Chapter 33
thirty-three
Chris
I wrap myself in my anger like a protective cocoon.
Better to be angry than so depressed I can barely bring myself to crawl out of bed.
Not that I don’t spend a few iterations like that as well, without bothering to leave my room.
What’s the point when all I have to look forward to is more of the same tedious monotony?
Every time I close my eyes, I see Percy’s face. I’ll think I hear his familiar voice in a crowded street or imagine his phantom fingers grazing mine only to discover no trace of him.
Some cycles, I wonder if I’m losing my mind. Can you go stir-crazy from repeating a time loop? Who the hell knows, but I’m beginning to loathe Mackinac Island and its forced charm. On the surface, it’s a veritable paradise, but for me, it’s become my purgatory.
Occasionally, I take the ferry to the mainland for a change of scenery, but that’s hardly any better.
If anything, it only highlights how trapped I am.
No matter how far I run, how desperately I struggle to escape my fate, the universe drags me back each night kicking and screaming so I can endure yet another Saturday from hell.
I have no idea how Percy’s coping. After a while, he’d taken the hint and left me alone.
A small, savage part of me hopes he’s hurting just as much as I am.
That he feels equally heartbroken and lost. But the rest of me prays he’s still fighting.
That he’ll keep going and find a way out, for himself if not for both of us.
Not that I expect his efforts to amount to anything. The universe is clearly playing a cruel joke on us—the ultimate cosmic fuck you!
There’s this play I had to read in AP Lit.
I don’t remember its name or who wrote it, only the ending twist. The characters realize that the room in which they’ve been trapped together is their own personal version of Hell.
I hadn’t gotten it at the time, but now I think I do.
Because being this close to Percy, knowing he’s right there but will never be mine, is such exquisite torture.
Maybe we died that first Saturday—passed away in our sleep or suffered an accident—and this is our eternal torment, doomed to circle endlessly around each other until it drives us mad.
In my darkest moments, I consider giving up—or at least, trying to. The only thing that holds me back is the promise I’d made to Percy. I don’t want to risk causing him any more pain than I already have.
Instead, I try to forget about him however I can.
Infinitely resetting time means no hangovers the next morning, no matter how shit-faced you get.
When I’m not moping in my room, I’m out partying.
I dance. I drink. But I don’t hook up. That’s a line I can’t quite bring myself to cross.
There’s only one person I want to share a bed with, and if I can’t have him, I refuse to sully it with anyone else.
Sometimes Quinn tries to intervene. She’ll bang on my door, shouting at me to let her in, or else track me down at my latest bar so she can keep an eye on me.
I know she’s only trying to help, but that doesn’t stop me from resenting her for not leaving me in peace.
I know exactly what my problem is, and since there’s nothing I can do about him right now, I need distractions—not reminders of how fucked everything is.
So, I do my best to distance myself from her, too, with mixed results. Turns out she’s harder to shake than Percy had been, no matter how mean and petty I get. I’m not sure whether to love or hate her for her persistence.
After a couple of weeks, even my self-destructive behavior loses its luster.
What’s the point? It doesn’t change anything.
Hell, what’s the point of anything anymore?
Nothing matters. Why bother with infinite do-overs when I feel like this in every one of them? When I have no one to share them with?
I’m stubbornly refusing to wake up to a fresh iteration when a knock comes on my door. It’s tempting to ignore it like I usually do, tugging the covers over my head so I can pretend the world outside doesn’t exist.
What if it’s Percy out there, wanting to talk?
The thought is absurd. It’s been nearly a dozen cycles since we’ve crossed paths, and even if it is him, what more is there to say? He made his choice, and so did I. As much as this self-imposed isolation sucks, it beats giving him the power to hurt me even more deeply.
Still, that tiny kernel of hope—of gazing into his bright blue eyes one last time—is enough to make me drag myself out of bed and stumble to the door in my rumpled pajamas. I pull the door open, holding my breath…and expel it in a huff.
It’s Quinn standing there. Of course, it is.
She tries to rouse me every morning I don’t appear, regular as clockwork.
Usually, I slam the door in her face, cajole her into leaving me alone, or simply ignore her.
Today, however, something stops me. I don’t know what.
Sheer exhaustion, maybe? Or perhaps simply the desire for something, anything, to change.
“What do you want?” I demand.
She shoves past me, barging into my room and looking around with a critical eye. I slowly shut the door, unable to muster more than a flicker of annoyance at the intrusion.
“Professor Oshkoff sent me up here to drag you down for the bike trip.” She eyes me. “Though I assume you’d rather I tell her you’re sick?”
I shrug. It doesn’t bother me either way. I know from personal experience that Oshkoff will eventually give up if I don’t answer my door.
Quinn scowls and sets her hands on her hips. “Yeah, screw that.” She points forcibly to my bed. “Sit!”
She glares at me like she expects me to disobey, but I listlessly shuffle to my bed and collapse into it, closing my eyes. They pop back open an instant later, wide and startled, when I hear a loud clap.
