Chapter Forty-Three
It’s just now hitting me that my first semester, the schoolwork part of it, at least, is over.
I’ve just left the exam room for my final exam.
Given that this exam took place at four P.M. on a Friday, this is the final exam for a lot of people, and everyone around me is acting like it.
There’s this palpable sense of end-of-semester relief in the air, as all the pressure fades away and people get excited about their plans for the break.
I’ll be slightly anxious until I get my grades back, as is typical for me, but at least it’s out of my hands now.
I get a message from Tyrell.
SO READY TO DRINK TONIGHT!!!
I assume he’s referring to a Gaymers house party we’ll both be going to. Tomorrow night is the Heaven and Hell dance, where Zarmenus and I are going to break up. The day after that, I’m getting on a plane to go back home for the break.
I’m not sure if I want to see Zarmenus waiting for me outside the hall or not. He’s showed up outside a few of my exam halls, matchas in hand, only missing when he’s had an exam of his own. In those cases I waited for him, often with a pastry I bought along the way that I thought he would like.
Even if we weren’t fake dating, I would’ve done those things, because of how much I love the smile he gives me when he sees me.
I wish that I could simply enjoy seeing him. That would be nice. But just the thought of it reminds me that we’re breaking up tomorrow, and going our separate ways after that. I’m going home, and he’s going back to Hell.
I’m assuming we’ll stay in contact, but it’ll be different. We won’t have the fake relationship keeping us together, like a string wrapped around our wrists. He’ll have no reason to message me, and I won’t have any to message him.
It won’t be the same, in any case. And I already miss what we have right now.
I pass through the doors, and spot him leaning against the wall, drinks in his hands.
He notices me and gives me a huge smile.
Before I can stop myself, I feel a massive rush of affection, making me practically giddy.
What’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t like him this much.
It’s a huge mistake and it’ll only end with me being hurt.
I don’t feel ready to speak to him, but I still approach.
“How’d it go?” he asks as he gives me the matcha.
“Good, I think,” I say. I take the cup from him. Our fingers brush, and sparks shoot up my arms. “Thanks.”
“I’m sure you crushed it.”
I cross my fingers, then take a sip. It’s as good as ever. Will I even drink these once he leaves? Or will the memory be too painful? I do know that for the rest of my life I will associate matchas with Zarmenus.
By the time we get back to our dorm, the ache is so bad that I can’t think about anything else. I can’t think of any way to change it. Ashley was wrong, telling him how I’m feeling won’t change a single thing. He’s still going back to Hell. We’ve run out of time.
It is what it is.
“So, about tomorrow,” he says.
Hope takes flight in my chest. Is he about to tell me he wants to do something different? Is this really happening?
“We should go through what we’re going to say,” he says. “So it’s believable.”
I’m not exactly experienced when it comes to breaking up with people, but I don’t think rehearsing will make it seem more believable.
I’m sure there are instances where both parties are well and truly over it by the time a breakup happens, ones where they know that the time to split has come and gone.
Then there are the real horror shows, where one party ends things with someone who is still fully invested and didn’t see it coming.
Is that what we’re going to go for?
The more I think about it, the more I think it’s a good idea to practice. A lot is hanging on this breakup going smoothly.
“Do you want to break up with me, or do you want me to break up with you?” he asks.
“It should be mutual,” I say, remembering back to the plan I wrote what feels like a lifetime ago. “Neither of us can be the bad guy. Leeke won’t like it if you come across like you did me wrong, and I can’t make it seem like I broke up with you because there’s something wrong with you.”
“Oh, babe, there’s so much wrong with me.”
I ignore him. “There’s only one option.”
“And that is?”
“Distance,” I say. Just saying the word making me tired and weary. “You’re the prince of Hell, I’m human, and you’re only here on exchange. Everyone would understand if we broke up because of the distance, and most importantly, neither of us will come across like a bad person.”
“I get that. But if it’s mutual, should our breakup even be in public?”
“I had the same thought, but it has to be. We want people to know as quickly as possible that we’re breaking up because of the distance.
If you just post something people might think we’re lying or covering up the truth.
We’re going to have to sell it, which is why we need to practice.
Let’s pretend we’re on the dance floor. You come up to me. ”
He takes a step closer. I nod, encouraging him to continue.
“Hey, can we talk?” he asks. His voice is slightly different, letting me know he’s acting.
“About what?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.
“I mean somewhere private,” he pleads.
“No,” I say. “Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it here.”
“Fine!” he says. “Owen, I’m really sorry. But we have to be realistic. We’re never going to work.”
I let my face crack. Even though we’re just acting, the emotion of it is so strong I feel the sting of tears in my eyes.
“Why?”
“Oh no,” he says, his voice breaking. “You look so sad!”
“I’m trying to make it believable,” I say. “I’m fine. Go on, keep going.”
“I know it’s hard,” he says. “But I’m going back to Hell. This won’t work.”
I glare at him. “That’s your choice, don’t use it as an excuse. If you want to leave, leave. But don’t hide behind it.”
“Wait,” he says. “Do you really think that?”
“You’re really not getting the point of this exercise.”
“No, just, that seemed genuine. Do you think I want to go?”
“Are you asking me that, or are we still acting?”
“I’m asking,” he says.
“I mean. I don’t know.”
“Huh,” he says. “A part of me thought you’d be relieved when I left. No more pretending, no more unexpected horrors.”
Is he serious? I spend so much time worrying if what I think is obvious, but maybe that’s not the case.
“The horrors I could live without,” I say. “But I like being your roommate. And we’d still need to figure out what we’re doing with the fake-dating thing, because we can’t keep doing that.”
“Right,” he says.
“But yeah, I’d like it if you stayed.”
They feel like the scariest words that I have ever said. I’m not pretending at all, it’s the pure truth.
“We screwed this up,” he says. “And that’s so sweet. No matter what, we’re still going to be friends after this, you know that, right?”
“I didn’t. But I’d like that.”
“Me too,” he says. “But we really should go through our breakup again, for real this time. Let’s take it from the top?”
Here we go again.