22. G R E E N
TWENTY-TWO
G R E E N
Fifteen years.
That’s 5,475 days.
131,400 hours.
And 7,884,000 seconds.
That’s how long it’s been since Hazel and I have had a fight— a real fight —one where we’ve gone an agonizing amount of time without talking to one another. Mind you, back then, we were kids, and what we were arguing about was so mundane that I can hardly remember it.
But nothing, absolutely nothing quite compares to this silence. This rejection. This feeling as though I’ve fucked up the only good thing in my life, and I don’t even have a proper explanation as to why I’ve done it.
When Hazel left the dorm room the other night, I felt like my whole world walked out with her. Not only did everything go dark, but everything went silent too. An eerie silence, not one that hums you to sleep, but one that keeps you awake with just how deafening it is.
Amira was just about as shell-shocked as I was from my behavior. I know deep down she has questions. She wants to know why I was so eager to find Hazel at the party. Why I was so keen to rush back to the dorm. Why I felt so compelled to kick up a fight when I saw her tangled in Hart’s arms.
I wish I had an answer to her questions—I do. I’ve been paving my way through my own mind day in and day out in hopes that I’ll find a response to appease not only her but also myself every time I come back empty-handed.
My mind is blank—full of nothing but regret and remorse. Thankfully, my somber mood and dumbfounded stare were enough to make Amira drop the topic of conversation altogether that night and jump into full-on nurturing mode.
She says that’s what girlfriends do and Christ, that’s all good and well, but I wish she could tell me what best friends do.
That’s the advice I need.
That’s the advice I’m searching for.
My glum mood has hardly allowed me to see sunlight these past seventy-two hours, but today I’ve got no other choice but to leave the confinement of my four walls. I’ve got practice and I know damn well that, “I’m in my feelings” is no kind of excuse that will appease Coach. I have to go, there’s no other choice.
But instead of being proactive in getting ready, I’ve been standing in my shower for Lord knows how long, drowning in my thoughts and checking my phone every few seconds to see if Hazel has responded back to me.
She hasn’t.
Amira says she’s stayed hush-hush about things when she’s seen her, although, every time they’ve been in the room together, she’s certain Hazel has either A., found an excuse to leave, or B., has pretended to be asleep.
Not only have I managed to fuck up mine and Hazel’s relationship, but as luck would allow it, my parent’s biggest worries have manifested themselves to be true, as my rippling impact on Amira has forced both her and Hazel’s relationship to turn stale as well.
I’m a walking mess.
I hate to admit that maybe this plan was a disaster from the start. Doomed to fail before it even began, but that wouldn’t be the case. The plan hasn’t been the problem—it’s me. I’ve been the problem. Causing hiccups at every turn, feeling emotions I never thought I was capable of and most importantly, adding “annoying best friend” as a step in the plan.
I should’ve listened to what Hazel laid out from the start. Followed her instructions to a tee, and maybe, just maybe, we wouldn’t be in this situation.
As I turn off the shower, sinking my face into the soft fabric of my towel, I stand in the steamy bathroom, allowing time to pass by without a care.
I have no idea why I’m showering before practice—it makes absolutely zero sense. Perhaps it’s because I can’t stand to see my reflection right now, the steam doing an impeccable job of blocking my view of my face in the mirror.
If Hazel were here she’d draw something in the condensation. I’d laugh given that it would likely be something crude and smile given that days later, anytime I’d use the shower, the same graphic would re-appear.
That’s Hazel’s superpower, her subtle ability to linger in the background until at the most uncanny of times, she forces you to remember her presence. Only she’s not the background, Hazel’s the lead, the front-runner. She’ll always be that to me, even if I’m not that to her.
As I walk out of the bathroom I feel a heightened sense of sadness than when I walked in. It’s an awful feeling. It’s like, with each passing second, I grow more and more engulfed with regret. By the time I get to the field, I highly doubt I’ll be able to function and if I see Hazel there then I can promise you that the only thing I’m going to be practicing is my ability to apologize.
Once I get dressed, I slip my bag over my shoulder and with one foot out of the door, I peer down at my phone screen for a final time.
One missed call.
My heart just about does a somersault.
She called?
She left a message?
For the first time in days, am I actually going to get to hear her voice?