I glare at Quinn as she lowers her hands. “Was that really necessary?”
She rolls her eyes. “You tell me, Mr. Moody McMoodface. You’re the one getting your ennui all over me.”
“So sorry.” I turn my back to her and face the wall, squeezing my eyes shut again. “Feel free to show yourself out.”
A moment of silence passes before Quinn says more gently, “Or you could tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”
“You can’t help me. No one can.”
“You know this much self-pity stunts your growth, right?”
I groan and drag a pillow over my head. “Leave me alone, Quinn.”
“No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
I scrunch my body up tighter, curling in on myself. “I already told you there’s nothing you can do.”
“Try me.”
She says it so forcibly that I almost laugh again. The laughter turns to a half-choked sob.
Oh, what the hell?
“Fine. I’m stuck in a craptastic time loop, doomed to repeat this same stupid Saturday forever.
I’ve already been here for over a month, with no signs it’ll ever stop.
And it wasn’t so bad at first because Percy was trapped in it with me, and at least we had each other.
But now that’s all fucked, and I don’t know if it’s his fault, mine, or both, but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t want me.
Not as much as I want him. So…yeah. Life pretty much sucks right now. ”
Another beat of silence. My curiosity eventually gets the better of me, and I roll over, cracking open an eye to take in Quinn’s reaction.
She’s studying me with a considering expression, her brow scrunched in thought.
The look is uncharacteristic on her. Usually, she’s the sort to act first and then dismiss any regrets later.
“Still think you can help?” I scoff.
Her eyes meet mine. “You must really like this Percy guy.”
I blink, completely taken aback. “Huh?”
She taps a finger against her chin, continuing as if she hadn’t heard me. “That’s the guy from the ferry, right? The one you said you had a history with. Which I’m assuming means more than just friends. Things must’ve been pretty serious to throw you for a loop like this.” She grins.
I feel like I’m still struggling to catch up.
How did this conversation shift from time loops to Percy and me?
“We dated for a couple of years,” I mutter eventually.
“I came out for him, but he chickened out, and we broke up. This is the first time I’ve seen him since.
Well, that original Saturday was, anyway.
I’ve seen him plenty over the various redos. ”
Quinn grins at me and waggles her eyebrows. “You’ve seen plenty, huh?”
I blush, only then realizing how that sounds. Still, I don’t bother protesting like I usually would. Why waste the energy when nothing matters anyway?
“How do you know he doesn’t want you?” she asks.
I love you, Chris. Honestly, I’m not sure I ever stopped.
I grit my teeth. “Because he pretty much told me! No matter how close we get, he won’t let himself envision a future together. This is all temporary for him—nothing but a fun fling. A distraction until we can return to reality.”
“But not for you?” Again, I don’t respond, and she sighs, settling down on the bed beside me. “I’m sorry, Chris. That sucks.” Her eyes light up. “Ooo, I know! Maybe there’s something you could do to win him over, like a big romantic gesture! You know, show him how much you care.”
“No!” I bark, harsher than I’d intended. Thankfully, Quinn doesn’t seem to mind. I take a deep breath. “No,” I repeat more calmly. “No romantic gestures. I’ve put myself out there enough already. I won’t keep throwing myself at a guy who doesn’t take me seriously.”
She frowns. “Fine, scratch that idea. Then, how about—”
I stand abruptly, grabbing a pair of track pants and my running shoes. “I’m going for a run. I need to clear my head.”
She hesitates before giving a firm nod. “Good idea. I’ll tell Oshkoff to leave without us.” She holds up a hand when I try to argue. “Go for your run. I’ll be here when you get back if you want to talk more. Or watch some crappy shows on my laptop.”
A rush of gratitude swells through me, along with guilt for how horrible I’ve been to Quinn these last few iterations. She deserves so much better than me as a friend.
Not trusting myself to speak, I nod and hope she can interpret the emotions plastered over my face.
She leaves me in private to change, and a couple of minutes later, I’m heading downstairs.
I expect the group to be gone already, but they must have been delayed this morning—maybe because Oshkoff had been waiting for me—since they’re still gathered outside.
Well, not all of them. I’m about to turn and sneak out the back when I spy a familiar mop of brown hair exiting the cafe.
I’ve been avoiding this spot, especially in the mornings, for exactly this reason.
Percy looks good—certainly better than I feel.
I swallow the sudden lump lodged in my throat.
I’m no sadist who wants him to suffer, but it hurts seeing how untorn up he appears compared to me.
He even manages to give me a watery smile. “Hi, Chris.” He opens and closes his mouth like there’s more he wants to say, but he can’t quite figure out how.
This is the closest we’ve been since our last supper. I feel his nearness like a physical force against my skin—a warmth radiating over me, dragging me toward him.
I’ve got to get out of here!
Shoving past him, I ignore whatever he’s trying to say and leave him without a word, all the while pretending like I’m not about to break down sobbing over everything I’ve lost.