And I don’t want to be here.
But really, I do, otherwise I’d have given up already.
Grunting in frustration at myself, I turn down the sidewalk for the Humanities building to go to class. I started going yesterday and am continuing today, which feels like a step in the right direction, whatever that direction may be. I spot a news van on my way there, so I take the long way, going behind the building where there’s a wall of trees blocking their view of me. The media has this fascination with me dating Luke, the son of the women who’s being charged with involvement in my parents’ murders. There have been reporters showing up at the University and at my home. I usually give them my best go-fuck-yourself attitude, but what I really want to say is: how the hell can I answer your question about what’s going on with me, when I can’t even figure that out for myself.
Yes, I like Luke.
To the point that it’s actually starting to hurt when he’s gone.
And my heart leaps when he’s near.
But there’s also this pain.
This pain linked with the idea of losing him.
But I want to be the person I know I can be when I’m with him. A new person maybe.
I think a lot, honestly.
Maybe it’s because I have one less thing to think about. All that time spent thinking about Mira and now I don’t have to worry about her anymore. So much time now to think about what I want.
What do I want?
I just want to be happy.
But happiness isn’t something that comes easy to me and I think I’m going to have to learn how to let it in. But do I let something in that I’m not sure I’ve ever had?
Later that day, my mind is teeter-tottering somewhere between bored as hell and bummed out. I have countless assignments scattered around me on the bed, some make-up assignments a few of my Professors who were kind enough to give me because of my ‘condition’. As if having my parents’ murder case plastered all over the place and a constant herd of reporters trying to get some insight into my head is the same as having an illness. Still, I’m glad I’m getting a second chance, although I did have to drop two classes, but it’s my own stupid fault.
That’s not what’s making me bummed out, though. I took the box out again today, the one with my parents’ stuff, for reasons that are unknown – maybe it was therapy or this dire need to torture myself. I did manage to flip through a few pages of the notebook and discovered that that’s all it was. I guess my mother was trying to start a diary but stopped doing so a few days later, because she died.
I ended up throwing the box under the bed, hearing the contents spill, but not daring to clean them up. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s what I keep telling myself. Then I buried myself into my homework, trying to use it as a healthy distraction instead of what I really want to do, which is wander up to the roof, or maybe knock back something strong and numbing.
‘What are you doing in there?’ Luke strolls into the room and shuts the door behind him. I have some grungy music blasting from my laptop, totally adding to my begrudging mood. I’m holding a marker in my hand and using it as a doodle tool to draw on my purple cast instead of working on my assignments. My hair’s braided to the side, no makeup on, and I’m wearing a tank top and boxer shorts, a real hot mess.
I reach over and turn the music down. ‘Well, I was working on a Calculus assignment, but I started seeing numbers everywhere, so I took a break.’ I lift my cast that’s covered in drawings, some my own, others from Greyson and Seth who have took it upon themselves to turn my arm décor into art. ‘I really do hate math.’
He closes the door behind him and slips off a shoe. It’s late in the evening and from his sporty attire – drawstring shorts, a tank top and running shoes – I’m guessing he’s just gotten back from the gym. ‘Then why did you take Calculus? You know it’s not a requirement for a General Studies major, right?’
‘Yeah, but I had nothing better to take and I like a challenge.’ I recline against the headboard and stretch my legs over the mess of textbooks and assignments, frowning at the Calculus book. ‘It’s not like it’s hard, just not fun.’
He laughs as he kicks off his other shoe. ‘Math never is … although, can I point out that most of your classes are higher course levels then most sophomores take, and they come easy to you, so not only are you smart, but you might want to rethink that General Studies Major and do something else, like Physics or something.’
‘Physics? Really?’ I question with skepticism. ‘That’s what you see me doing?’
He shrugs as he removes his wallet and some spare change out of his pocket and drops them on the nightstand. ‘You’re good at science and math.’
‘You are too, so maybe you should major in it.’ I kneel up on the bed and slip the hoodie off that I was wearing because the bedroom is getting too warm for jackets. ‘And how do you know I’m good at science?’
‘Because I took Chemistry with you,’ Luke replies as I throw the jacket on the bedpost, adding more chaos to the room. Luke and I used to be so neat and orderly but we’ve gotten kind of turned into slobs over the last month, too busy with other things I guess.
‘That was before we were dating, though,’ I say. ‘Were you watching me or something?’
He pauses, then clears his throat several times, confirming my accusation. ‘Maybe, but that’s not how I know you got an A. It was because the Professor posted finals on the door.’
‘Just because I got an A, doesn’t mean I’m smart. I could have cheated.’
‘Yeah, you could of.’ He positions himself in front of the edge of the bed with his hands in his pockets. ‘But you’re smart enough that you don’t have to.’
‘So are you … And stop calling me smart.’ I’m getting uncomfortable with the compliments about my allegedly wonderful mind. In the past there’s only negativity when people brought it up. Crazy. Erratic. Unstable. Disturbed. Psychotic. That’s what I’m used to and it makes it harder to listen to the positive. It occurs to me then that Lana might have been onto something today and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
Not wanting to think about that stuff and how it makes me feel, I aim for a joke. ‘If you keep giving me compliments, I’m going to start glowing.’