I immediately bring the phone up to my ear, punching in my passcode as the message begins, only the voice I hear is not the female I expect, forcing me to groan.
Sorry, Mum.
“Hiya, love. It’s your mum here, remember me? Anyway, I just wanted to give you a ring to let you know that we’ve booked the catering for Hazel’s birthday on Saturday.”
Hazel’s birthday.
Saturday.
For fuck’s sake.
Of course I’ve managed to throw a wrench in mine and Hazel’s friendship the week of her birthday.
Great.
“Anyway, let us know what you’ll be bringing. As always, we want to make this special for her. Love you!”
I miss most of the meaning of the message and bring the phone away from my ear—making a mental note to replay it later.
Since Hazel’s mum and dad moved to Lisbon a few years back, my parents have always gone out of their way to throw her a family gathering— Green style —we always have and let it be known that I refuse to let this be the first birthday she spends alone because of my idiotic behavior.
As I slam the door shut to my flat and race my way down the stairs, I know I have two missions that I need to accomplish today:
Number one: try to get Hazel to forgive me.
And, two: if that fails, at least convince her to come to the party.
You can do this, Daniel.
Go get your girl.
HAZEL
“It’s too soon, Hart,” I lecture him, given that despite every synonym for “no” I’ve thrown his way, he hasn’t stopped begging for me to meet him after practice.“I don’t want to talk to Green right now. I need some space. Can’t you just pick me up when you’re done?”
“Hazel, I promise you I’ll be out of the stadium so quickly that you won’t even see Green! Besides, remember that reservation I made? If I come to the campus to get you, then we’ll miss it and you know how hard it was to get us both in.”
I release a long-drawn-out breath—removing the phone from my ear as my head falls back in frustration.
Not only is this conversation triggering my emotions from last week, but being on my phone means that I’m about to see another impending message from Green at any second.
Hazel, I don’t know what else to say other than I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.
Can we talk about this, please?
I know you’re reading these messages, Hazel. I know you.
Have you ever searched up the definition of torture, Hazel? Well, you don’t have to. This is it. Please respond.
Do you know how many times these past few days I’ve started to type out a response to Green only to delete it?
I want to tell him to sod off and stick his apology where the sun doesn't shine, but I can’t. I physically can’t say that (or type that) to him.
Am I mad? Trust me, I’m fuming.
Hurt? Yep, let’s add that one to the list.
But confused? Oh yeah, that one by far takes the cake when it comes to my emotions.
I just don’t understand it. None of this makes sense. I’ve watched hundreds of hours of romance movies. Read every chapter there is on love and hell, even dug up my old tween romance magazines in hopes of an answer, but apparently, there’s no easy way to succumb: why has my best friend been acting insane now that I have a boyfriend?
Boyfriend.
What a word—what a status.
I suppose even amidst all this chaos with Green, nothing with Hart has seemed to let up. We made it official yesterday. Well, he did, not me. It slipped out of his mouth when he called to reserve this last-minute table at a local restaurant, telling the hostess that he needed a private table for two—given that he was taking his girlfriend on a date.
My beat-red face by the time he came off the phone was enough of an indicator for him to realize what he’d said. Only he didn’t take it back, instead he took it with stride and asked, “Hazel Collins, will you officially go out with me?”
It was cheesy and overly formal, but as corny as it sounds, that's kind of my vibe, and so here I am, a girlfriend. Who would’ve thought?
“Fine.” I can no longer resist nor spew out the word no anymore. I’ve exhausted my vocabulary today. “I’ll be there after practice, waiting by your car. Don’t be late. You promise?”
“I promise.” Hart doesn’t skip a beat when it comes to a response. “I’ll see you soon, pretty girl.”
I end the call before he does, falling back onto my bed in utter exhaustion. I can count on my fingers the number of hours of sleep I’ve gotten these past three days, and even then, I hardly know if the trance I was in constitutes as sleep.
These sheets have become a reminder of that dreaded Saturday night, Green’s outburst, and most importantly, the pained look in his eyes when he saw me cowering behind Hart.
I didn’t know what to make of it.
Nothing about the situation that unfolded made sense, except for the fact that it wasn’t fair that Green was allowed to have his happily ever after that night and I wasn’t.
