19. Tucker
19
TUCKER
I can’t imagine anybody looking forward to a Monday, but I flat-out dreaded this morning coming up all weekend long. Every hour that passed made it worse. The closer I got, the harder it was to focus on anything but arriving on campus, until I paced my bedroom like a caged tiger last night—and that was after a brutal workout that left my arms so tired, I could barely raise them to wash up in the shower afterward.
Maybe I should’ve answered Maya’s call on Friday. I sure as hell wrestled with myself over it all weekend. Every minute that passed without a response made it seem more pointless to reach out. Every hour made it harder to justify why it took me so long to get back to her.
Maybe I’m just an asshole. I know how bad things are for her. At least, she’s told me about some of it. Her Dad locks her in the house and won’t let her move out. What else is he capable of?
Pulling into a parking space, my thoughts are still running rampant. I should have answered. But there are other things to consider. The more time I spend with her, the more time I want to spend, and it’s no good. That was why I forced myself to stay silent on Friday instead of responding. Not like I could tell her that—I would rather bite off my tongue than admit it’s safer to stay away from her because she’s too tempting. She draws me in too easily.
Besides, she needs to learn I can’t be responsible for every little thing that ever goes wrong, especially when it seems like so much goes wrong in her life. I’m nobody’s hero, nobody’s savior. If I ever had that impulse in me, she destroyed it.
When I think about it that way, I realize this is all on her. My conscience is at least a little relieved by the time I get out of the truck, jerking my chin in acknowledgment of a few people who call my name when they see me. None of this has to be my problem. I can bask in the warm sunshine and know there was nothing I could’ve done to help her.
I even manage to convince myself right up to the point of catching sight of her quickstepping her way to the library with her head down, arms folded. If only my heart wouldn’t beat faster. If only my feet wouldn’t take me in her direction. Stop, you stupid asshole! It’s a shame my body doesn’t care about what’s going on in my head.
She hasn’t lifted her gaze from the ground under her feet by the time she reaches the glass doors. What’s wrong with her this time? Probably running away before anybody can give her shit.
I should leave her alone. I need to leave her alone. I need to not care and ignore her because every minute I spend caring makes me more miserable in the end.
Yet here I am, falling in step beside her once we’re in the building. It’s quiet here, cooler, and I appreciate the chance to smell her fruity shampoo even if I don’t appreciate the way she almost growls under her breath when she notices me. Then again, I ignored her over the weekend.
“You know,” I murmur, dispensing with small talk. “I do sometimes have my own shit going on. I can’t just drop everything the second you or anybody else calls.”
“Whatever.” Her voice is the thinnest whisper, almost inaudible. “Is that all you wanted to say?”
For the first time since spotting her from behind, I take a second to look at her, to really see her, and what I find brings me to a halt. She looks down at her arm once I’ve taken hold, then shoots me a dirty look. “Seriously?” she whispers.
I don’t care about her attitude, not when she looks like she died two days ago, and somebody dug her up this morning. There are pronounced circles under her eyes, and the unflattering fluorescent light doesn’t do her any favors. Her skin is almost transparent—I swear I see veins in her face, standing out against the pale white complexion.
“What happened?” I finally have to ask, serious now, pulling her with me into the first row between shelves. Holding her at arm’s length, I study her face, noticing how bloodshot her eyes are.
“Why do you care all of a sudden?” It’s a sneer. Cold, nasty, and I deserve it. There’s no way for me to make her understand why I have to stay away. I barely understand it myself—this hold she has over me. The way she draws me in and repulses me at the same time.
She makes me want to forget how she hurt me, which is the worst part. She makes me want her. And I hate her for it.
It doesn’t mean I can look at her this way and not at least be concerned. “Because you look like a ghost, and that’s fucked up, and I just wanna know why.”
“Maybe you could’ve known why if you didn’t ignore me. But it’s over now,” she concludes with a shrug of her shoulders.
Letting her go, I ask, “So what happened? What was the emergency?”
“I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter now. It’s all over. I got through it without you. I don’t even know what you could’ve done to help me,” she adds, staring at her feet. It’s incredible, the impulse to force her to look me in the eye. Somehow, she brings out every shitty thing about me. I hate her for that, too.
More than anything, I hate her shutting me out. “You know I’m going to get the answers one way or another, right?” What do I have to do to get a reaction out of her? She’s completely disconnected. I might as well be talking to the books behind her. Maybe they would give me answers, because she is clearly not interested.
“You feel like wasting your time? Go right ahead,” she retorts in that same flat, emotionless tone.
