15Break Up in a Sunny Spot
It is a normal day until he breaks up with me.
I stand leaning against the brick wall of our school, the sun in my face. It's always sunny out here, between the cafeteria and the football field, between History and English class. Ever since five months ago, lunch hour meant less food and more kisses.
He usually puts his hands on each side of my head, leans in and down - just a little bit since we're almost the same height - and we start with light kisses that expand until we reach the hardcore make-out. If we forget where we are, we put our hands under each others' t-shirts, feel the smooth skin underneath, and if we really forget where we are, it happens that our hands slip into each others' jeans.
But can you really blame us? We're young, full of teenage hormones. I could even call it love.
So I stand there, waiting for his hands on the wall and his mouth on mine, but he doesn't move and I open my eyes, squinting against the sun. I can tell that something is wrong. He's late. Without looking at the watch, I know we have only twenty minutes left. And I need him now. But before I have the time to say that, he looks at me awkwardly.
"I think," he says, hesitating slightly, "that maybe we should break up." He stuffs his hands into his pockets, the ones that should be touching the wall behind me, the ones that should soon be touching my skin. He waits for my reply.
At first all I can manage is a simple, "Oh."
I blink. I think for a moment.
And then I say, "You think or you are?" Like it matters. Maybe I still hope that it does. Maybe I still think that he will change his mind if I'm good with the words.
"What?" He looks confused, and I roll my eyes, still not really believing this is happening.
"You think we should break up, or you are breaking up with me?" Damn, I don't sound sad at all. Does he notice?
"I am," he says. "I am breaking up with you."
He says nothing more. I look up at the sky, at the clouds that have gathered there and will soon cover the sun. Maybe I'm just imagining them. This has always been a sunny spot.
"Why?"
He clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable. "I just don't think it's working," he says. Casually this time. Like it means nothing. But it means everything.
"What doesn't work?"
His hand draws a pattern in the air between us. "This. Us. You and me." His blonde hair hangs in his eyes. I remember the last time I dragged my hand through it. Was it really yesterday?
I feel myself getting angry. I cross my arms.
"You and me? I think we work perfectly fine." We do, right?
Our kisses are amazing.
Our bodies fit like puzzle pieces together.
We can talk about everything and anything.
But he looks at me like I'm anyone else. Like I'm nobody special. Like I'm a stranger he met on the street. The glint in his eyes is gone, and I feel how I shrink, how I fall, faster and faster. The brick wall is cold against my back. How can it be cold? This is a sunny spot.
"I'm sorry, Adrian."
xXx
It was a normal day until he broke up with me.
I sit leaning against the brick wall of our school, between the cafeteria and the football field. I know that English class started fifteen minutes ago. I know that I'm missing my test. He said he was sorry, but in the past, sorry meant a hug and comfort, not a back turned against you, steps away from you.
I'm sorry should be soothing, not a fucking punch in the gut.
And I wonder what I did wrong.
Maybe my kisses weren't good.
I was too clingy, perhaps.
Said stupid things.
xXx
It was a normal week before he broke up with me.
I think back to all the lunch hours. To all our kisses and touches. To all we talked about. I think back to us in his bed and us in my bed. I think back to perfect moments, looking for errors, looking for signs, but I find nothing.
Not a single hesitation in his hands.
Not a single hesitation in his words.
Not once do I remember seeing in his eyes that he thought I wasn't good enough.
xXx
There is a shadow over my sunny spot. I look up, my heart flipping in my chest. Then I say, "Oh, it's you."
It's almost a whisper, and I know I sound disappointed.
"Adrian, have you been here this whole time?"
I say, "Yes." Because it's true.
He sits down next to me, so close that our shoulders touch each other.
"You were here during English?"
"Yes."
"During Math?"
"Yes."
"Even Art? But you love Art."
"Yes."
It's quiet for a little while.
"So... you're going home?"
"No."
"I can drive you."
"No." Then I add, "I want to be alone."
But it's a lie. I don't want to be alone. I want to be with Lucas. God, I want him. I want his mouth on mine and his hand on my stomach, his hand down my jeans, his breath in my ear, his teeth and tongue everywhere.
