Page 13 of Collision
As I look at the picture, I can’t help but wonder how we got to this point. We used to be great. Travis was loving and attentive with me. Perhaps that love had changed over time, until it disappeared almost completely. He has his own interests: basketball, friends, and parties. And I am no longer the same Vanessa who fell in love with him at seventeen, an intimidated little girl who hung on his every word.
I have thought of breaking up with him more than once, but, when the time came to actually do it, fear took over, paralyzing me. And he goes back to being the sunny, cheerful, caring Travis I fell in love with, and I wonder if I’m giving up too quickly. If I’m backing down without a fight. That’s what my father did with Mom and me—he gave up without really trying, and I don’t want to be anything like him.
Lulled by melancholy thoughts, I fall asleep curled on the sofa in the fetal position with my phone under my hip. An hour later, I awake to a vibration: a message from my mother.Were you able to run errands? I’m out to dinner with Victor, don’t wait up for me.
Inevitably, a wave of sadness sweeps over me. She met Victor at thelaw firm where she works as a secretary. He’s a successful lawyer, and on the rare occasions when I’ve met him in passing, he seems like a good guy. But since he has become part of our lives, I’m lucky if I see Mom long enough for a hi and goodbye. Not that I’m dying to spend time with Victor, but it would be nice if Mom wanted me to meet him, if she showed a little interest in me for once. I ignore the message, get up from the couch, and go to the kitchen to heat up the dinner I ordered. I eat it in front of the television while watching a few episodes ofThe Vampire Diaries, always the perfect cure for whatever ails me. If my mother saw me eating on the couch, she would go crazy—but she’s not here right now, is she? So, my inner teenager agrees, I can do whatever I want.
***
Tuesday morning finds me singing at the top of my lungs in the shower. I seem to be over my cold, and I want to give Travis and his promises a fair shot. Mom still isn’t back, but at least I won’t have to put up with her orders today. I am lathering up with the moisturizing blueberry bodywash when my flawless singing performance is interrupted by the sound of three honks. I gasp—is Travis already here? No way!
I reach an arm over the cabinet next to the shower to check the time on my phone and realize that I have completely lost track of time. I bound out of the shower as though I were spring-loaded.
I have to be on campus in fifteen minutes, and I’m still dripping with bodywash! I run to my room to get dressed, but realize just as I am about to put on my jeans that I left my underpants on the bathroom sink. I run to the bathroom, slip into my panties and bra, run back to my room, and put on a pair of jeans and the first T-shirt I see. I fly once again to the bathroom to hastily blow-dry my hair before remembering I left the brush on the desk in my bedroom. This is what happens when a control freak loses control of the situation: she panics. Travis, through it all, keeps laying on the horn, fueling my frenzy.
“I’m coming!” I wave my hands and yell as though he can hear me through the walls. I take the stairs two steps at a time and almost face-plant but, fortunately, I’m able to grab the railing in time. I slip on myblack leather boots, grab my bag from the couch, and hurl myself into Travis’s truck. Once seated, I’m seized by doubt: Did I get everything? I look frantically through the bag even as I feel Travis’s amused gaze on me. I glare at him and gesture for him to start driving.
“Nessy, um…did you…you have a…”
“What? What do I have, Travis?!” I growl.
I hate late people, and I hate being late even more! My hair is still damp, and that means I’ll probably have a headache today too. I haven’t eaten anything and haven’t had a drop of coffee, dammit!
“Nothing, it’s just that you’re wearing your pajama shirt,” he replies hesitantly.
“What?”
He points a timorous finger at me. I look down slowly, certain that he is joking, but when I see the obvious pink of my pajama shirt, I throw my head back and curse myself. Travis turns purple in an attempt to stifle his laughter.
Oh, so this is the day he’s decided to die?
“It looks good on you, though, it goes with the color of your eyes,” he snickers. “And the rabbit sayingI Need Some Bunny to Loveis a nice touch!” He laughs with delight, even clapping his hand against the steering wheel. When he notices my death stare, he immediately suppresses his laughter and swallows. “Do you wanna to go back inside and change?”
“No. That would make me even later. Just shut up and drive,” I order, flaying him with my gaze.
I arrive on campus ten minutes late. I rush to my class in a blind panic, Travis trotting along beside me without a care in the world. “Come on, it’s only ten minutes. No one will notice!” he cajoles, and I ignore him and continue toward my art history class. When we get to the door, Travis tries to say goodbye, and I shoo him away quickly.
By the time I cross the threshold, class has already begun. At the back of the room there is a large projector. In the center of the room, Professor Torres is introducing the film we will be watching, a documentary about Frida Kahlo, if I understand correctly. In one of the firstrows I spot Alex, absorbed in Professor Torres’s explanation. I really want to join him, but I’d rather not disturb the whole class by making my way down there. Instead, I’m forced to take a seat in the last row, right by the door.
The professor dims the lights, and the classroom plunges into darkness. On the projector, images of Frida Kahlo’s work appear. I admire them, fascinated, when a low, raspy voice whispers to me: “I’m beginning to think that you’re stalking me.” What? I peer around to see where the voice is coming from. To my left, I spot the glint of two familiar green eyes, and my breath catches.
It is not possible, not again. Thomas Collins, with a pen between his teeth, still manages to give me his smug smile.
“Why would I be stalking you? You’ve wildly overestimated your importance to other people,” I retort, turning my gaze back to the projector’s screen.
“Really? Yesterday morning during Professor Scott’s lecture, then in the gym, and now here. Seems like stalking to me. You know, if you want something from me, all you have to do is ask.”
“You sat next to me in philosophy class! I came to practice for my boyfriend, and, just now, I sat down in the first free chair I could find,” I snap, bewildered by his presumption.
“Purely coincidence, then?” he murmurs under his breath.
“That’s right. Coincidence. And now, if you don’t mind, I would like to pay attention to this class,” I conclude dryly. After a few minutes, however, I realize I can still feel his eyes on me.
“You met my sister yesterday,” he says when I glance quizzically back at him.
“Yeah. She seems nice.”
“And what did you two talk about?” He lays down the pen he had been holding between his teeth and crosses his arms over his chest, giving me his full attention. Even in the dark, I notice that he has that same bandana twisted around his wrist, the one from practice yesterday.