Now I see it. How could I have been so blind? “Did you get in trouble for me being over there? Is that it? I did everything I could to?—”
“No, no, I didn’t.” Finally, she meets my gaze, but it darts away fast enough that I wonder if I imagined it. “It’s not about you.”
Then what the hell is it about? I want to scream it, to shake her. I want to make sure she knows she can’t just brush me off like this. Not when she looks like she’s carrying the whole world on those thin shoulders that are up around her ears. Like she’s trying to defend herself. From what, from who? What do I have to do to get a straight answer?
“Do I need to sic Tiana on you?” A low blow, beneath me, but this is on her. It’s not my fault she won’t give me what I want. All I’m trying to do is help this stupid girl, or at least find out what happened over the weekend. Why is she deliberately playing games like this?
What did I expect from that threat? For her to maybe look at me? To shock a little life into her? Right now, I would settle for that. If she would glare at me or curse me out or even spit on me, the way she probably should now that I’ve mentioned Tiana.
Here I am, standing here, waiting for her to bitch me out. Feeling more and more like a smacked ass with every silent moment that passes. What the hell is she thinking?
Whatever it is, she’s not telling me. Folding one arm, she grips her other elbow, bringing to mind a shell that’s closing to protect what’s inside. Protecting her from me? I mean, it’s not that she’s completely safe with me, but I’m not trying to hurt her now. I want to come out and say it—to ask her who the hell she thinks she is, denying me like this, assuming I would have an ulterior motive.
“Whatever,” she murmurs before I have the chance to issue another threat, and the flat, empty tone in her voice prickles my skin in a way the coldest wind couldn’t. There’s something eerie about this, something unsettling. Much more than the irritation of her closing herself off, refusing to meet me halfway.
“Look at me. Look at me,” I demand when she scoffs, finally taking her chin in my hand and tilting her head so our eyes meet. “I’m going to ask you one more time. What is happening with you? What was the emergency?” And why the hell does she look like something inside her died? No matter what I’ve done to her, no matter what anyone has done, she’s never looked like this. Completely disconnected.
“Are you finished?” she whispers. What little light was in her eyes draining.
I am finished, because she’s freaking me the fuck out.
“Yeah,” I mutter, releasing her chin, backing away. “I’m finished.”
“Great.” Without another word or even a glance my way, she leaves me standing alone, disappearing deeper into the library.
What. The. Fuck.
I should let it go. It’s not worth it. She’s not worth it. I’ve already wasted too much time on her today. Over the weekend, too, as I argued with myself over whether I should check and make sure she was okay. Her problems are not my problems. I need to forget her.
If only it were that easy.
Dad is going to have to get over me skipping class. It’s not like I would pay any attention, anyway. Not with Maya’s wounded eyes fresh and clear in my memory. Not with her flat, disconnected attitude plaguing my mind, making me ask questions whose answers I shouldn’t care about. Why can’t I go back to not caring? Is that too much to ask?
It’s Wren I’m looking for, and I find her leaving the cafeteria on her way to her next class. I’m glad I caught her, calling out her name and jogging her way when she stops and looks around to see who is trying to get her attention.
My strides almost falter when her expression shifts on noticing me. Is it dread? That or something like it. Why would she dread talking to me? I continue at the same pace, almost reaching her before I have to ask myself what I’m going to say.
I don’t feel like tiptoeing around the topic, so I jumped straight in. “What’s wrong with Maya?”
Her eyelids flutter and color floods her cheeks. Maybe she doesn’t want to tell me, but there’s obviously something wrong. I really hope she doesn’t think she can get away with lying about this. I’m not in the mood to have more of my time wasted.
“I don’t think we should talk about this.” Well, at least she’s not giving me some bullshit about everything being fine. I can be grateful for that much.
“I think we should,” I counter. “She called me on Friday night, needing help, and I ignored her. That’s on me. Was there something I could’ve done? Is there something I can do now?”
Her brows knit together over the bridge of her nose while her lips draw together in a thin line. She’s fighting with herself. It kind of makes me want to scream—every second that passes ups the tightness in my chest and the rushing of blood in my ears.
“She’ll be so mad if she knows I told you. But… am I a bad friend if I let her go through with this without saying anything? I don’t even know if there’s anything that could stop her or make it better.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, folding my arms, glancing around to make sure nobody’s listening in. The way she makes it seem, this is pretty serious. “How bad could it be? This is Maya we’re talking about.” Yeah, Maya, whose dad locks her in the house and is probably capable of a lot of worse things.
“It’s pretty bad,” she whispers. When her eyes well with tears, my heart drops like a rock. She steps up closer, so I’ll bend lower to let her speak straight into my ear.
Then she tells me. She tells me everything.
And it’s all I can do to hold back my rage.