3. Andi #2
“All these clothes are a size or two too fuckin’ small,” I bite out, digging further into the closet and trying to see if there are any clothes from high school I left behind before moving.
My hands close on my high school’s old gym uniform, a pair of blue basketball shorts and a basic gray t-shirt when I hear a growl.
The noise cuts through the air, making me freeze.
I want to slam the closet door shut and hide in there.
I can’t handle any signs of anger from Ezra right now.
Not after everything that happened between us.
Not when we’re alone in here, and I know my mom would probably blame me if anything happened to me again.
My chamomile perfume, sharp and bitter with my terror, explodes out of me. Despite being in my closet, it still hits Ezra.
I know the moment he scents it, because his shoulders stiffen even further.
But the growl stops.
Knowing just how quickly his mood can change sometimes and not wanting to be caught off guard, I shove the shorts up my legs underneath the towel and the t-shirt over my head in record time.
“Sorry,” Ezra bites out, his voice rough. “I’m not mad at you, if you were worried about that.”
The earnest apology leaves me speechless as I creep along the edges of the room towards my vanity.
“What were you mad at, then?” I ask, perching myself on the vanity stool, my muscles tense and ready to jump up at any moment. My knuckles go white as I pick up the fork from the tray.
“Your mom, duh,” he says. I can practically hear the sassy eye roll in his tone, even though he’s facing away from me. “Only buying you things a size or two too small is fucked-up shit.”
His words have me freezing in place. They’re such a casual acknowledgment of all the things I was feeling. I’ve spent the past week justifying my own feelings to myself, convincing myself that I wasn’t crazy for feeling like everything my mom has done in this situation is calculated.
It makes my heart ache in my chest.
Because before my guys? I had Ezra. And Ezra, despite all the terrible things he did to me, was the first person to look me in the eye and tell me what my mom was doing to me was fucked.
Obviously, he did it in an almost self-centered way, encouraging me to move out so I could spend more time with him after we’d graduated high school, but still… no one had done that for me before.
And because my mom has ensured that I haven’t been able to have any contact outside her staff, no one else has done it for me now.
“You can turn around now, I’m dressed,” I say, trying to find something to say instead of acknowledging the heavy emotions threatening to drown me.
He does, slowly, like he’s expecting me to change my mind. His gaze rakes over the old high school gym uniform before he lets out a sharp bark of laughter.
“Those things really were ugly as hell!”
I roll my eyes, picking up the tiny bowl of salad, making sure to never turn my back to Ezra.
He notices, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Small blessings, I guess.
“Yeah well, I’d rather not look like an exploding “sausage casing” in the clothes my mom bought for me,” I say, waving my fork around.
A heavy silence fills the room between us. Ezra’s jaw works as his eyes focus on the bowl in my hand. He’s known my mom and me well enough to know that she’s definitely said that sort of thing to me before.
“That why you’re eating bird food?”
“I’ve been calling it rabbit food, actually,” I say, cringing at the bitter taste of raw kale in the salad. The balsamic vinaigrette of this salad is more like the whispered hint of dressing than an actual sauce. “My mom thinks there are too many calories in nuts and isn’t that what birds eat?”
Ezra just shakes his head before tipping his head back to face the ceiling.
“So... She’s really doing this, huh?”
“Looks like it. You’d probably know better than me,” I say with a bitter shrug, forcing myself to chew the next bite of bitter greens. “I don’t have access to anything in here. Not even a clock.”
“Seriously?” Ezra asks, his eyes flaring wide as he glances around.
“Yeah,” I nod, the half chewed leaves scraping their way down my throat as I swallow. “Plus, my mom hasn’t even spoken to me since everything went down. I—I didn’t push her.”
“I never thought you did.” Ezra leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Not your style. Plus, she hasn’t been acting like someone whose kid just threw them down the stairs. She’s been acting happy as fuck.”
“Really?” My voice is soft as the word leaves my lips. Almost childlike. Pathetic as hell, if you ask me.
His jaw works as he takes a deep breath, tapping his fingers against his forearm, almost like he’s counting. Is he... doing deep breathing exercises?
He is.
My eyes go wide.
Wow, that’s a big change for him.
