Skyler
A thousand Bear hugs wouldn’t be enough.
I never thought I’d say the words, never thought there was anything a hug from my best friend couldn’t fix.
But even lying on his couch, my feet in his lap and a fetus-sized burrito in my belly, even with a half-bottle of wine swimming in my system, even with an entire evening of talking and laughing, and even with the dozens of hugs I’ve stolen tonight — I’m still on the verge of tears.
I’ve been feeling it for months, the constant knot in my throat, the pain and aching in my chest. Like at any moment, at any time, I could just burst into tears and then into flames.
Unstable.
Unsettled.
Unknown.
I’ve been keeping my shit together in front of everyone, working hard in my last semester as president of KKB, acing my classes as I prepare for graduation, being there for Ashlei through her injury, supporting Cassie in her long-distance relationship, and Jess in her difficult decision she knows she has to make soon.
I’ve cheered Erin on in her case against the guys who violated her, and called home to check in on Mom and Dad, to promise them I’d be home for the holidays before going wherever post-graduation would take me.
I’m graduating.
The realization always makes those tears I’ve been holding at bay build a little stronger.
Because I’ve dreamed about this for so long, but I never dreamed I’d feel so fucking lost when the time actually came.
“You know,” Bear says, rubbing my arches with his eyes still on the TV. “You could call him.”
“And say what?”
He shrugs. “Whatever you’re feeling.”
“I don’t know what I’m feeling,” I say on a sigh. “That’s the problem.”
“You know exactly what you’re feeling,” Bear argues. He finally looks at me then. “You’re sad. You miss him. You love him. You’re hurt by what he did. You don’t know if you can forgive him.”
“Exactly,” I say, pointing at his chest when he says that last part.
“So, if I don’t know if I can forgive him and move forward, why would I call him?
What would it change?” I look at my chipped nail polish where I balance the half-empty wine glass in my hand.
“Besides, he’s apologized, yes, but… he doesn’t even understand why he has to apologize. ”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“He doesn’t see Natalia the way I do. And he feels like I should be understanding with the show, with his career. And I am it’s just…”
“It’s just that you want to know where you stand in his life,” Bear finishes for me. “If you’re less important than his career, on the same level, or more.”
My stomach cramps. “Yes,” I whisper.
We’re quiet for a while, me sipping my wine while Bear pretends to watch the TV. I know he’s just giving me space to process, to think.
“Maybe I am being too hard on him,” I confess. “Maybe it wasn’t as big of a deal as I’m making it.”
“Don’t do that,” Bear says. “Don’t make yourself feel crazy. I would have been upset, if it were me.”
“You would have killed her,” I said with a smirk at my best friend. “You would have grabbed her wet hair and slammed her head against the tile.”
“Jesus, Sky,” he says with a frown. “That’s so violent.” A pause, and then a tilt of his head. “But, not entirely far-fetched.”
I chuckle. “I’m just saying, maybe his apology was more sincere than I’m giving him credit for. Maybe it’s me being dramatic.”
“You? Never.”
I roll my eyes, but then my nails are tapping against the wine glass, and I suddenly shoot up to set it down and reach for Bear’s phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m pulling up his Instagram.”
Bear’s eyes widen, and he snatches his phone out of my hand before I can even unlock it. “Um, first of all, why do you need my phone to do that?”
“Because I blocked him,” I say with a shrug. “I had to. It made me physically ill every time he liked one of my photos, or any time I saw him post something.”
Bear sighs. “Yeah. It would make me sick, too… which leads me to my second point of caution — I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I just want to see what he’s been up to. You were right,” I confess. “I do miss him. And maybe this will help push me over the edge, help me get the lady balls to just call him.”
Bear’s mouth pulls to the side.
“Please.”
He sighs, handing me his phone before kicking back on the couch again. “I still feel like this is a bad idea.”
“Noted,” I say, but I’m already typing Kip Jackson into the search bar on the app. He and Bear are friends, so Kip’s profile pops up before I even finish typing the full name, and my heart squeezes at the sight of that familiar smile, those ocean blue eyes framed by thick black glasses.
I tap the little circle.
And then I freeze when I see the most recent post.
For a moment, my thumb just hovers over it. I don’t want to see it blown up to full-screen. I can tell just from the small thumbnail what it is.
Kip, dressed to the nines, full suit and bow tie and dress shoes and a watch I bought him in Vegas.
And Natalia, in a short, silver, slinky dress with thin straps.
He has his arm around her waist, and she has hers around his, and when the picture was snapped, he was smiling at the camera.
She was smiling up at him.
I nearly vomit when I finally tap it and pull it full size — especially when I see all the likes and comments underneath it. The caption reads That’s a wrap on editing! Can’t wait to bring Black Number Four to your laptop screens and home TVs, and for you all to see this amazing girl in action.
The comments range from congratulations! and can’t wait! to cute couple! and wow, you’re both glowing!
The more I scroll, the more those tears I’ve been holding back threaten to break loose. I feel them blurring my vision, feel them tightening my throat, feel them suffocating me and demanding to be felt.
“Sky…” Bear says, leaning up to look at the screen with me. When he sees it, he mutters, “shit,” and takes the phone from me, tossing it on the coffee table.
I look at him.
And then I break.
Covering my face with my hands, I do my best to breathe through the terrible sobs that wash over me like a thunderous, relentless wave. Bear pulls me into his chest and holds me close, whispering that it will be okay.
But I know it won’t.
When we had our fight, I was angry. I was pissed off. I was so fucking hurt that I couldn’t see him. Over the summer, I needed that space. And even when he left to go back to California, I was still upset, but I think…
I think deep down, through all that, I just always assumed it was a phase.
I always assumed it was just a fight, just a summer apart, just something we would have to work through.
I thought we’d make it through.
The realization that I was wrong strikes me like a fist to the gut, and I double over, surrendering to another massive attack of painful cries.
He’s having the time of his life while my life falls apart.
And somehow, I can’t help but feel like it’s all my fault.