9
CLARITY
What's that saying about rain...?
After the rain comes the sunshine.
Yeah, that's it.
That saying makes me think of Jonah. He can sometimes be the biggest storm cloud and bully, especially when he sees Olias and me. But he always makes up for his actions. We ride through our problems, and that's what relationships are all about—not giving up. It’s what everyone says. It’s how relationships are described online and by people in long marriages. You can’t give up on your partner, and I’ve never been a quitter.
The longer I’m with Jonah, the more I have to repeat that to myself.
When my skin is stinging and my eyes are puffy from crying, he always puts in double the amount of effort to make up for the hurt he caused me.Yet now, something about this routine all feels off.
Jonah leans down to press a kiss on my lips. "I love you, baby. I love you."
However, recently, his kisses have felt foreign. It was like a stranger was kissing me like he was someone I hadn't spent all of my high school years with. His lips, once warm, are now giving me frostbite.
Where is that sunshine right now?
What is wrong with me?
I can’t give up.
There has to be something wrong with me.
I won’t give up.
What is wrong with me?
"I love you too." My cold lips twist. I bite down on them while we walk the streets of New York City.
It's been a week and a half since the incident at the supermarket with Olias Grey. And now, walking into the same Starbucks we had gone to the day we met makes him crash my thoughts.
Not that he ever left them.
Jonah picked me up from work today and told me to choose somewhere to go, and he'd take me. I chose Starbucks, of course. It's not like either of us has the money to go anywhere more expensive.
I open the door to the Starbucks and walk in after a few people file out. It's packed with coffee addicts, which isn't unusual considering we're in downtown Manhattan.
Everyone lives off coffee here.
Jonah turns to face me. "I'm not ordering that long-ass order you like, so choose something simple."
The corner of my lip drops slightly. That's the whole reason I like Starbucks.
"A Mocha is fine," I say. He nods, wearing his Yankee hat and a white T-shirt under his coat. I watch him as he walks on the order line, my eyes falling on the girls in front of him who begin checking him out and smiling. Jonah's lip curls into a smile, and he says something that makes the girls giggle.
I look away, not wanting to see how easily I could be replaced if he really wanted to.
But what my eyes lay on now is far, far, worse.
Jasmine Miller.
Her blonde hair is pinned up in a bun. Her nose is identical to the one on a Barbie doll, and her eyes don't have bags or a dirt-colored iris.
Michael and a darker-skinned boy sit across from her, all of them laughing. And sitting beside her is Olias, leaning back in his chair, his dark hair falling over his forehead as usual. A concentrated expression sits on his face as he stares at his coffee intensely like he's waiting for it to talk back to him.
I thought he didn't like coffee.
And why does it look just like… my favorite order?
Jasmine's hand grabs his cup as if going to drink some, but Olias eyes snap to her hand, then reaches out and grabs her wrist, pushing it away from the cup.
She rolls her eyes. But what catches mine is her outfit.
My head tilts, my eyes squinting as I examine from afar the black dress that looks awfully like the one that I left at Olias' house a week and a half ago. It has a low neckline and short-cut sleeves.
Did he wash it only to give it to her?
She's fuller than me, that is for sure. Her butt is bigger, and so are her boobs. All I have going for me are thighs. Yet even those aren't anything compared to her.
Maybe he likes it better on her?
I bite at the inside of my cheek, trying to prevent tears from surfacing, blinking rapidly.
I guess I'm even more replaceable than I thought. God, I shouldn't even care if I am. He’s only my friend, if I’m even considered that anymore.
Dropping my head, I close my eyes. I hate the way I feel right now. I hate jealousy, I hate the hurt in my heart, the desire to be in my bed crying, and how fast my own thoughts rip me apart piece by piece.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I hear Jonah ask, pressing the mocha against my arm.
I open my eyes, clear my clogged throat, and blink back the tears. I already settled with Jonah that Olias isn't in my life anymore. I shouldn't be dwelling on who he likes or doesn't like.
We were only friends after all, I remind myself again.
But as if God punishes me for who knows what, I briefly meet Olias’ emerald eyes. I can't see the color from here, but I remember the shade as if I just got done staring at them.
He watches me, his figure stiff in his chair as I link arms with my boyfriend.
I rip my eyes away from him and smile at Jonah. I tug him away from being able to spot Olias. "Thanks. We should go. There aren't many seats here."
Shrugging, he mutters, "Good, I hate this place anyway."
