Page 29 of The Story Of Us

“I like that a lot,” I tell her as I lift my hand to hold her wrist and stroke my thumb across it, feeling her heart beating as wildly as mine.

It’s muscle memory at this point as my thumb moves to tap the screen to open up our past messages, but then the passenger side door opens, and I lock my phone just as Izzy gets in.

“What took you so long? We’re only going home for a few hours.”

“I had to get my hair done! Violet always has her hair in cute styles, and she said she would do it for me.”

I’m all too familiar with how Violet does her hair and the countless calls spent with her trying out new styles and asking my opinion on them. I was never really helpful, though, because I thought she looked beautiful no matter how she did it.

Izzy turns in her seat to show me the back of her head, and it’s done in a way that Violet used to do a lot: two small braids around the top of her head that meet in the middle like a crown. I have to look away.

“It’s only lunch, you didn’t need to bother her for that,” I say as I start the car, needing some kind of distraction. “Put your belt on.”

The words come out clipped and harsher than I intended, and once again, I’m taking my emotions out on Izzy when she’s done nothing wrong. It’s not her fault that I messed things up with Violet. I’m glad that she doesn’t seem to be holding our breakup against Izzy, either.

“I didn’t bother her. She was awake anyway.”

“At this time on a Saturday?” I try to mask the surprise in my voice and hope Izzy just takes it as shock that anyone would voluntarily be awake this early on the weekend.

Really, it’s because I know Violet never wakes up this early, and the number of times I’ve had to call her so she wouldn’t miss weekend breakfasts is proof of that.

I wonder why she’s awake so early, wonder if it’s because of me.

I haven’t slept well in months, and I hate to think that it’s the same for her. I got so used to talking to her every night that when the calls stopped, it threw me so off balance that I struggled to sleep. I thought it would have gotten better with time, but it’s still the same, and I barely get four hours of sleep a night if I’m lucky.

“Yeah, she was just sitting in the common room reading. She had tea, too, so I think she’d been awake a while.”

My grip on the steering wheel tightens, and I add another thing to the list of reasons to hate myself for. I hate that she’s not sleeping properly when I know how much she loves it.

“Okay, well, stop bothering her. It’s our last year. She’s probably stressed out enough without you harassing her.”

“I don’t! She even offered to teach me how to do it myself.”

“Just leave her alone, Izzy,” I finally snap, my voice harsher and louder than I’ve ever spoken to her before.

I glance over to her, and if looks could kill, I’d be gone by now. Izzy shifts in her seat so she’s turned to the window and puts her earphones in. I let out a deep sigh, the list growing longer and longer as I keep hurting the people I love. I reach a hand over to tap her shoulder but stop myself at the last minute, retracting it and putting both hands on the wheel again. Izzy hates when I apologise immediately because she said it feels less sincere, so I hold it in for now, resolving to talk to her when we get home instead.

We drive the rest of the way without saying a single word to each other. Before I’ve even finished parking up, Izzy unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of the car. I think about calling after her, but I know she probably wants some time alone, and I think I need some, too.

I know I can’t keep getting upset any time she mentions Violet, but I can’t help it. I used to love knowing that they were close, but now the idea that she talks to my sister more than me now is too much to bear. It just makes her feel closer when she’s still so far away like she’s right within my reach, but I can’t get to her.

I stay in the car for a bit, steeling myself to see my parents again. I don’t get any kind of reprieve from their pressure whether I’m at home or school, but at least at school, they and their expectations aren’t a constant looming presence. When I’m home, every single conversation revolves around Oxford or preparing for the LNAT and interviews. It is exhausting.

At school, I had Violet as my resting place. She never mentioned it first, always waiting for me to bring it up first if I ever wanted to talk about it. Even then, she would simply listen as I vented and got everything off my chest. She’d reassure me that everything would be okay, and I believed her.

I get out of the car and make my way into the house, trying to get rid of all thoughts of Violet. I hope I can make it to my room without being seen, but as soon as I close the front door behind me, I hear my mum calling my name from the kitchen. I try to pretend I haven’t heard her and keep walking towards the stairs, but then there’s a tug on my arm, and I have to stop.

“I called you, Isaac.”

“Sorry, I didn’t hear.” I turn to face her, shrugging her hand off me, and it’s like looking into a mirror.

My mum’s genetics are strong. Izzy and I both inherited her green eyes and dark hair. Sometimes, it feels like I don’t take after anything from my dad at all, and it just makes the gap between us feel even wider.

“The Smiths will be here at one, so make sure you’re back down before then.”

“I’m going to study for a bit, and then I’ll be down.”

A complete lie.

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