23
Valentina
Ilied about Huxley.
I told Birdie and Ava I left the party early on Saturday, before the commotion outside.
Luckily, neither of them saw what happened, so they believed me.
I also told them that Huxley drove me home.
They believed that, too. Which either means that he left after I did, or they just never saw him to begin with.
But none of that matters.
We’re over.
Huxley and I are over before we even began. I knew we would end before graduation, but I honestly didn’t think it would be only a week.
One week of pretending to date and about a million things that went wrong.
The girl was something I expected. The idea that Huxley would stay faithful after all the girls he’s been with and the lack of committed relationships should have been the biggest red flag. But on him, red seemed green.
I guess I must be colorblind.
What I didn’t expect was Carson.
I thought I was done with him after that first party. Then, after what happened on campus, I was sure he had gotten the message. But what happened at the party didn’t just scare me about running into Carson again. It made me afraid of most guys on campus.
Carson said I was on everyone’s radar. I’ve barely ever been a blip in the system, and now it sounds like I’m the spaceship from Independence Day. I just want to go back to being invisible, and since Huxley and I are done, maybe that will happen.
The night wasn’t so kind to me after the party. Visions of Carson succeeding in his attempts filled my mind, and Huxley was nowhere in sight. The next morning, I wondered if Huxley still might have been worried about me. Maybe even had a similar nightmare—one where he couldn’t get to me in time.
And then I laughed.
I laughed because I knew better. I laughed because I knew he went inside and found that girl on his lap and fucked her.
And then I cried.
Because I’m a fucking idiot.
Yes, he was worried about me in the moment, there’s no denying that. Anyone with a heart would have worried about someone who had almost been taken away to be assaulted. But the idea of it bothering him more than in that moment seems impossible.
But the craziest part was how angry I was. I don’t even remember the last time I yelled at someone or if I’ve ever yelled at someone before. Huxley really tore me down and brought out the worst in me all in one go.
After everything that happened, being alone sounds like the easiest and safest route, so I head to the place that usually makes me feel better.
On the way to room 328 in Lewis Hall, I check around to make sure Huxley isn’t there—glancing in classrooms and down halls before I go down them. I should have memorized his schedule as much as he did mine, but I’m almost certain he shouldn’t be here today.
When I get to the classroom, all the lights are off, which is odd. Even when there isn’t a class, I’ve always known the lights to be on in this room. I listen closely to make sure it’s empty, then flick the lights on, making a straight line to the piano.
I drop my bag on the floor as I scan the room, my eyes falling on the seat I was in Freshman year—the spot where I met Huxley.
Things are so different, and yet everything feels the same. I still have no clue who I am. The only difference is that I have less time to figure it all out.
Sometimes I wish I had never taken this class back then. Never met Huxley and never started playing again. But there’s this voice in my head that tells me I would have always met Huxley Adams. Sooner or later, he would have come into my life. Whether I wanted him to or not.
I shake off the memories and head toward the piano, only playing a few notes when something catches my eye. An envelope sits on the music rack with my name on it and today’s date written underneath it.
Slowly, I grab it, turning it around in my fingers. I know who it’s from, which is why I shouldn’t open it. I shouldn’t read what he has to say, and I shouldn’t care either.
My fingers ignore my brain as they rip open the envelope. Inside is a Hannah Montana valentine that says You’re A Star Valentine! A smile lifts on my lips as a choked laugh comes out.
Damn it. I knew I shouldn’t have opened this.
I turn the valentine over and read I’m sorry. My heart starts to ache, and it only gets worse when I read the note underneath: “From your first boyfriend, Huxley.”
Was he ever really my boyfriend? One date and meeting up on campus after classes doesn’t seem like a relationship.
Not to mention, we’ve yelled at each other pretty intensely.
I don’t know much about relationships, but I know yelling like that is usually grounds for a breakup.
So why is he so adamant about keeping our deal going?
I’m nothing special, and he could be with anyone. So why me?
A gentle knock pulls me from my thoughts. Huxley stands at the far end of the piano, glancing nervously at the valentine in my hand.
“Hi.” His voice is unsure as his eyes come back to mine. The deep brown color tries to suck me in immediately, but I can’t do that. So I look back at the valentine.
“I know you don’t want to see me,” he starts when I don’t say anything. “But please believe me when I say that I’m sorry.”
If we’re going to end, I’d rather it be on good terms. “Huxley, it’s fine—”
“Valentina.” He cuts me off, and my eyes jump back up to him. “Please.”
He squeezes his eyes painfully, but when they open, they aren’t looking at me anymore.
“Then what are you sorry for?” I ask.
I’ve grown accustomed to people saying they were sorry just to make me feel better. But in the end, they never meant it. Most of the time, they didn’t even know why I was upset. They just wanted to appease me.