He ruined something special between Hart and me and since then, I’ve hardly been able to kiss him—taste him—touch him without being drawn back to that moment…
Fuck. I just wish I could erase it all. Take this whole thing back, even if it has worked out in my favor, because Christ, if I thought loving Green in secret was hard, loving him despite how much I hate him right now is even harder.
He’s got this stupid effect on me. His hooks are so deep, reminding me that no matter what he says, does or continues to text, somehow, my heart will always find a way to forgive him.
You know how much you mean to me—please don’t allow this to come between us.
We’re Haze & Greenie, remember?
“Daniel Green,” I say out loud, locking my phone as I reach for my bag. “What kind of demonic love spell do you have me under?”
I snuggle into the jacket that engulfs my body in warmth. It was Hart’s earlier this week, but since I’ve been spending most of my time at his place in an attempt to avoid Amira’s imminent conversation about that night, Hart’s wardrobe has become my own.
I can hear the boys practicing as I lean back against the hood of his car—Warren’s whistle going off, followed by Wilks’s obnoxiously loud yet hysterical laugh every now and then. And if I squint close enough, I’m confident that through the gaps in the gate, I can see Green with these bright red shoes on.
I told him they looked pompous and were a total eyesore, but he seemingly liked the fact that they made him stand out.
I wanted to tell him that his shoes aren’t the reason why I can always spot him on the field, but like a veteran, when it comes to holding back, I bit my tongue and kept my comments to myself.
Usually, I’m right up at the gate, with a full view of everything in sight, but now being behind the scenes, out of view and hopefully out of mind, is the only way I’ll be able to avoid Green today.
Rolling up the excessive sleeve of Hart’s jacket, I peer down at my watch. He says I’m old-fashioned for wearing one, but I told him I preferred the term timeless. He smiled and kissed my cheek, telling me that he agreed, but was certain that there never has been anyone in this world quite like me. It sent a shiver down my spine in the best way possible, just like it does when I unsuspectingly hear Green’s voice for the first time in days.
“I had a feeling you’d be out here,” he calls out, forcing me to stand up straight from the car and swallow hard.
Almost instantly, my chest tightens and palms dampen as I meet his solid brown eyes, staring at me, whispering the words “ I’m sorry ,” with the way they glaze over my skin.
I want to say, “It’s okay,” but I hold back, and rather than cowering, I stand up even taller.
“Shouldn’t you be practicing?” I stare behind him, an absent pair of red shoes on the pitch as they walk along the pavement. “You’re not supposed to wear those off the grass. You know that, right?”
Green looks down at his feet before peering back up at me. “Really, Hazel? Do you think I give a toss about that right now?” Green approaches me and I have to scold myself for even being remotely concerned about something as miniscule as his footwear.
It’s a force of habit.
“I wanted to come out here and talk to you, whatever the cost. I can buy new boots, Haze. I can't buy a new best friend.”
I shake my head. It’s getting so much harder to look at him, especially as he gets closer. “How did you even know I was out here?” I can’t help but wonder. Surely, his intuition isn’t that strong, if it were, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.
“Hart’s got a big mouth,” he admits. “He keeps going on to Wilks about your date tonight and how he better stop stalling practice because you’re waiting for him.”
Of course, Hart managed to let that slip.
“And you managed to escape, how?” I raise a brow in question.
“I told Coach I had to go to the toilet,” he confesses with a shrug.
I fold my arms across my chest. “And it worked?”
“I’m standing in front of you, aren’t I?”
“Yeah.” I stare down at the ground. “I suppose you are. Although…” I say between gritted teeth. “A part of me wishes you weren’t. Didn’t you get the message, or better, lack thereof? I don’t want to talk, Green . I have nothing to say to you.”
“Oh, thank God, you’re back to calling me that.” Green exhales a sigh of relief as he runs a hand along his dampened forehead. “I’ll admit it, Hazel, hearing you call me Daniel the other night fucking sucked.”
I furrow my brows. “And you don’t think you bursting into my dorm room screaming at Hart to get off of me sucked even worse?” I fire back. “What the hell got into you, Green? Seriously?!”
I don’t realize it until it’s too late, but my voice has inflated to an octave I’m not comfortable using. It’s borderline angry with a mixture of emotion creeping in.
I hate this.
“Hazel…” Green starts by saying my name and even that is enough to well up some emotion in my eyes. I choke it back. “I don’t know what to say. It just… It killed me seeing you like that with Hart. Seriously, I felt like I was going to throw up!”
