Page 47 of I Hear You

Now, with everything I just learned, I’m reconsidering everything. Somehow, by some crazy illogical fate, we’ve ended up in the same place, at the same time. We’ve somehow met so organically it’s unbelievable. And yet, even now, I’ve still kept my distance and ran from my feelings. It all clicks into place. Why I felt so comfortable around him from the very first moments. Why my body seemed to be tied to one end of a tether, his on the other. We’ve been connected since we were thirteen. I’ve been in love with him for years, even if I couldn’t admit it to myself or him–until now.

I know I love him, which makes all of this hurt so much more.

I pull up my Ender filled email account on my laptop. I see the drafts folder and my heart aches. There are one hundred and twenty seven drafts. One hundred and twenty-seven times I’ve wanted to break my silence.

I click into the drafts folder, wanting to re-read some of my thoughts, when something horrifying occurs to me. I remember writing a draft at the party last night and it was a particularly unsavory and uncalled for one… and I don’t see it in my drafts folder. Panicking, I refresh. Nope, still not there. I click to the trash bin. I must have just deleted it then. Nope, not there either. I take a huge breath, and with only one eye half way open, I click on the sent folder. Fuck. Me.

There she is, sitting in my sent folder. I am never drinking again. How could I have been so careless? Why is there not an undo button? I fall to my back, laying there, I try to calm my racing heart and rushing thoughts. I don’t have any emails in my inbox from him, so maybe he hasn’t read it. Maybe he doesn’t even check that account anymore or he could have deleted it all together. No, I think if he deleted it, I would have gotten an error message. I’m not that lucky. There’s still the chance he hasn’t read it yet.

I briefly consider breaking into his house and stealing the laptop I saw on his desk and deleting the email. It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had. Then I wonder, if hehasread it, why hasn’t he replied? And if he got it last night and read it, is that why he took me away from the party? My head hurts, not because of the whiskey and beer I drank, but because it’s getting too difficult to reconcile all of my thoughts. I am almost completely certain Henry knows exactly who I am. There are just too many coincidences for him not to. I give up on trying to come up with a way for him to not read the email I sent. Instead I focus my limited energy on attempting to find out for sure if he knows who I am or not.

After a few minutes, my stomach growls and I know I need to eat something. I'm suddenly starving. I shower and put on a clean pair of leggings and a plain white T-shirt and start walking toward the diner. I need a good plate of greasy diner food and the school dining hall just will not cut it. Plus, the walk to the diner will be good for me. A chance to clear my head and try to sort out the overflowing emotions I'm dealing with.

Chapter twenty-two

Henderson

Madisondoesn’tnoticeuswhen she walks in. We’re at the far end of the diner and she takes a seat at one of the counter stools closest to the entrance. One turn of her head is all it will take for her to see me. I’m contemplating if I should stay sitting just where I am or if I should go to her. Say hello and check on her. I stay stuck to the vinyl booth seat.

I am a coward.

What is it about this girl and her ability to make me go weak at the knees and lose all sense of direction? She makes me absolutely feral. I act on instinct around her even though half the time I realize too late my instincts are total garbage. Kissing her and running away, not asking for her number on any of the occasions when I should have–I wouldn’t be shocked if she thinks I want nothing to do with her.

I must have been staring at the back of her head too long and she sensed it because she turns in her seat. I duck my head and scrunch down in the booth, making myself smaller. I don’t know if she saw me because when I lift my eyes again she’s facing away from me talking to Joy.

I pull out my phone and do something stupid. Something risky and chaotic. Something I may regret. I apparently never learn.

I reply to the email she sent in her drunken haze at the party.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: August 22 2:47:32

Subject: Re: Mads is Rad - A poem

Isn’t that a risk worth taking

Confessing all your desires

Setting love free, hoping it returns

When the alternative is an ending

That’s all I write. I don’t even sign my name. I send only those four lines of poem verse. The one single stanza. Because I promised her I would and because she asked for it. Whether she meant it when she asked for it or not, I may never know. I haven’t taken my eyes off her since I hit send. I’m waiting–trying to catch any part of her reaction. She still hasn’t taken out her phone and seen the email as far as I can tell from here. For all I know, she could have notifications from me muted or even blocked.

Her food arrives and I can’t help but laugh at how adorable she is as she devours the bacon. There’s nothing adorable about how she sticks her finger in her mouth to lick the syrup off it. It’s sexy as fuck.

Emmett loudly clears his throat and I bring my attention back to the table I’m sitting at. He and Mom are both staring at me. Him with a knowing smirk and Mom with a curious look on her face. My cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“Isn’t that your friend Madison from this morning?” Mom asks, jutting her chin toward her.

I smile back at Mom sheepishly.

“Um, yeah. It is.”

“Why don’t you go say hi while I pay the bill?”

---