Chapter 2 #2
I realize just as quickly that I can’t. My heart is still tied up in knots over someone else. Someone unreal.
“You’re pretty straightforward, aren’t you?” Colin asks, his eyes gleaming in the dim interior.
“It’s better than doling out a bunch of lies, right?” I arch a brow.
Laughing, he shakes his head as he puts the car into gear. “Right. I really was in the neighborhood, Fable. And I remembered you lived around here, so that’s why I texted you. I know you don’t always have access to a car.”
I’ve worked at his restaurant for three shifts and he already knows all this information about me. Is that a sign of a good boss or a creeper? “I had my mom’s car today.”
He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road, his hand draped casually over the steering wheel, his other arm resting on the center console.
There’s an easiness to him. No, make that effortlessness.
He makes everything appear as if he could get whatever he wants out of life and he deserves every bit of it, too.
I envy him that. It’s a confidence I could never hope for.
“Want me to take you back so you can drive it?” There’s amusement lacing his deep voice. He must think I’m a joke.
“No.” I sigh. This is stupid. What are we doing? “I won’t have a ride home, though.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
I don’t bother answering him.
I remain quiet, picking at my cuticles as he drives, both of us silent.
My hands are dry, my cuticles bad, and I think of the other girls I work with who have perfect manicures and pedicures.
I look like the still slightly ragged Cinderella who’s finally been pulled out of the basement and set to work among the glittering, beautiful princesses.
I might shine, but rub me a little bit and the tarnish comes through.
I feel … less than when I’m at my new job. And I don’t like that.
“Nasty habit,” Colin says, breaking the thickening silence. “You should go get your nails done.”
Okay, that irritates the crap out of me. His assumptions are rude. “I can’t afford it.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“Hell, no,” I practically snarl. His offer irritates me more.
Colin ignores me. “And while you’re at it, you should go see a hairstylist. I’ll pay for that, too. There’s too much bleach in your hair and it looks damaged.”
The nerve! This guy is such an asshole. Why did I agree to work for him again? Oh yeah, the money. Greediness is going to get the best of me, I just know it. It’s led to two really stupid decisions already. “Who are you? The fashion police?”
“No, but I’m your boss, and at The District we have certain criteria that we need to maintain.”
“So why did you hire me? You knew what you were getting.”
“I saw your potential,” he said softly. “Do you, Fable? Do you see it?”
I couldn’t answer him. Because the truth wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
No.
Drew
I’m in class, though I don’t want to be. I took a lighter load after my supreme screw-up of the fall semester. Why risk temptation to fail or drop classes again? I’ll have to make it up over the summer break by taking a few extra courses, but I don’t care. Where else would I go?
Not home, that’s for damn sure.
At least while I’m on campus, I feel somewhat normal.
I can forget about my dad and Adele and what she told me.
I haven’t spoken to her since the one time I called her and made her tell me everything.
I’ve barely talked to my dad either. He knows something’s wrong with me but doesn’t push.
I know something’s wrong with him, too, and I don’t push either.
What’s the point? Do I really want to find out what’s wrong?
No.
I move through the day like a robot, checking in and checking out.
The longer I’m alone, the more in my head I get.
Remembering that I promised Jace I would go to Logan’s birthday party this Saturday fills me with a sort of panic.
Yet I have to do this. Dr. Harris said I need to make like a real person again, and she’s right.
But it still scares the shit out of me.
I’m in my communications class, which is huge, and there’s this girl who I sit close to every day. She’s petite, her hair is long and blond, and she reminds me so much of Fable, it’s almost painful.
But I’m a glutton for punishment. I like sitting by her. Pretending she’s someone else, holding my breath when she turns her head in my direction, always ready to be surprised when I find out Fable really is sitting next to me.
Dealing with the disappointment when the truth is revealed. She isn’t who I want her to be. No one ever will be.
The professor is droning on, but I’m not listening. I take out a sheet of paper and start writing. A letter I will never give a certain someone. But I need to pour my feelings out for her or I’m going to explode. Once my pen meets the paper, the words just flow, and I have no control over them.
Maybe it was a mistake leaving you.
And I don’t know how to make it right.
Regret fills me every single day.
So much of it builds up I
Hate myself for
Missing you. Hurting you.
And I want you to know I …
Long for you
Love you
Others may come and go in our lives but …
We belong together
I stare at my stupid little poem that the girl I love will never read.
I draw little squiggly lines around it. A cursive F, just like I was taught to write in elementary school.
The first initial of her name. Fable. A story.
A myth. A fairy tale. She’s my story. I want to live and breathe and die for her, and she has no idea how much she consumes my thoughts.
To the point I think of nothing else. I’d rather sit in class and write her love poems with secret messages in them than pay attention to what’s really going on in my life.