"You think," I say, and I know I sound devastated, "that he broke up with me because I never let him - you know."
Sam's eyes darken. "No. No, Adrian. And if he did, he's a jerk."
"He's not a jerk." I curl my arms tighter around my body. "I was gonna let him."
Sam doesn't say anything.
"I was gonna let him fuck me. I just wanted to, um, be more ready. I wasn't really ready until now."
"Be glad you didn't," Sam says. "The first time should be with someone who cares."
"He did care," I say. "He cared until today. Everything was so fucking normal until today."
Sam puts his arm around me. I think I want to cry.
Then I realize, I already am.
xXx
Lunch hour is still less food but no kisses. Sam hands me a sandwich, Leah hands me an apple. I say thank you but no, I'm not hungry. I am polite and nice and slow and calm. They all watch me with worry, and I say to them, "I'm fine."
I say to them, "I'll be over him. Soon."
And one day I say to them, "I am over him. Promise. I don't like him anymore."
I don't like him and the way he avoids me.
I don't like him and the way he laughs with his friends.
I don't like him and the way he makes out with his new boyfriend against the brick wall, between the cafeteria and the football field, between History and English.
I just still love him. And that's not the same, is it?
xXx
"Can I?" he asks, and I say, "Okay."
He drags my jeans down over my hips. He struggles a bit before they come off my feet. He's clumsy, and I wonder if he's inexperienced or just drunk or both.
I am both.
I don't know how many beers I had and I don't know his name. I know he started to kiss me fifteen minutes ago, in a couch in the living room, and I know he stopped and took my hand, and I know he led me to this room, to this bed, and he asked me, "Can I?"
And I thought why not?
He's clumsy but his mouth goes down and it feels good. He goes up and fingers move. He asks, "You want to?"
And I want to say no. There is only one person I'm ready for, and it's not you. But I say nothing. Or maybe I said yes, because suddenly, a finger is inside.
His mouth is on mine, and if I close my eyes, I can try to pretend it's another mouth, in another place, in a sunny place against a brick wall.
He shifts and struggles and it kind of hurts and I say so. He says, "It's fine." He says, "Lay on your stomach instead."
And I do.
"You want this?" he asks again, and this time, I know I say yes.
It's something bigger than a finger and it hurts. He's clumsy and maybe inexperienced and drunk and I am all of that, and I close my eyes and bite my lip, hard, hard, harder and I try to pretend, but I can't.
He's not Lucas and I never let Lucas fuck me, but I'm letting a stranger fuck me in a bed that's not mine, while a party is going on around us, and I hear music and talk and laughter and screams and things breaking and I hear his moans.
He says, "It was nice," after, and I wonder if the word Nice has gotten another meaning, if I didn't pay attention when it did.
He says, "Maybe I'll call you sometime," before he leaves, but I know he will never call me because he doesn't know my name and he doesn't have my phone number.
I curl up in a ball and try not to think how different it could have been.
xXx
I dream that Lucas comes and wakes me up. I dream that he hands me my clothes, that he takes my hand and makes sure I don't fall down the stairs when I wobble down.
I dream that I sit in his car, that he drives me home, that he leads me to my door and rings my bell.
In the dream he says, "Hello, Mrs. Callaghan. I'm sorry but - Adrian is a bit drunk."
And Mom sighs and helps me in, and she says, "Thank you, Lucas, for bringing him home."
xXx
I sit in my shadowy spot between the gym building and the parking lot, between History and English, when a sun shines down on me. He sits down so close that our shoulders are touching each other.
He says, "So... how are you?"
And I want to say awful, but I say, "Fine." And I say, "How are you and your boyfriend?" and my voice doesn't shake a bit.
He says, "We broke up."
First, it's quiet. I hear my breaths and his.
Then I say, "Oh." And then I say, "I'm sorry," even if I'm not.
And he says, "Maybe I made a mistake."
And he says, really quiet, "I really miss you, you know."
I want to say, it's too late, Lucas. I'm over you. And I let someone else fuck me. But instead I say, "I miss you too."
He takes my hand.
And I'm not over him. Not a bit.
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Beta-read by goudacheese!