Page 8 of Chase
There’s this vision, this persona everyone creates about me that I feel like I have to maintain. It’s ingrained into me to be prim, proper, sweet, and Southern.
I’m out the door and breathe in the cooler air and breathe out the expectations placed on me. I haven’t had a therapy session since coming to Havenwood, and exercise is an outlet that I can count on to fix me right up. It’s not about losing weight or staying fit, although I appreciate that it’s good for my health, for me it’s more of a positive outlet.
It keeps my cutting at bay. It keeps me in check. It’s one of the healthy coping strategies my previous therapist introduced me to and I’ve made this rec kickboxing class a priority since the beginning of last semester to help settle my anxiety.
I’m chomping at the bit to get back to it. It always sets me straight and after last night, that’s exactly what I need. The drama at supper left me all tied up. Monroe Esposito’s crude comment insinuating I give Chase sex eyes was uncalled for.
Joking around or not, I wasn’t going to stand for it. I tried taking in gulps of air to settle my racing heart and to settle my nerves. It wasn’t until I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands that I felt the embarrassment and anger bubbling and boiling in my stomach start to settle. I kept my clenched fists tucked away in my lap underneath the table and away from prying eyes.
The bite of instant pain is grounding and always within reach. My nails are always available, my razor and scissors aren't. It took every ounce of strength I had to keep myself from slicing into my skin for being so stupid. So obvious with my desires.
It’s not that I’m ashamed of having feelings for him. What has me feeling so silly is how I keep looking up at twinkling stars in the night sky and wishing for him to do something about it. I believe with my whole heart and soul there’s something between us. I feel it in his stare. It erupts over my skin when he looks at me. It keeps me searching and seeking him out. I know he’s there. He always is.
I’m walking along the paths towards the Athletic Center where my class is held when I see him. If I could design the perfect male specimen it would be Chase Wilton.He’s an absolute daydream.
Standing six feet tall, he’s long and muscular. His chestnut colored hair is longer on the top of his head and curls at the endsright above his ears. If a man could be described as beautiful it would be him. His angular jaw, square chin, and full lips make my knees weak. When his cocoa-colored eyes land on me, they warm me right up much like the winter drink they remind me of.
He’s standing on the crest of a hilled path that overlooks campus. He has his hands on top of his head and I swear his eyes are like laser beams as he lights me up from the inside out. We always collide like this.
We find each other from opposite sides of rooms, supper tables, open spaces, rinks, wherever. We stay on the edge, never venturing further than the space between us. It always feels vast, no matter if it’s three feet like last night in the caf or right now with the whole of the university, this is as far as we get. He might as well be standing on the infamous Monopoly board square.Do not pass go.
I’ve subtly tried to let him know I’m open to whatever this could be. I’ve reached out to snag his attention and spur him on. I’ve shown up to his games and waved like a fool, I’ve stood in his bedroom doorway in nothing but a silk pajama set, and I held his hand in mine trying like hell to soothe his pain.
These little clues and pushes are all I do. I won’t be any more aggressive than that. He has to come to me. I may not agree with most of the lessons Mama hammered into my head, but this is one of them that I hold true. Plus, in every book Evie and I read, the male character always goes after what he wants. Call me ol’-fashioned, but I want to be pursued.By him.You would think I would’ve learned my lesson with this man but, no, the heart wants what it wants.And it’s this good lookin’ and equally infuriatin’ man up on that hill.
Before I realize it, I’m lifting my gloved hand to give him a slight wave. My lungs seize up as I hold my breath, waiting to see what he’ll do. Truth be told, I’m not expecting much and just myluck he probably won’t think twice about a silly wave and here I am stressing about it.
He drives me crazy. These feelings I have for him can’t be unrequited. They just can’t be. I outright refuse to believe that.
I see the flames when our eyes collide. I see the spark inside of him that glows just for me. But even with a electric current running between us, he’s still crazy cautious. It’s like he’s afraid he’ll get electrocuted if he gives in. It’s downright ridiculous. He can’t be that dense can he?Although, Nana did always say boys could be dumber than dirt.
I want someone to want me so badly, they are burning up inside to get to me. That no space is too uncharted, too hard to navigate, and too mountainous to conquer.
I want a man who wants me for me. Not for my father’s professional position, my family’s money, or for what they can gain. Just me. The guys I’ve dated were picked out and plucked from prestigious southern families with either military, political, or business ties.
I’ve been groomed to play a part and to continue a legacy. None of these boys actually cared. None of them stared at me like I was the sun. Not like Chase Wilton looks at me.Like he watches me.
He raises his hand over his head and slowly waves back, sending a surge of hopeful butterflies into action inside my already anxious stomach. Hope’s a funny thing, it can make anything seem possible. Like a healing tonic for an achy heart.
His wave and the small amount of extra attention is unexpected and having more than just those deep brown eyes on me, makes me dizzy. This is all it ever takes to keep me on the hook. He’s right there, stringing me along and keeping me on the line. Pulling at whatever this is between us. It’s the most he’s given me and even the small gesture seems big.
He stays firmly in place as his hand comes down to his side. He’s bouncing on the heels of his feet, waiting for me to continue on my way before he can run along. He always waits for me to disconnect us, like he just can’t stand the idea of breaking our contact.
My phone starts ringing and I pull it from my coat pocket. I swipe to answer my brother’s call. He must have just gotten to the football house.
“Hey Sloaney, how ya doin’?” He chirps from his side of the phone.
“Mornin’ Davis, you just gettin’ in?” I ask while I walk towards the athletic buildings. I pick up the pace, power walking the rest of the way. I’m running late after getting caught up in Chase and his wave.
“I did, but I’ll wait for ya here to get sorted. Shouldn’t take long and then you can cross me off your list,” he chuckles and I roll my eyes. Lists make me feel better and if I’m being honest, Saturday mornings aren’t the only day of the week that I need this level of order. It’s every day. Saturdays just feel more like mine than the others.
I hang up with him and walk into a packed class. I stow my bag and bottle and take my place for warm-ups. There are a few new faces and I smile as two girls with Greek letters displayed on their sports bras give me a once-over.
I redo my ponytail, flipping my head over to gather all the loose strands. The anxiety is still churning in my belly as I start to stretch. It’s always there but today it’s ramped up tenfold. I need to calm down and rub the two band-aids that cover the entirety of the underside of my thumb together. They’re a few days old and I don’t want Davis seeing them, he’ll know right away what’s been going on if he does. I walk over to a garbage can by the door and toss them in.
It’s going to be alright, he won’t notice, he’ll be too busy gettin’ situated.I tell myself and take a deep breath. I don’t want to disappoint him. He’d be another person I let down. I study my thumb, remembering how upset I was.
The unstoppable bouts of crying, the tremors, and trembling fingers as I wiped away rivers of tears before reaching for a sharp pair of scissors I keep in my desk drawer. The pain turned into panic that I wouldn’t be able to stop feeling like this. That I wasn’t strong enough on my own to squash the terrible thoughts from burying me alive. It felt good to cut into my skin. I felt all fixed up watching the blood pool at the surface, like I was finally able to breathe when I wiped it away along with my feelings. I grip the silver feather pendant around my neck to remind myself why I wear it, why my brother gave it to me, and why I’m standing in this room.