I take one last glance over my shoulder to Olias, and his hard eyes, which look like they haven't rested as well, are glued onto me until the Starbucks door shuts, and our line of sight of each other is broken.
***
"Mom, I know I have two days. I know ," I stress, pulling at the roots of my hair as I speak through the phone. Why does she always have to call when I'm at work?
The two weeks she said she had before the five thousand dollars that's needed are nearly up. Sunday is the last day before whoever needs the money begins looking for her. I haven't even asked my dad if I could see him yet. More so, I've been avoiding it.
"I'm just making sure. You are a forgetful child."
I'm not a child.
"Yeah, okay. Can you at least explain who these people are that are after you? Do you need any help? Should I call the police or—”
“No!” she cuts me off. “I mean, it's no big deal; police don’t have to get involved, sweetie. I borrowed things I shouldn’t have and need to pay someone back, that’s all. If everything goes to plan with your father there won’t be any trouble at all.”
I shake my head. It’s hard to know if she’s even telling the truth. If there are truly anybody she borrowed from. It might be all aroused to use me to get money from Dad, but I’d rather do that than have it be true and be the reason she gets hurt. It wouldn’t be the first time I see her walking around with a black eye or bruised rib because of “business”.
“Bye, Mom. I need to work."
I currently sit in McDonald's storage room, using my lunchtime to speak to her.I hang up the phone just as she's in the middle of saying something. I know it's mean, but she's mean too. And I'm tired of all these mean people in my life. Why does everybody else get to be hurtful, while I'm nothing but kind to everyone? I don't understand.
When I tap my dad's number, I resort to texting because I don't feel like starting our first conversation in years. It's bound to be a tad bit awkward—okay, a little more than a tad—a lot of awkward, actually.
Me: Hey, Dad, it's Clarity. No time, no hear. I was wondering if I could visit this weekend to talk.
Deep down I'm hoping he's changed his number.
Sighing, I slide my phone into my pants pocket, knowing I'm two minutes over my break time.
No food for me, I guess...
Turning the corner, I nearly bump into one of my co-workers, Natalie Reyes. She carries a tray of food and yelps as she stops in front of me just in time. Her curly hair is compacted into the fishnet hat the cook’s wear.
" Clarity , jeez, you scared the crap out of me," she laughs, and I manage to grin as well.
"Sorry, I should’ve been looking where I was going," I mutter with a soft laugh.
I haven't really made any friends at work; Natalie has been my closest one if you could call her that. We exchange a few hi's and byes, but I unknowingly tend to hide my personality when it comes to people that I don't know, afraid that they won't like the real me.
"I was actually coming to get you. There's someone out front looking for you," Natalie says.
I raise my brow. "Jonah?"
She shakes her head. "No, it's someone else. He has, like, fluffy black hair. Really cute. Seemed like something important, too."
My face goes warm, and the description matches Olias. "Did he say why he's looking for me?"
Natalie shakes her head. "No, but-" She walks closer to whisper to me, "-if I were you, I'd take him over the Jonah guy any day."
"Why do you say that?" My head tilts.
She leans back, her lips pressing together. "Look, I know we don't talk very much... but I'm not blind, girl. I see the marks you come in at work with. Your neck before, now the one on the side of your head? Makeup only covers so much."
I hug myself with my arms awkwardly, shifting. What do I say to that? I don't want to explain Jonah's punishments. I thread my hair with my fingers, pulling strands to the front to cover the bruise she speaks about. I got it the day that I came home with Jonah after he found me with Olias. It's one of the only clearly visible bruises.
I shake my head. "No, you don't understand. He does it to make sure I'm behaving."
Her brows pinch together, and her face drops in sadness. She shakes her head and says, "Clarity, that's not how it works at all . He's not supposed to treat you like that."
"No-"
"Would you hurt someone or something you love?" she interrupts.
I'm struck by her question, unable to voice any words as each of hers floats in my head. Never have I given it much thought that Jonah was in the wrong for punishing me. It’s just how I thought he showed his love.
I thought his love equaled hurt.
With him being the only person that I've ever loved; I’ve only known his love.
So what does normal love feel like if it's not Jonah's?
Holding her tray with one hand, she digs in her back pocket and pulls out the small notepad and pen we use for errands. Leaning on the wall, she writes something down, somehow not dropping everything she's carrying. Ripping the paper, she hands it to me.
"Here's my number," she says. "I've been in your position before. So, if you ever need a friend, or if you ever just need somewhere to stay, you can always come to me. Alright?"
