Holden
Chapter Twelve
Something is wrong.
Lizette just announced that the library is closing. Most students pack up and make their way to the door.
I’ve gotten minimal studying done tonight since I’ve been more obsessed than usual with watching Lizette. I don’t even take my eyes off her while I pack up. That’s why I see her slide her backpack on and grab her water bottle before coming around the circulation desk and heading to the door.
I rush to finish packing my bag, then walk over to her. I think somewhere deep inside me, I know I’m not going to like what she has to say.
“Hey, everything okay? We aren’t staying late tonight? I could come to your place if—”
She won’t look at me and stands with her arms folded across her chest as if she’s trying to hold herself together.
“Um, I don’t think... I can’t, Holden.” Her voice breaks on my name.
My heart rate kicks up, and I drop my bag on the floor. The need to touch her, to connect, suddenly consumes me. I reach out and grasp her elbows. She allows it for a few seconds, then closes her eyes and pulls away.
“Hey? Lizette, what’s going on here? Did I do something wrong?”
She sucks in a deep breath, then exhales slowly and looks up at me. That's when I notice the redness around her eyes. Has she been crying?
“Holden, I’m sorry if I misled you, but I can’t keep doing this. It’s... It’s not what I—” She pauses, then breaks eye contact. “It’s not what I want.”
She practically whispered. Maybe that’s what it is. She whispered, so I misunderstood her. She can’t mean that.
“What don’t you want? If we’re going too fast or something, we can slow things down.”
I can hear the desperation in my voice.
She turns her head toward the door, and a tear slides down her cheek. She doesn’t even bother to wipe it away, but I can’t stand to see it. Can’t stand to see her sad... hurting. Without thinking, I brush the back of my hand down her cheek until the tear is gone.
“Please don’t do this. Whatever it is, or whatever happened, we can figure it out together.”
The anguished words pour from my mouth, and I cup the side of her face and gently turn her head until she’s facing me.
She finally lifts her eyes to meet my gaze.
“Lizette, this—you and me—this is everything. I know we’re young, but... but I’m pretty sure I lo—”
“Please don’t. Don’t say that.” She backs away from me, and my stomach drops. “I, uh, need to lock up. Can you just go?”
I open my mouth to object, but then she pleads with me.
“Please, Holden.”
I stare at her.
This can’t be happening.
I want to beg her to stop this, to sit and talk with me—but I don’t.
I don’t because she looks as though she’s in pain.
So, I grab my bag, take one last look at her beautiful face, and walk out the door.
When I get to the bike rack, I take my time hunched over, unlocking my bike, waiting for her.
About thirty seconds later, she rushes past me.
As slowly as I can, I pull my bike out and glance up toward her car, expecting to see her pulling out of the parking space. She’s not. Instead, she’s leaning over the steering wheel with her head down.
Everything in me wants to run over to her and make her talk to me.
But I don’t.
Because she’s hurting because of whatever I did to cause this—and fuck, I wish I knew what it was so I could fix it—and she asked me to leave.
And when someone you love is suffering, you’ll do whatever you have to do to stop it.
Even let them leave.