CHAPTER 99
Ana
TONIGHT THE SKY decided to gift Faerieladle with the biggest storm of this town’s existence. Even some flickers of snow have begun to drop, weeks before they usually do in December.
A strike of lightning makes me jump. I turn on the radio, in hopes of distracting myself from the chaos that’s bouncing in every corner of my mind right now. But the radio has also decided not to be helpful. Bunch of static noise.
One hand on the wheel, I rummage through the passenger seat for my phone, blindly selecting a playlist and hitting shuffle before “Snow on the Beach” fills my freezing car.
It feels cinematic and cheesy, a little hopeful even.
That’s all before the universe now decides to rain on my parade. Literally.
Rain collides with the snow as my car stops. It actually. Fucking. Stops.
You have to be shitting me right now.
The music echoes loudly as I drop my head against the steering wheel, flying out my seat when the horn goes off.
Maybe that’s exactly the push I needed.
Because, fuck ALL of this.
Grabbing my phone and my bag, I swing my car door wide open. I take off my jacket to use as an umbrella, but that temporary fix obliterates in about five seconds. I’m soaked, and I’m just going to have to accept that fact for the next mile or so.
Because that’s exactly how far away I am from Troy’s apartment. A little over a mile away.
This is stupid. Call for an Uber! I yell at myself.
By the time I call, though, I’d already be there. My brain ponders about the serial killers and madmen that could be roaming the cold pavements at this hour, but my legs have decided they’re going to continue striding forward.
My anxiety is still clawing at me, but the minute I left Mom’s house, I knew I’d drag myself to Troy’s to do what I should have done weeks ago.
Talk to him.
The music’s still playing on my phone, I now realize. I keep it on, maybe as a reminder that I’m not alone amidst this chaos; I have Taylor Swift and Lana del Rey serenading me until I arrive at my destination.
It’s so cold that I no longer can practice the lines I’ve replayed in my head for weeks so that I wouldn’t mess this up.
The closer I get, the harder the rain pours, and the frostier my skin feels.
If it wasn’t this cold, it would be relaxing.
The fresh air coats my neck, making the weight in my chest feel that much lighter.
When I spot Troy’s street, I know I’m in the home stretch.
With every other puddle I step over, my sneakers glide over the charcoal cement like bladeless skates.
Closer now.
I can see a sliver of his apartment complex.
And then Troy’s light.
It’s on. He’s awake.
Why wouldn’t he be awake? It’s only 7:30 pm.
God, I’m nervous. My heart starts hammering in my chest.
Shivering, I knock on his door.
No response.
I wait for a full minute—maybe a few seconds, I can’t quite tell—growing restless, before I start pounding on the door seconds until it finally opens.
Troy’s brows knit together when he sees me.
“Ana?”
“Remember when you asked me if I was okay?” His lips part. “Well, I’m not. I’m really not okay.”
“Jesus, come here—”
I don’t even wait until he’s done speaking before crashing into him. He holds me, tight enough where I don’t feel like the girl whose pieces are all scattered.
He shuts the door and lets me sob in his arms. The jarring truth ripples through my throat, realizing I haven’t cried quite like this since the first day of high school.
Every hiccup I breathe out, Troy smooths his hands up and down the column of my back, every few seconds whispering softly into my ear, it’s going to be okay.
And for the first time in my entire life, I actually believe those words.
_________
Once we’ve moved into his living room, and I’ve calmed down a bit, he gives me the space to collect myself.
“I’m sorry for how I treated you,” I say, sitting next to him on his navy sofa. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for—”
“Ana, it’s really not—”
“No, please let me say this. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I wasn’t ready to talk to you. I still, uh, don’t know if I am. But I’m here, so you know that I want to talk to you.”
“Thank you for talking to me.” The heat from his palm over my knee burns right through my wet jeans. When Troy lifts off the couch and offers me his hand, my heart just about explodes. “But let’s get you warmed up first because you look like you’re one second away from getting frostbite.”
Biting down on my laugh, I press my hand into his neck and watch as he squeals from the cold. I also squeal, but at how warm he feels. Like fire meeting ice.
As I follow behind him into the bathroom of the guest room I stayed at, a peaceful air tags along with us. It feels like coming home, more than my own one ever did.
Troy kneels down and starts running me a bath, taking a few bath salts that smell like citrus mixed with vanilla, instantly soothing my lungs.