I just about roll my eyes to the back of my head. “Great to know that seeing me kiss someone has that effect on you.”
I attempt to brush past him. I’d much rather wait near the gates where Hart can see me rather than stand here and listen to this poor excuse of an explanation.
“Hazel, no!” Green gently clutches my hand before I can take another step forward. “Please, just…hear me out.”
I use my free hand to release his grasp from me, but I stay still in place, looking him dead in the eyes this time. “I just don’t understand. Seriously, I don’t know what you are trying to say here? You’re repulsed to see me with someone else, but when I ask you why, you have no answer? Or what about the fact that you don’t want me to be single, but when I find someone else, you’re not happy about it? You got jealous over nicknames, me spending time with Hart, the drawing. I thought I told you nothing could come between us, but clearly, that didn’t sink in. What is going on with you?!”
There’s a silence as I watch Green purse his lips in thought. I know the wheels in his mind are turning— chaotically . He knows he needs to be careful with whatever he says next because truth be told, I’ve never been more fed-up from a conversation of ours than I am right now.
I can’t keep doing this, going in circles. I’m dizzy, tired and if anyone is going to throw up in response to someone’s behavior, it’s going to be me, any second now.
“I—I don’t know.” Green’s answer doesn’t surprise me in the slightest as I huff out in defeat, now running all the countless and inconspicuous ways he could’ve answered my deeply rooted question instead.
“Is it that you think you deserve to be happy and I don’t?” I surmise on my own. “Is that it, Green?”
“What?” he speaks. “No.” He shakes his head while squinting his eyes shut. “Of course not, Hazel. Never!”
“Are you sure?” I question. “Because I’ve watched you with other people for years, Green. Years , and never once did I intervene or object. So what? Now that I’m happy with someone, you’re suddenly offended? Is that it?!”
“Hazel.” Green raises his hands pleading in front of me. “It’s not like that at all. I promise you, it’s just…”
“It’s what, Green?” I don’t allow him to finish. My patience has been maxed out by now. “What is it, huh? Spit it out because I’m tired of this. Just be honest with me. Why are you acting this way?!”
“I...” He stumbles over his words as my eyes gloss over. I hadn’t realized that this conversation had now brought me to tears. I wipe them away even though Green’s attempting to do it for me. “I can’t answer that, Hazel. I’m… sorry .”
The gap in conversation that falls between us is just about as wide as this hole I feel burning through my heart. This conversation went nowhere and now, I’m left feeling even worse than I have been over these past few days. I was betting on the hope that Green had a clear answer to all of this, but little to my surprise, there wasn’t one.
No closure. No sense. Just a sense of pain granted by the one person who holds the power to heal my heart as much as they can dismantle it.
Boy, is that proving to be true right now.
“What in the bloody hell is going on over here?” Not only can I hear Hart’s voice as it approaches the two of us, but I can also see the dust kick up behind him as he sprints over. “You okay, love?” He checks in on me first, placing his hands on either shoulder before he glares back at Green. “Toilets, huh?” He’s visibly unamused. “Why can’t you take a hint, Green? She doesn’t want to talk to you. So why don’t you just sod off and?—”
“Can you unlock the car, Hart?” I request, forcing him to stop mid-spiel before this turns into a sequel from the other night. I have no energy to split them apart again, nor desire to. “ Please ?”
Hart peers down at me, brushing a careful hand along my cheek as he takes a deep breath in and slow breath out before he nods softly, unlocks the car and opens the door for me to step inside.
“Hazel…” I don’t know why Green’s voice still has the power to get me to stop, but it does as I look back his way expectantly—hopeful that the next few words that fall from his lips will be worthy of my forgiveness. “It’s just… Saturday .” He changes the subject entirely. “Your birthday. My parents have put something together for you and they really want you there, so please…for them…come?”
I sink my shoulders before I stare up at him once more. I hate how he feels like a stranger right now. How he’s acting in a way that in our fifteen years of friendship, I’ve never come to see—to know.
Where has my Greenie gone? I once convinced him I’d never leave him, but somehow, it feels like he’s left me. From the moment this whole plan began, he left me.
“I…I’ll think about it.” I step into the car, Hart closing the door shut behind me and I close my eyes, tuning out this world with the hope that I can escape into another.