Chapter Twelve #2
him away from me instead. He catches his footing easily. Of course,
he's not the drunk one. He straightens out his shirt, and runs his
fingers through his hair. "I just think, well, maybe
she doubts
it."
Holy fucking shit.
I didn't fight
for her.
It's amazing how fast
realizing you've destroyed your own fucking life can sober you up.
That night in Miami ricochets through my slowly clearing
mind.
She asked me if I meant it
when I said that if she couldn't handle a relationship, we could go
back to being friends. What else could I do? Not honor my word?
Give her an ultimatum when she needed my friendship more than ever?
She'd just been fucking attacked, again, and she still thinks he's
just going to get away with it.
I'd told Rory that if she
couldn't handle a relationship she just had to tell me and we would
go back to being friends. And that's exactly what she did. So I did
what I'd said I would. Rory fucking needed me.
And then when I'd put
myself on the line with her again, when I'd given in and taken what
I'd been so desperate for, for so damn long, she… alright, fuck it,
she broke my goddamned heart. All fucking over again.
And fine, I was pissed
then, too. It fucking hurt.
I fall back onto the lower
mattress. "I call bottom bunk," I mumble.
Tuck sighs; he knows he's
gotten through to me. Fucking Tucker.
"Who the fuck still has
bunk beds at our age? You're about to go to fucking college." I've
been teasing him about this since the eighth grade. He doesn't give
any more of a shit now than he did back then.
"Like you could climb up
to the top bunk anyway, you're fucking hammered, bro," he shoots
back as he makes his way into the adjoining bathroom to brush his
teeth.
"Fuck you."
And as I lay back on the
bed, too drunk to bother washing up despite the sobering effect of
my epiphany—thanks to Tucker Green, of all people—my mind reels
interminably with the thought that getting her back is a
possibility. Because, fuck, maybe she really doesn't
know.
****
It's a damn good thing it's Senior
Sleep-in because I woke up hung the fuck over. I had barely thirty
minutes to shower and make it to school before I would've been
tardy even for the afternoon block of classes.
I passed out last night
while silently lamenting over the realization that Rory might still
have feelings for me—that she might somehow not know that I still
have feelings for her.
Ha. Feelings. That's bullshit if I ever
heard it. More like she might not know that I'm still head over
fucking heels, batshit crazy in love with her.
But the late morning light
is brutal and unforgiving, blinding me with the harsh glare of
reality. Because feelings or not, love or not, she still broke things
off with me. She could have taken it back at any point—certainly
when I had her naked in my arms again.
Fuck.
It killed me. How she
acted afterwards. I'd been laid fucking bare that afternoon, opened
my chest and put my heart on the line, again, even after she'd
broken it once already. And she reached on in, and shredded it all
over again.
So yeah, just because it's
possible that she might still feel something for me—at least enough
that some chick flirting with me at a bar caused her to fly into
some jealous rage—doesn't really mean anything is actually
different.
Even if it was a
fucking hot jealous rage.
I sigh. It's all
irrelevant. The point is that none of it means she wants to be with
me. Because if she wanted to be with me, she would be with
me.
So feelings or not--as
much as the possibility of it fucking thrills me—I'm pretty damn
sure it doesn't actually change anything. It doesn't mean there's
anything I can do about the situation if she just wants to be
friends. If she still can't handle something more.
My drunken Tucker-induced
epiphany only reiterates the hopelessness of the situation. It only
proves that none of the details actually matter. That there's no
getting Rory back, and it's time I accept that.
The only thing that last
night has changed is my realization that I was wrong in pushing her
away. It was fucking selfish and vindictive. I feel ashamed that I
ever treated her that way.
I'm supposed to be her
friend. Her best fucking friend. And I've been avoiding her for
weeks. And then last night she fucking flinched away from me. She
says it was just a conditioned reaction because of
that motherfucking bastard. And maybe she's telling the truth. Rory's never been a
liar. It's not who she is. She rationalizes half-truths, but never
lies, not without practically chewing her lip off. But even if she
meant what she said, it doesn't mean it didn't also have something
to do with me. God knows she's seen me lose my temper
enough.
Fuck. I'm such a dick. I
feel like I can't do anything right by her, and maybe she's right
to have ended it in the first place. Maybe I am meant to only be
her friend.
I sure as hell don't think
I could handle putting myself out there like that again—being that
vulnerable—and then having the same thing happen.
How could our friendship
survive? Especially after how I've behaved.
I owe it to her to accept
her decision and to be a good friend to her. I know I do. And I
fucking will. Starting today.
I'm worried that she'll be
embarrassed after last night. I know her, and I know she's probably
freaking out over the thought of seeing me at school today. The
thought makes my chest ache even more. I fucking hate the idea of
her wanting to avoid me. And that's exactly what I did to her. I am
such a fucking dick.