Page 4 of Collision
Travis takes me by the arm and pulls me into a corner away from the curious onlookers starting to take notice of us.
“I know I messed up, but I was drunk…”
“Don’t you dare. That’s no excuse!” I break in, enraged.
“I didn’t do anything more than what you saw,” he says in self-defense.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Do you have any idea how that made me feel? You disrespected me, humiliated me in front of all your friends. You don’t care about me at all!” I shout, my eyes starting to tingle.
“Don’t say that. Look, we were just having fun. Maybe it got a little out of hand, but I didn’t do anything. I would never do that to you, you know that.” He reaches for me, but I dodge his hand, determined not to give in. I’m fed up. Fed up with his attitude, acting like nothing is abig deal, not even if it hurts me.
“I didn’t hear from you for two days,” I repeat, my voice heavy with disappointment. “Two whole days, and all that time you didn’t think to check in on me even once.”
His face fell. “I laid low because I thought it would give you time to calm down… I guess I was wrong. I’m sorry you saw that video, and I’m sorry I hurt you.”
He seems sincere, but part of me knows it’s just another excuse to pacify me. I look him in the eye and take a deep breath. “I’ve forgiven your mistakes too many times,” I say in one breath, before I lose my courage. “And maybe that was my mistake. Forgive, forgive, forgive. Why should we even be together if all it takes for you to try hooking up with other girls is one drink too many?”
I can tell by his alarmed look that I’ve caught him off guard.
“Listen.” He steps up to me and takes my face in his hands. “We might be in a rough patch, but we can get through it.”
“What if I don’t want to?” My heart is pounding in my chest, and there’s a knot in my throat. “What if I don’t want to get through it?”
A look of bewilderment flashes on his face, and for a moment I wish I could take back what I just said. Travis shakes his head. “Don’t say that. You know that would be a mistake you would regret. We both would,” he adds. “You’re important to me, this relationship is important to me, and I’m ready to do whatever it takes to show you.”
“Sometimes I think you just say that because you’re trying to convince yourself it’s true, but it’s not really what you want.”
I wonder if this isn’t what really keeps us together—knowing that by ourselves we would feel lost. Do we stay together because we’re too afraid to be alone? My God, how sad.
Travis rests his forehead on mine and brushes his nose across mine. “Give me a chance to prove you wrong,” he pleads, and I realize I’m already letting his words shake my determination. He must have sensed my submission, because he cautiously presses his lips on mine, inviting me to reciprocate. I don’t right away, but for some damn reason Ieventually yield to his kiss.
That’s how it always goes with us. But this time, even though I’m not ready to say it out loud, I can feel that something has changed inside me.
“You probably won’t believe me, but I’ve missed you these last two days,” he murmurs against my lips.
I let out a sardonic laugh. If he’d been missing me, he would’ve come looking for me. “You’re right. I don’t believe you,” I reply bluntly.
“I mean it. In fact, I brought you a little surprise to make it up to you.”
“What?” I ask skeptically.
“Guess who got you two tickets to the Harry Styles concert in Portland next Sunday?”
My face lights up, and it’s all I can do to hold back my excitement; I don’t want to let him off that easy.
“It’s a nice gesture, really, but it takes more than concert tickets to make up for what you did.”
“I know,” he says, stroking my cheek and tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “But I wanted to show you that I was thinking about you. Why don’t we leave it at that and go enjoy the rest of the day? We shouldn’t let this ruin our mood.”
“You always get what you want.” I give in to his request with a resigned sigh. Travis beams at me with the face of an angel, which doesn’t suit him at all, and wraps his arm around my shoulder. We go back to the counter and order two coffees. The barista gives us a weird look, but I ignore it. Did she hear the whole thing? How embarrassing.
“So, you’ll be there?” he asks, lifting the paper cup to his mouth.
“Where?”
“At practice. You know it’s important to me for you to be there.”
Practice bores me to death—I would rather climb Mount Everest with a pile of bricks on my back—but I can’t bring myself to tell him no, even though he deserves it.