Huxley looks back at me, remorse swimming in his eyes. “I’m sorry for how I acted about the girl, and I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to the party.”
He seems honest and genuinely upset about all this. It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t forgive him. I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it.
“And I’m sorry about Carson.”
“What?”
Huxley stares at me painfully, like every last thing that happened Saturday was his fault.
I stand from the piano, slowly making my way over to him. “Why would you be sorry about Carson?”
“Because I should have been with you.” His voice strains on every word, pulling at my heart in ways I wish they didn’t. “I should have been beside you all night, keeping you close to me. But instead, I let you be there alone, and that prick had you, and he…”
He pushes a hand through his hair, his eyes falling away from me. The pain nearly radiates off of him, and I think I might be losing my mind because it looks like he might cry just thinking about what happened to me.
“Valentina, if he had done what I know he would have done to you, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”
I shake my head slowly. “He didn’t.”
“That doesn’t matter!” he suddenly yells. The anger in his eyes is merely a veil to cover the pain that was just there. His strained voice now sharp and clear, hitting deeper in my heart.
Sometimes, pain is quiet and composed. Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s loud and angry. Confused. Lost. The only way to relieve it is through actions we may condemn.
Pain comes in different shapes and forms that sometimes don’t reflect the truth of our hurt. And that’s what makes me step closer to Huxley. Because he’s not angry, this is just the only way he can relieve the pain of not being there for me.
I twist my hand into his shirt. “I’m okay,” I say softly to counter his voice.
“I heard you scream, Valentina.” His voice comes out as a low, grating whisper. “I heard you screaming inside the house. Begging…” He closes his eyes, so I tug on his shirt, bringing him back to me.
“You think that didn’t haunt me at night?” he continues. “That I didn’t wake up screaming myself because in my dreams I couldn’t get to you?”
I bring my other hand up to his face. “But you did,” I whisper, stroking his cheek. “You made it to me.”
His eyes stay connected with mine as he leans into my touch. Some of his pain leaves the longer we stare at each other, but there’s still this underlying hurt that feels deeper than the surface.
My eyes drop from his, watching my thumb move back and forth on his face. “I’m sorry too.”
“Why are you sorry?”
The confusion in his voice makes me lift my eyes back to his.
“Because I yelled at you,” I remind him. “For being with that girl.”
He shakes his head and grabs both of my hands in his. “You had every right to be upset about her. I shouldn’t have done that to you. I’ve just been doing it for so long that I didn’t realize it would hurt you.”
Even though that’s what I figured, it still hurts that it happened. I close my eyes to let all of this sink in.
We both apologized for that night, but could we go back to what we were? Could we still do this deal? Does Huxley even want to?
His forehead presses into mine. “Valentine,” he whispers through a strained voice. “I don’t deserve it. I probably don’t deserve anything good ever. But can you please give me another chance? I still want to give you your firsts. I still want that to be me.”
That at least answers one of my questions, but it doesn’t help me figure out if I still want to do this.
I shouldn’t. Not after everything we’ve already gone through in such a short amount of time.
His forehead presses harder into mine. “Please, Love,” he begs.
Don’t give in. Today, of all days, I decide to ignore you.
“Okay,” I whisper just enough for Huxley to hear me. His head lifts from mine, so I look up into his widened eyes.
“Okay?” he asks nervously. I nod, and a smile grows on his face.
“But if you ever do that again, that’s it. I won’t even think to give you another chance,” I clarify.
I can’t get hurt again.
He nods. “Completely understood.”
That’s all I needed to be able to breathe again. Huxley pulls me to his chest and into a strong hug. I can’t tell you how long we've stood here, only that I never want the moment to end.
This relationship very well may kill me. But what a way to die that would be.
“Where did you even find that Valentine?” I ask, breaking the silence. “I’m pretty sure they don’t make them anymore.”
He hesitates for a second, rubbing his hands over my arms. “It was my sister’s. She still has a whole box of them from elementary school.”
I look up and can see the admiration for his sister in his eyes, but I can tell that now still isn’t the time to bring her up. I don’t know if there ever will be a right time, but if we want to make this work, I need to give him a few more weeks before I start pushing for that kind of information.
“Well, you picked the best way to apologize.”
He pulls me a little bit closer, his eyes shining with determination. “I want to make it up to you.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Everything that’s happened. The party, the fighting, the girls.” He winces after that one. I rub my hand over his chest, telling him I’m okay through the soft action. He lets out a deep breath and adds, “I want to make it up to you.”
I nod, my hand sliding up into his hair as I tilt my head. “And how are you going to do that?”
His smile grows, and warmth spreads around us like we weren’t just about to end all of this a moment ago.
“Get ready, Valentine. Because we are going to go on the most cliché date of your life.”
I gasp dramatically. “Dinner and a movie?”
His smile grows even brighter. “Dinner and a movie.”