Page 23 of Broken Like This by Bethany

She sets her phone down and runs a hand over her forehead in annoyance. It’s the same thing she does when the guys get going and get on her nerves.

Forcing myself forward, I make my way over to the table. She looks up just before I get to her. Her eyes flare and frustration flashes in them. My stomach sinks.

She stands up and steps over to me as her group watches for a second before half-heartedly returning to their work.

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

“I… I brought this for you,” I say lamely, holding out the smoothie.

Her brows pull in as she takes it. Glancing at it for a second, she takes a sip and I watch her muscles relax slightly. “It’s good. Thank you.”

“Of course, Beautiful. I um—I’m sorry about—”

She steps in closer. “I’m not going to do this here,” she hisses.

My shoulders slump in defeat. I notice her table glancing at us again.

What was I thinking crashing her group project? After what I did this morning? What the hell is the matter with me?

“Right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” I step back, swallowing hard. “Will you, uh, come over tonight?”

Her eyes meet mine. There’s pain in them, but a softness as well.

“Of course.” Her voice is tight as she fidgets with her smoothie.

Some kid at the table clears his throat. “Do you need to leave? Because you can—”

She turns back to him. “No. It’s fine.” Her voice is an octave too high, showing off her discomfort. When she faces me again, her eyes have hardened. The walls are slowly going up. Walls I put there. Walls I deserve. “You should go,” she says softly. To my surprise, she leans in and kisses my cheek. “Thanks for the smoothie. I’ll text you later.”

“Right. Have a good afternoon, Beautiful.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Then she walks back to the table, and I have no choice but to walk away, a sick feeling in my stomach.

As I exit the building, I look around. I don’t want to go back to the dorm yet. My eyes catch the path to the baseball field and before I think about it, I find myself walking in that direction.

I pause by the entrance to the small stadium. Then I walk inside and climb the cement stairs, finding my favorite spot on the first base line. I sit down, looking out at the mound. My mind flashes to so many games won by nailing the right pitch, to feeling like I was great at something, to feeling like I belonged. I try to channel the feeling of standing on the mound and shutting everything else out.

God, I miss that.

For a minute, I let what Joel said seep in. I wonder if he’s right? Should I have kept up with therapy? Would it have made a difference? Could I have played this year? Could I change things now?

It doesn’t feel like it. Then again, it doesn’t feel like there’s a path out of the place I’m stuck in. And the more I try to find my way out, the more lost I get and the darker things become.

I sit for a few more minutes as a combination of peace and hurt washes over me. When I’ve had enough, I get up and start wandering across campus, slowly making my way back to my dorm, wondering if there’s a way back to who I used to be.

Rae

The smell of tacos is making my mouth water.

I finally ditched my group project.

When Aaron stopped by the library around lunch with a smoothie, I was already done with my piece. I could have left with him, but I stayed. I wish I could say it was because I was keeping my group on track, but it wasn’t. I was angry. Hurt. I needed time to cool down.

And you wanted to punish him.

That thought twists inside me. I didn’t consciously want that. But when I realized that feeling was somewhere deep inside me—the desire to hurt him like he hurt me—I left the group project and went to get tacos. We can’t deal with things if we’re not in the same place. Physically or emotionally. The emotional part of that makes me nervous, but I’m pushing past it.

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