He brings some fresh towels and rests them on the marble counter by the sink. Then his gaze finally meets mine, and my heart starts to race. Spotting his chest begin to rise, feeling mine do the same, the tension continues to crackle, building faster than the soap bubbles foaming up the bathwater.
“I’ll be outside if you need anything,” he says, his voice heavier.
Say something.
Troy’s about to twist the nob on the door, when I blurt, “Stay. If you want.” He turns around cautiously. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Okay. I’ll stay.”
Relief fills me when he moves deeper into the room, right beside the tub—beside me—sliding to the floor until he’s sitting on it with his back against the wall.
I’ve barely made it to the top button of my cable knit sweater when Troy quickly darts his head down.
My heart breaks, watching him look away from me like that. Knowing he no longer wants to see me naked anymore. It feels like a rejection, one that I put there all on my own.
I fold my clothing into a small pile by the sink before stepping into the tub, my lungs relaxing around the warm water. Once my body’s covered up to my shoulders in the soapy liquid, I say, “You can look now. Unless you’re scared.”
I add that last part as a joke, hoping it pushes out any discomfort between us. But looking at his soft smile now as he glances up at me slowly, I feel more distance between us than I ever did before.
And that crumbles my heart even more.
“My car broke down,” I blurt to drown out the unfamiliar silence, “right before I got here.”
“Where?” he asks.
“A little over a mile away.”
“You walked here?” His eyes widen in shock. “By yourself?”
“Yes, I had to see you.”
“You could’ve called me. I would’ve come and get you.”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you crazy?! It’s not fine.”
At least we’re fighting again. Better than that awful silence from a minute ago.
“Look,” I try and reason, “I know I was a bit nuts for walking here, but I was kind of having a breakdown, and I left my mom’s house, and I had to see you, and no storm was going to get in my fucking way. So yell at me about it later if you want.”
He lets out a deep exhale.
“You drive me insane, Petrov.”
Troy runs his fingers through the water, flicking a splash of it my way. I relax out a laugh, then feel the tingle of heat that rushes between my legs. Knowing his hand was just above my bare skin—so close again for a moment—floating at the surface of the bubbling water.
“Okay,” I resume when I feel myself begin to lust over the idea of us again, “so where was I?”
“I believe you were begging me for forgiveness,” he reminds.
“I did not beg.”
“Mm, it sounded like begging to me.”
A laugh slips from my mouth when he smiles—the guy I’ve known since I was five, he’s still in there—the gesture opening up my chest in a way where the baggage feels sort of manageable for a change.
“I am really sorry,” I go on. “For all the stupid things I did. And when I slept with Carter—”
“Please,” he interrupts, his grin fading. “You don’t—”
“I promise I was drunk,” I tell him, needing to say this.
“I know that’s not an excuse, but my head wasn’t clear.
I regretted it while it was happening but,” I add, and he waits, waits to see if I’m going to open up, explain how I really feel about him.
“Even though we weren’t a couple or even dating or whatever, doing what I did was insensitive, and I feel like trash for it. ”
“Don’t say that,” Troy rasps, his brows raised.
“No, but I do. I really do.”
“Don’t punish yourself for what you did. It’s over.”
Yeah, yeah I guess it is.
_________
Troy
It’s like my heart fused right back together the minute I saw her standing at my doorstep.
Knowing that Ana no longer wanted to be alone. Maybe she never did and just didn’t know how to admit that.
Regardless of how long it took, I thank God that she’s here, in my living room, willing to talk about whatever she wants to share with me.
And seeing her dig through the tomato and feta cheese sandwich I made her afterward with a hunger I watched fade away in a matter of weeks makes me—there are no words.
Once she’s finished, and crumbles of white stick to the edges of her mouth, I wipe the cheese away with the pad of my thumb, laughing softly.
When she stares at me with that look—the same look she gave me when I mindlessly stuck my hand into her bath—my throat dries up all of a sudden.
I keep forgetting that she’s no longer mine.
She was never mine.
Dropping my hands to my sides with a mental note to stop touching her, I turn myself on the same couch to face her better.
“I’m really sorry if I pushed you,” I apologize. “Maybe if I hadn’t hovered around you so much, things could’ve turned out different.”
“No, I needed the push,” she says, her tone serious, “and you were the only one who noticed just how bad I did. If anything, I’m the one who pushed you away.”