Page 23 of Collision
But before I turn the corner, I hear him call my name. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him say it. He says it again, louder, surprising me. My pride tells me not to turn around, but another part of me wants to give him the benefit of the doubt and see if he’s sorry for the way he’s treated me.
I turn around and go back to where he’s sitting on the lawn. “I expect an apology,” I say, standing there with my arms folded over my chest.
He scoffs. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“Then why the hell did you call me back here?”
“Because you’re so out of it you forgot your bag.” He picks it up off the ground and throws it at my feet. I grab it and can no longer hold back the wave of anger crashing over me.
“You’ve been a total jerk! You’ve been tormenting me for days, and now I’m trying to…to…” The words stick in my throat. The truth is that I don’t know what I was trying to do. Nor what I was trying to achieve. “Ugh. You know what? Just go to hell!” I blurt out.
His only response is a snarky grimace. I know I should leave. I should for my dignity, at least. Yet I don’t. I stay standing there, the soles of my shoes glued to the ground. There is something there…something in his dark, haunted eyes that makes me think he doesn’t really want me to leave. But maybe it’s only a foolish delusion.
“You like it, don’t you, mocking me, teasing me all the time?” I ask.
Thomas rubs out his cigarette on the concrete, blowing the last mouthful of smoke upward. “You’re an easy target.”
“You know who likes easy targets? Bullies. Is that what you are?”
He lets out a long sigh and rubs his face with a weary gesture. “Are you done with your bullshit?”
“Are you done being insufferable?” I mirror his effrontery but I get no response. We simply challenge each other with our gazes, oureyes lingering on each other’s for an interminable moment. And then Thomas breaks into a wry grin. “Now what have you got to smile about?” I ask, confused. Keeping up with his sudden mood swings is exhausting.
“You’re funny when you try to act tough. You look like an angry kitten,” he taunts. I shoot him a sideways look.
“Well, the angry kitten is leaving.”
I do turn to go, but this time Thomas doesn’t wait before saying “Stop.” His deep voice echoes in the empty space around us, making me shiver.
“What?” I stammer, dazed. “Didn’t you just say…” I break off, because the expression on his face suggests that he doesn’t want to hear any more questions. I force myself to put aside my pettiness and search his face. I try to figure out if he’s still messing with me, but I can’t. This guy is unreadable. “Do you want me to stay?”
Thomas looks down and shrugs one shoulder indifferently.
“Say so, or I’m leaving. Seriously.”
At that point he looks at me, completely somber, with an intensity that burns me like fire.
“Stay,” he says with a sigh.
Eight
We are sitting next to one another on the lawn, and neither of us utters a word. A deep silence descends upon us, and the only thing I can hear is the distant chirping of crickets and the hum of other insects far in the background. The dimmed lights of an after-hours campus illuminate this rather awkward moment. Awkward for me, at least.
Thomas seems perfectly at ease as he fiddles with the tab of his soda can. I look around, pull up a few tufts of grass, examine a chunk of my hair for split ends. I should trim these…
“I really make you nervous, huh?” he observes with a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice.
“Of course not,” I lie. “So…why aren’t you practicing with the rest of the team?” I ask, pulling the sleeves of my jacket over my hands.
“Who knows?” he replies tersely.
Oh, well, that clears everything up.
My gaze snags on his exposed biceps, and I get lost, admiring the tattoos that cover his skin. I get stuck on a sideways hourglass, wrapped in barbed wire. Inside, three small black butterflies are ready to take flight. I wish I could ask him what it means, but I know he’d never tell me.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo. The idea of permanently imprinting something on my skin fascinates me, but I’m too much of a wimp to really do it. Just the thought of getting stabbed so many times with those little needles gives me the creeps.”
Thomas gives me a furtive, indecipherable look.