“Yeah, and it pisses me the fuck off. She’s been miserable all your life and she only seems happy when she’s making you miserable.”
The small amount of food in my stomach, nothing more than a few leaves really, feels like lead in my stomach.
Ever since I started seeing Nancy, my therapist, a few months ago at the encouragement of Beck, I’ve been questioning Gina’s parenting style. It took me far too long to figure out that what she was doing wasn’t normal.
But Gina has always played such an all consuming role in my life, even after I moved out of this god-forsaken home, that I never had a chance to question it.
I’m sure as hell questioning it now. Unfortunately for me, there’s nothing else I can do at the moment.
“How... how have you been doing?” I ask Ezra. I feel far too vulnerable, right now. Especially in front of him, of all people.
But he’s the first person I’ve actually spoken to, the first person who’s truly listened to me since getting locked away in here. Part of me craves—no, needs—to talk to someone. Anyone.
“Well, I uh... finished rehab,” Ezra says, rubbing the back of his neck in an embarrassed, boyish manner.
It reminds me of the kids we were when we first met, back in high school.
“Was in there for a month. It went... about as well as rehab goes. Shitty at first, but... I was determined to get better.”
Which means he’s been out for a couple of months now, since that night at the Grammys was a few months ago..
“Has it stuck?”
“Yeah. Haven’t even touched alcohol since I got out.”
“Will you ever?” I ask softly, forcing myself to take another bite of the bitter greens.
“Maybe a drink or two here and there. But I’m never—ever touching anything harder. Ever.” His dark eyes meet mine, and I can see the line in his throat move as he swallows. “I can’t. Not after what I did to you.”
It doesn’t slip past me that he’s purposely saying what I did to you.
The old Ezra would have said what happened or some other phrase to shift responsibility. He’s not doing that anymore.
“We’re never getting back together,” I say, staring at him, unblinking.
There are more words at the tip of my tongue, a jumbled mess of our shared history and a desire to explain myself, but I leave it at that. Short. Sweet. Absolutely serious.
I need him to know how serious I am.
Ezra nods slowly. His fingers tap along his arm again as he starts doing those breathing exercises again.
“Yeah... I know,” he says slowly. “You made that clear when I was in your apartment, the last time I saw you before I went off to rehab. Took me a while to wrap my head around it, if I’m going to be honest, but I get it. I hurt you. Real fucking bad, Andi. You deserve better than that.”
His words wash over me, more honest than I ever would’ve expected from him.
“My therapist and I have been talking a lot about it,” he continues. “You don’t ever need to forgive me. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to try to make up for what I’ve done. And... it looks like you could use the help.”
I barely have a chance to process the fact Ezra apparently has a therapist now before I let out a small snort at his parting comment.
That’s Ezra for you; drops a bomb of unexpected goodness before ruining it right after with something stupid.
I mean, of course I need help. I’m fucking locked away in my childhood bedroom, but he doesn’t get to white-knight his way back into my life and think he’s doing me some grand favor.
The only one I want white-knighting his way into my life is Beck. And the media has already made all the knight puns they could think of, considering his name is Beckham Knight.
Still. Him seeing a therapist, doing these breathing exercises, speaking to me honestly without yelling... it means something to me. It’s a start. Not of us getting back together—never us getting back together.
But maybe we could be friends?
He was one of the first real friends I ever made.
That could also be the solitary confinement talking. I'm not too sure at this point.
“So, you’re seeing a therapist now, huh?” I say softly.
“Yeah,” Ezra nods. “He’s cool. Don’t think I’ve ever really talked to another guy in depth like I have with him. He’ll say stuff that blows my mind like its nothing.”
“I get it,” I huff, leaning back so the edge of the vanity digs into my back. “I have one too... well, I guess had now ‘cause there’s no way my mom would let me continue going. She helped me figure out a lot of stuff.”
“Look at us. Talking about therapy. Who would’ve thought?”
A startled laugh leaves me. The first lighthearted sound I’ve made the entire week.
“I mean, I don’t think my mom or your dad would’ve approved of that sorta thing before. I had to hide my sessions from my mom—specifically chose a therapist with an office in the same building as a beauty spa so that when she checked my location, she’d think I was there instead.”