I slowly take the paper from her hands and nod, putting it in my pocket. She places one hand on my shoulder and then says bye, rushing to her next errand.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I make my way to the front of the store.
So many things run through my thoughts, so many problems causing a painful pounding in my head.
Headaches. My head hurts. Like my brain is hammering against my skull with every second that passes.And I can't breathe. I clutch my uniform with my fist against my heart. Why can't I breathe?
I push through the swing door into the restaurant part of McDonald's, my vision blurry with tears, and my lungs begin to close.
I need out .
"Clarity!' I hear a familiar voice shout over the chattering of customers.
I need out.
"Clare, where you going?"A voice shouts from across the restaurant.
My body collides into the side door of the McDonald's; I grab the hat on my head and take it off, slamming it against the concrete as I inhale a deep breath.
I can't. I'm not strong enough for all of this. It's the reason I wanted to take the weak way out. It's the reason I found myself staring down the side of a building.
A long and sluggish sob ripples through me as I lean against a random parked car. The street of downtown Manhattan starts to spin as sobs crack from my throat, shaking my lungs and clenching my stomach tightly. But as I feel myself dropping down to the concrete, strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, holding me up.
I don't need to turn around to recognize Olias arms.
I lean my head back against his chest, audible weeps leaving me now, my body jerking in his arms from cries.
"I can't anymore, Olias. I can't ," I cry my high-pitched cry. I don't even have the mental capacity to be angry at him for giving Jasmine my dress. I sniffle. "Why di-did you have to sto-stop me? I wanted to jump, and you stopped me!"
Olias hand goes on my mouth, leaning me against his shoulder, his head dropping beside my ear as I struggle in his hold. His warm breath fans over my chilled body.
"Let me go, Olias! Let. Me. Go."
"Never. Don't speak like that, Clarity. I won't let you talk like that," he whispers, pain lacing his voice as I try to shift my head away from his hand. "Stop fighting me, please? If you think for a second that I'm letting you go through this alone, you're wrong. So, stop fighting me."
I stop moving, tears still pouring down my cheeks, but now in silence. The words he utters are soft, laced with a pleading tone filled with sincerity that makes my heart hurt.
Why does he care so much?
After a moment, he removes his hand from my mouth and loosens his grip, but his hands don't leave me. Instead, he turns me around, and I fall between his coat as if attracted to him like a magnet. My hands wrap around his waist, under his coat, digging the side of my face into his chest.
Olias head drops to mine, I feel him kiss the top of my head.
He rubs one hand on my back and one on my head while sharing his coat with me and lets me cry myself out.
I don't know how long we stay like this, but it's long enough for me to calm down, and my breathing returns to somewhat even.
I lift my head from his chest, eyeing the wet spot on the nice gray shirt. I'll have to apologize for that later. The lump in my throat rolls down as I swallow, sniffling.
Olias head tilts, bringing his finger under my chin to lift my gaze to his.
“You want to know something?” his eyes dart across my face, and I nod. "For the week and a half that you were away from me, I drove around Manhattan for hours, visiting every damn McDonalds to find out where you worked. Do you know how many I've been to before this one?"
I shake my head, my dried waterline now filled with tears again.
"Sixty-two," he answers. "I went to sixty-two out of the eighty-three McDonalds in Manhattan because I couldn't stand being away from you for that long."
I stick out my bottom lip as he bends his neck to kiss my forehead. His lips are soft like a cloud just pressed against my skin, and they send a butterfly swarming through my body.
He leans back, and my gaze drops to his lips.They're pink from the cold wind whipping around the tall New York City buildings. But they look warm and just as soft as they felt against my forehead. I look at his eyes, which are also focused on my lips. A heat runs through me, warming my body, making me forget that I'm out coatless at the end of October.
My head tilts, and my eyes narrow. I think I might’ve found the lost sunshine.
I feel it beaming more than I ever felt with Jonah. But with Olias, there's no rain, thunder, or clouds. The storm before was never there.
Only sunshine.
I raise myself on my toes, going to close the distance between us until Olias' pointer finger presses down on my lips.
He shakes his head, and our faces are so close that I can feel his breath on my nose. "Not yet," he says. "When I kiss you, I want you to be free of all your problems so that the only thing on your mind is my lips."
My heart beats against my ribcage like a jackhammer at his words. His thumb presses against my mouth, brushing the flat of his thumb across my bottom lip.
"You're vulnerable right now," the depth of his voice cracks. "The last thing I want to do is take advantage of that. 'Kay?"
I nod, sniffling and wiping my dripping eyes. "Okay."