What a fucking mess I am.
For a girl
As pretty as she deserves the
Best. No more
Lies. She is my
Everything.
But I’m not brave enough to tell her. I stare at this new bit I wrote for her and disgust fills me. I’m not good enough for her. I can’t even tell Fable how I really feel about her to her face.
“Are you a writer?”
I glance up to find my pseudo-Fable smiling at me, and I frown. Her face is all wrong. She has brown eyes. And she’s not as pretty, though she’s definitely attractive. I don’t know how I thought she looked like Fable. “What did you say?” I ask.
She nods toward the piece of paper filled with my scribbling. “You’re not paying attention to the lecture. Are you writing a poem? It looks like one.”
Sliding my hand over the paper to hide the words from her seeking eyes, I study her face, willing her to look more like Fable. But it doesn’t happen. This girl is nothing like her. And I hate her for it. “I’m taking notes.”
She smiles. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell if you’re not.”
“But I am,” I insist defensively because these words are for no one else. They’re for me and a girl who will never see them.
“No need to freak out,” she whispers. Her gaze narrows, as if she can see into me, through me, and I’m tempted to run. “Or get so defensive.”
I say nothing. How can I defend myself against that when she speaks the truth?
“Hey, aren’t you Drew Callahan?” She cocks her head, her expression full of sudden interest. “Mister Big Shot Quarterback?”
Her voice is full of sarcasm. I let down the entire school at the end of the season in one spectacular failure after another. I fell apart and everyone knows it. I can see the contempt in her gaze, feel it radiating from her body, and I know she thinks I’m a joke.
Grabbing my backpack at my feet, I shove the piece of paper into it, along with my book. I get out of my chair and haul the strap over my shoulder. “He doesn’t exist anymore,” I mutter to her before I make my escape. Right in the middle of class.
But I don’t give a shit. I just keep on going. Until I’m outside and breathing in the sharp cold air, the sun shining on me, people bumping past me as I push through the crowd. I hear someone call my name but I ignore it. All sorts of people seem to know me, but I don’t know them.
That’s my bullshit story, no matter how much I don’t want it to be.
I feel my phone vibrating in my jeans pocket and I grab it, see that it’s my dad. Normally I’d let it go straight to voice mail, but for whatever masochistic reason I’m in the mood to talk to him. So I answer.
“Drew.” He sounds surprised.
“What’s up?” My voice is deceptively casual. I should’ve been an actor. I’m so good at faking my life it’s unbelievable.
“I was hoping I could come and see you.” He clears his throat, and I can feel how uncomfortable he is even through the phone. “There are some … things I need to talk to you about.”
My gut clenches and I feel like I’m going to throw up. He sounds serious. Scary serious. “Like what?”
“Well, I’d rather talk about it when I see you, but … I may as well tell you now.” He takes a deep breath and so do I. “Adele and I are getting a divorce.”
I feel like I’ve been smacked upside the head and little birds are tweeting in a circle above me, straight out of a cartoon. Glancing around, I catch sight of a bench and I sit heavily on the edge of it, my backpack knocking against me, making me wince. “What? Why?”
“I’d rather come there and tell you. Are you free this weekend?”
“Sure.” I remember Logan’s party. “Well, I have something to do Saturday night, but I can cancel it.”
“I don’t want to interfere with your plans.” My dad usually doesn’t give a shit about my plans, so his protesting is unnerving. He’s not himself. Is he upset that he’s getting a divorce? Does he view this as a good thing or a bad thing? Of course, I automatically blame Adele for everything.
“You won’t be interfering, Dad. Trust me. It’s just a stupid party.” Dr. Harris is going to be pissed at me, but I don’t care. I need to be here for my dad. Especially if he’s finally going to end it with Adele.
I shouldn’t be happy. I should feel sorry for him. But this is the right move. She’s a sick bitch and I want her poison out of my life. Out of my dad’s life, too. Plus—and this is completely selfish on my part—I don’t want our secret revealed.
I don’t even know if her secret is the truth. And that’s what scares me the most. What’s real, what’s not? I’m not sure anymore.
“How about I’ll come there Friday, stay the night with you, and go home Saturday? That way you can do what you need to do Saturday night,” Dad suggests.
“You can stay the entire weekend if you want.” I want him to. I miss him. We used to be close. Before I turned fifteen and my stepmom decided I looked far more interesting than my dad ever did.
You’ve grown up so much, Andrew. You’re so handsome, so big and strong …
Closing my eyes, I shove her flirtatious voice firmly out of my brain.
“Let’s play it by ear,” my dad says.
That’s all I can ask for, so I agree. And when we hang up, I feel a little lighter. My head’s not as cloudy and for once, I’m hopeful.
I clutch that feeling close to me for the rest of the day.