Page 20 of The Story Of Us

I still don’t have it in me to tell her about him, even after speaking to him this week and being made to work with him on a project. She tried her best to cheer me up the next day, raiding her snack drawer to make a picnic for us. We sat on the field and read for a few hours, and then she ordered Chinese food for dinner, which we ate in her room while watching a movie.

She didn’t bring up what happened with my mum again, and I was so grateful for that. We hugged and said goodnight, and I felt so lucky that the universe pulled us together and gave me my best friend on the first day of school.

Even though I managed to not see Isaac all weekend after the restaurant incident, there was no avoiding him during homeroom or English Lit. Mr. Victor has started shortening homeroom, though, only taking about five minutes to take attendance and give any updates we might need. Most people stay in the room, anyway, until first period, but I leave it as soon as I can just to minimise the amount of time I spend in the same room as Isaac. I thought after a week, I would be used to seeing him again, but it still leaves my stomach feeling weird.

When it gets to my last class of the day, I drag my feet towards the English classroom, and as I pass Isaac’s seat on the way to mine, I try to pretend I’m not wondering where he is. I get to my desk and start taking my books out of my bag, arranging them, and placing my pencil case next to them. I play around on my phone for a bit as everyone else starts to filter in.

It’s like the air in the room changes when he enters. His familiar scent washes over me as he gets closer, and I have to close my eyes as I try to ignore it.

“Violet.”

How many times can he say my name like this, so tenderly, like we’re still the same people we used to be? How many more times until it stops hurting?

“Can we please talk? After school?”

I open my eyes but don’t look at him, can feel his stare burning into the side of my face, can see him in my periphery dipping his head to try and catch my gaze like he’s done so many times before, when I would pretend to ignore him.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me, but we have to work on this project together. Let’s just run some ideas through together, and then we can work on it separately.” He pauses for a second, and I finally look up at him just to see him tilting his head in that once cute way of his as he considers his next words. “I do want to talk about what happened last year, too, but we don’t have to until you’re ready.”

“Until I’m ready?” He tries his best to hide his shock at my harsh tone, but I can see it because I still know what every little expression of his means. That doesn’t stop me from continuing, though, the anger and hurt that’s been simmering for a few months finally coming to the surface. “Ready for what, Isaac? We said everything that needed to be said. You don’t have to talk to me anymore.”

“Violet, I always want to talk to you.” He’s quiet, but I can still hear the shakiness in his voice.

His eyes scan my face, and I do the same to him, taking note of all the little features that have changed since the last time we were this close a few months ago before it all went wrong. His green eyes peek over the frame of his glasses and bore into mine. I have to fight the urge to push his glasses back up his nose.

I hate how I still want to do those things to him, how much I miss the comfort of being close to him, but I can’t get over what he did. I look away from him, focusing my stare on the desk in front of me instead and hoping he doesn’t see the glassiness of my eyes.

“Can you meet me after school?” He dips his head closer to mine again and hesitates a bit before adding, “Our spot?”

My breath leaves me when he says those two words, it’s like a gut punch. The last time I was in that room I was sat waiting for him before finally giving up any hope of him coming.

I turn back to him, wanting to see the sincerity on his face, but also so that he can see what hearing those two words did to me. It was all we needed to say before, just a text with those two words, and we’d both be there within minutes, desperate for any chance to be alone with each other. I know he’s thinking about it, too, by the way he starts chewing on his lower lip, a nervous habit that I used to find so endearing.

“How do I know you’ll actually show up this time?”

The words are out before I can stop them, and he flinches. I keep trying to hurt him, and I hate myself for it, but it feels like the only way I can make him feel even a little bit of what our breakup did to me. He closes his eyes with a tight shake of his head before opening them again, and I can see a shine in them that makes me want to take back what I said. I open my mouth to say I don’t even know what, but he speaks before I can.

“I deserved that. I’ll be there, I promise.”

But he’s broken promises before and even though my head is telling me not to, my heart so desperately wants to believe him.

“If you don’t show up, then I’m telling Mrs. Harper and Mr. Hale that we’re not working together.” It’s the only leverage I have right now. We both know I can easily tell them that I don’t want to work with him, and I even tried to before. But when his knee pressed against mine, that simple touch felt unlike anything else. I wanted to lean my entire body on his, sink into the relief of having him next to me again, and I couldn’t go through with it.

“Okay.”

I expect him to say something more, but he doesn’t and just waits for me to speak because he can tell there’s something else I want to say.

“I’m not letting you hurt me again, Isaac.”

“I won’t. I never wanted to.” His voice is still soft and quiet, and deep down, I know he’s telling the truth, but I still can’t let myself give in to him so easily. “I’ll be there at four, okay?” He looks into my eyes as he says it, not diverting his attention for even a second.

Once, I told him, ‘The eyes are the window to the soul,’ and he took it to heart, always making sure we had eye contact when we spoke so that his intentions were clear. I can see it now, can see that the breakup might still be hurting him like it’s doing to me, and I can’t look away. I want to know more, want an explanation for what happened, want to know exactly how he feels.

“Okay, everyone in your seats please.” Mrs. Harper’s voice breaks whatever moment we were having and Isaac puts his hand on the empty chair next to mine, hesitating a moment before lifting it and returning to his desk. I open up my book and try to tamp down the hope I can feel blooming.

9

VIOLET

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