Page 68 of Tiny Fractures

“Yeah, he told me,” Ronan says, and I notice that brief change in expression again, though I can’t decipher it. It looks like a mixture of fear and frustration, but before I can analyze it more, it’s gone. Ronan rubs his hand across his face. “When is your dad getting back from California?”

“Next Wednesday,” Vada says. “Steve will probably be over at my house every night until then,” she adds with a giggle.

“Right,” Ronan says stiffly. I can see his wheels turning, though I have no idea what he’s thinking about.

“Alright, I’m heading out. I’ll see you guys later,” Vada says, then leaves.

Ronan and I spend the afternoon together, and it feels like our first real chance to truly get to know each other. With each hour that passes, I fall more for him, learning small details about him, seeing the complexities and multiple facets of the boy sitting across from me.

And I tell him all about my trip to North Carolina, though I leave out the details of my run-in with Adam. I can tell Ronan is curious about it, but I change the subject, and he doesn’t press me.

I want to know more about Ronan living in Montana, and he spends hours answering my questions about ranch life. He’s so modest about his abilities, but I’m absolutely fascinated when I find out that he rides horses and is skilled at just about every aspect of Montana ranch life. At first glance he comes across as such a city boy, but talking to him, I can tell that Montana owns a huge piece of his heart. He likewise wants to know about my life in North Carolina, asking me about my friends, my family, my love for softball.

My mom peeks her head into my room here and there, but doesn’t otherwise interrupt us, even as Ronan lies back on my bed and I lie perpendicular to him, resting my head on his chest, facing him. He softly runs his hand up and down my right arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps while I tell him about my life growing up.

At just past six my mom tells us that dinner is ready, and we join her downstairs. My mom, too, wants to know everything there is to know about Ronan; she peppers him with questions, and he answers politely.

When Ronan leaves just after nine, my mom accosts me as soon as I shut the door behind him.

“Umm, tell me again how you met him? Because I really like him; let’s keep him,” she giggles at me, and I bite my lip so as not to laugh. “How into him are you?”

“Really, really, really into him,” I sigh, my heart fluttering in my chest.

Vada calls me a few minutes later, on her way back from the movies with Steve, eager to know how my afternoon with Ronan was.

“I still can’t believe he didn’t tell me,” I hear Steve grumble in the background as I reminisce about my time with Ronan to Vada, who’s still bubbling with excitement over the fact that Ronan and I are together, just as she had pushed for these past couple weeks.

“This is just too good,” she shouts into the phone. “My best friend dating my other best friend, whose brother is my boyfriend. This is like rom-com material, seriously!” she squeals, and gushes about how ecstatic she is for me for another five minutes before we finally end the call.

After getting ready for bed, I climb under the covers, feeling the exhaustion from today’s traveling in my bones. I fall asleep almost instantly.

A buzzing wakes me in the middle of the night. It takes me a minute to realize that my phone is vibrating on my nightstand. I reach for it and mentally note the time—3:19 a.m.—and the fact that the call is coming from an unidentified number. I hit the hang-up button, too sleepy to educate whoever it is that they probably have the wrong number. But just as I’m about to fall back asleep, my phone rings again, and a third time when I let it go to voicemail. When my phone rings for a fourth time, I worry it may be my dad trying to get ahold of me.

I answer the call. “Hello?” My voice comes out scratchy from sleep.

“I was beginning to think you’re too damn good to answer my calls now,” a deep male voice says on the other side of the phone.

I sit up, recognizing Adam’s voice, despite his slow and slurred cadence. He must have been drinking.

“How did you get my number?” I ask. I changed my number while I still lived in North Carolina; the constant barrage of prank calls and threatening messages was overwhelming.

Adam chuckles. “Are you kidding me? You forget that this is a small town? Getting your new number was as easy for me as it was for you to get me arrested,” he snarls. “But listen, I didn’t call you to fight. I just still think you owe me a talk.”

“I don’t think I owe you anything, Adam,” I respond, feeling braver now that he isn’t physically present.

“Fuck, Cat, you seriously have a way with words. Why are you so hellbent on pissing me off? I treated you like a fucking princess and you repaid me by ruining my whole life.” I can hear him pacing.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say, feeling tiny, because I did ruin his whole life. I’m the reason Adam was kicked off the football team, the reason he couldn’t play in the championships, the reason his scholarship to Duke was revoked, the reason he was arrested and put on probation, the reason he now has a criminal record that may impact his life forever.

“There you go. That wasn’t so hard, right?” he says, his tone smug. “I tell you what, the next time you’re in town, you should seriously consider finishing what you started. Hell, you spent four months just leading me on, getting me hornier than hell, and you never put out. But I’m willing to give you another chance.” His voice is low now, and I’m beginning to feel nauseous. “Or maybe I should just come visit you in New York. You could make it up to me then.”

“I have to go, Adam. Please don’t call me again,” I beg, my voice no longer brave but quiet. I hang up the phone without hearing his response.

I’m unable to go back to sleep. I lie in bed, thinking about the four months I spent with Adam, our physical altercations, the abusive words he spewed at me.

My family, my friends—at least, those who were still on my side after everything was said and done—keep telling me I did nothing wrong; that Adam had no right to hurt me; that the consequences to his actions were deserved.

But I can’t help but feel responsible. A huge part of me does feel like I led him on and then rebuffed his efforts to be intimate. Honestly, I wasn’t ready, and I didn’t want to be intimate with him. I just didn’t have an emotional connection with him. That’s what every single one of our fights was about. Sex. And the fact that I didn’t want to have it with him, yet he kept pushing and pushing, and pushing—not only emotionally, but physically, always escalating until he finally went too far. So why do I feel so bad? Why do I have such a hard time accepting that I did nothing wrong?

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