Page 87 of Dear Roomie
Chapter 34
Morgan
The muffled sound of James’s voice resonates through the apartment. Her exact words are obscured by her bedroom door, but the fury behind them isn’t lost. Grover lies outside her room with his nose pressed into the crack above the floor. There’s a momentary lapse in her shouting, and his soft whimpering fills the silence as he paws at the door.
“Hey, boy, what’s going on?” I discard my school bag on the island counter and crouch at the entryway with an outstretched hand, beckoning him to me.
He slinks over with his ears pinned and tail tucked between his legs, and he pushes his wet nose into my palm with another worried whine. I scratch behind his ears for a few seconds before straightening back up to my full height and moving closer to the source of the noise.
The smart thing to do would be to leave it alone, but I’ve never been able to do the smart thing where James is concerned.
My steps are light as I sneak down the hallway. Her words start to come into clearer focus as I near her room. I hear a clear “Goddamnit, Tanner” seconds before she lets out a frustrated shriek, and something hits the wall with a loudthudthat causes both of us to jump.
Why is she talking to him? When I asked for time, I had hoped she would use it to heal, not go crawling back to him after a few weeks.
I guess that answers the question of how much I actually meant to her.
Silence hangs in the air. It feels fragile, and I hold my breath, worried that the smallest exhale might crack it. It only holds for a few moments before it’s shattered by an anguished sob.
My heart lurches at the sound of her broken cries, and my hand is on her doorknob before I’ve thought through the action. Every fiber in my being is screaming at me to go in there, to comfort her. But I freeze before I can turn the handle.
I shouldn’t do this.
Opening this door now would be like opening Pandora’s box. It would be the end of any time I asked for, and everything I’d locked away would escape into the world. I’m not ready for that, especially not now when something is still going on between her and Tanner. I drop my forehead to her door with a sigh and let go of the handle.
James doesn’t need me to save her. Letting her figure this out on her own is the right thing to do.
I drag myself away and head to my bedroom, repeating that mantra under my breath. Her sobbing bleeds through the walls, haunting me even here.
To hell with it.
I grab a notebook and pen and scratch out a quick note on my way to our shared bathroom. Her cries are louder here, each heaving sob another stab in my chest. I slide the note under the door with a small knock and wait, listening for her response.
Her sobbing is broken by a softer sniffle as the paper crinkles on her side of the door. The padding of her feet on the old carpet as she moves away travels through the wood separating us. Time seems to stand still while I wait for her response. The seconds tick by, and it becomes clear she isn’t going to respond.
I don’t know what I was thinking.
I try to ignore the heavy feeling in my chest as I turn to walk away. Suddenly, the paper slips back under the door, stopping me in my tracks. I pick it up, and her short message confirms what I already knew.
I sink down to the cold tile with my back to the door between us and pen my response.
Because you loved him? Because he was the safe option? Because you were scared of what your life might look like if you followed your own heart instead of killing yourself to please others?
I don’t write any of those things, though.
Shame floods me as I read the note. I’m such an asshole. How could I not know any of this? About the girls or that today is her birthday. What other vital information have I neglected to learn?
I can hear her bitter laugh from the other side of the door.
Her words send a fresh wave of self-loathing through me, so potent that my face twists in a grimace. I’m just as much to blame for things souring between us as she is, maybe even more so. Ishould have seen how much she was struggling too. If I hadn’t let myself be blinded by self-pity, I could have prevented all this heartache.
I take a steadying breath and send my truth under the door. Putting those words on paper is easier than saying them out loud.
There aren’t adequate words to explain to her that there’s nothing to forgive.
My body slumps against the door as all the tension I’ve been holding on to over the past few months flees. Something brushes against my back, catching my attention, and I turn to find her fingers poking out from under the door, wriggling around against the white tile in search of something. I tuck my arm behind my back, resting the edge of my hand in her waiting grasp, and she curls the tips of her fingers around my pinky. I’m helpless to fight the goofy grin that takes over my face.
We are going to be okay.
