to before. But when his knee pressed against mine, that simple touch felt unlike anything else. I wanted to lean my entire body on his, sink into the relief of having him next to me again, and I couldn’t go through with it.

“Okay. ”

I expect him to say something more, but he doesn’t and just waits for me to speak because he can tell there’s something else I want to say.

“I’m not letting you hurt me again, Isaac.”

“I won’t. I never wanted to.” His voice is still soft and quiet, and deep down, I know he’s telling the truth, but I still can’t let myself give in to him so easily. “I’ll be there at four, okay?” He looks into my eyes as he says it, not diverting his attention for even a second.

Once, I told him, ‘The eyes are the window to the soul,’ and he took it to heart, always making sure we had eye contact when we spoke so that his intentions were clear. I can see it now, can see that the breakup might still be hurting him like it’s doing to me, and I can’t look away. I want to know more, want an explanation for what happened, want to know exactly how he feels.

“Okay, everyone in your seats please.” Mrs. Harper’s voice breaks whatever moment we were having and Isaac puts his hand on the empty chair next to mine, hesitating a moment before lifting it and returning to his desk. I open up my book and try to tamp down the hope I can feel blooming.