Beautifully Ruined (15 page)

I look away, averting my eyes to the windshield, staring at the dark, empty road ahead of us. No one’s passed us. No one’s driven near us. We are truly alone where we sit.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

It’s breaking my heart to hear him speak, but there isn’t any way that I can be that honest with him. Not now. I can’t tell him this. It would destroy him as much as it would break my heart.

So I shake my head.

He leans back into his seat, fixing his shirt.

“Then I guess I’m taking you home.”

Something gray lands in my lap before he starts the car. My hat. Zephyr had my hat this entire time.

And take me home he did. Leaving me in the driveway as the rain started.

I’d never seen something play out so perfectly but it was as if Mother Nature just wanted to see me suffer more.

The rain streams down my window in thick streams, masking the outside world in a dark, hazy blur. I’ve missed the rain. I’ve missed the storms—at least, that’s what I tell myself when I leave my blinds up—
I’m just watching the storm and listening to the rain
. It’s easy to believe. I lie in my bed, watching the designs created from the rain and shadows along my wall. I watch them twist and turn beautifully, dancing ballet against the wall. They’re eerie, creepy, and haunting but I can’t look away. I’m too mesmerized by the beauty of the storm.

That’s what I tell myself.

When I do look away, distract myself even momentarily from my wall, I see the light in the room across the alley. I left my blinds up and the curtains back so I could see Zephyr. The truth hurts. Okay, not to
see
Zephyr, just know that he’s home. While it’s only seven at night, I’m in bed trying to fall asleep, but the sleep just won’t take over. I’m awake and staring at blurry designs on my wall.

After last weekend, Zephyr wouldn’t even look at me in the halls. He barely looked at me before, but now I was nothing more than a fixture on the wall, a piece of furniture forgotten.

That hurt more than anything else.

I should do what I want. I should do it right this moment.

But what do I want?

I want Zephyr back
.

That’s what I told Dr. Jett in our session and it’s true, I want him back. I feel like I need him back. I just want him to pull me into his arms and tell me that everything will be okay even when that’s not a possibility. I had my chance last weekend. All I had to do was be honest. All I had to do was tell him the truth. But how can I tell a truth so haunting, I don’t even want to believe it? He can’t possibly expect me to open up about this, not now.

But if it’s the only way…

And I only have the here and now.

I kick back the blankets and slip my feet into my green flip-flops. I’m not sure what I’m planning but I’m going to do something about the hole in my heart that only Zephyr can fill.

I walk down the creaking stairs, listening for Hilary. I’m not sure if she’s home, I haven’t left my room all day, she could be at the hospital for all I know. It wouldn’t matter to me if she was here; I’m going to do this. I can’t afford to stop myself now, not when the courage swells within me.

I step through the front door, feeling the chill creep through my skin, chilling my bones. My bare arms shake from the cold and I suddenly wish for a jacket. I’m not going back inside the house for it. I’ll only chicken out. I step into the rain, feeling it mat my hair to my skin, feeling it flow down my bare legs, feel it rinse me clean. I feel stronger. I feel I can do no wrong tonight.

I’ll need that in a moment.

With every step I take through the grass, I slip and slide, barely keeping my balance. I almost kick off my flip-flops. It’d be better to walk in this weather without them. Stopping, I stare up at his window. I can see the tip of his head as he moves. He’s painting again. I can tell from his movements, they’re frantic and aggressive. He’s involved in a piece. I have second thoughts about disrupting him.

Maybe he’s too busy for me.

Maybe he hates me and doesn’t want to see me again.

Maybe… Maybe… Maybe…

All these maybes and not one definite answer until I walk up to his front door and see him.

From the looks of the empty driveway, he’s the only one home. Both his parents’ cars are gone, as is Jamie’s, and I suddenly feel a mix of strength and weakness.

It’s one thing to talk to him when someone else in the house. It’s another when it only him and I. Anything can happen—good or bad.

I feel I should run away and I feel I should knock on his front door. After many deep breaths I draw out to stall myself, I do the latter, waiting for a few moments until the porch light turns on and the front door flies open.

“Joey?” Zephyr asks with surprise. I look up to him, spotting the flecks of paint on his shirt and face. “Holy shit, you’re soaked. Get in here.” He pulls me through the door, the warmth of his hands so comforting to my trembling body.

I slide when my flip-flops connect with the rug and quickly kick them off. With the temperature change, I feel my body start to shake. I’m wearing a pair of pink sleep shorts and a white camisole that no longer hides my purple bra. In hindsight, maybe sweatpants would have been a nice idea.

“I-I c-c-couldn’t w-w-wait to t-talk to you,” I stutter out as I rub my hands up and down my arms. It doesn’t help.

“Hold that thought.” Zephyr backs away as I drop my gaze to the floor, staring at my grass-speckled feet. I see my knees knocking together—I didn’t know that actually happened. My teeth are chattering—I didn’t know that happened either. Who knew that you could believe cartoons after all? I still won’t try running from a cliff, I think that one might hurt a little bit. Although, right now that seems very tempting. “This should help for a moment.” Zephyr wraps a large flannel blanket over my shoulders.

“Thanks,” I whisper, still staring at the floor.

He leads me into the living room, gently pushing me onto the couch, just like when we were kids. He leaves for a moment, returning with a towel for my hair. I take it, placing it in my lap for a moment.

His hand drags through his hair. “So what brings you here, Jo?” He called me Jo. That’s a good sign.

“I was thinking…” I start, trailing off. I’m not sure what to say or what even to tell him. Can I just blurt
I love you
and move on? Or will I actually have to engage in conversation?

“You were thinking?” he asks, repeating me.

I finally make myself look up to him. I’ve been avoiding him as much as I could. We no longer share a table in class, we pass each other in the halls like strangers, we don’t race in gym class, I have lunch in the library or with Milo. I’m becoming someone
without
Zephyr and I don’t like that.

Looking at him now, I can see that friend I’ve had for years, the buddy with whom I grew up. I can see the boy I fell in love with and the friend I mourn when I wake up every morning. I’m overcome with all of these feelings of loss and love, regret and familiarity, and I just don’t know what to do. I’m torn between apologizing and throwing myself in his arms.

“There are things I want to tell you,” I begin, curling the blanket around me. “Heavy things. Dark things. And I just can’t tell you right now because these things, well, they’re terrifying and they scare me. So much.” I can’t even look at him. “I just…” I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” I whisper quietly, tugging the blanket tighter around me. “I’m so very sorry, Zephyr.” I shake my head, willing myself not to cry but losing the battle within myself.

“I know that, Jo.” His hand finds my shoulder, touching me so gently; I find it beautiful.

“You do?” I ask, looking up to him. He’s blurred behind unshed tears.

“Well, duh.” I can’t help but giggle. “Dude, I’ve known you for eight, going on nine, years. That’s over half my life.”

“You make it seem like a long time when we’re only sixteen.”

His punch lightly finds my arm. “I’m seventeen, thank you very much.”

“Sorry.” I roll my eyes, happy to have his cocky comments to roll my eyes to again.

“There’s the Joey I know and love.”

One word catches my attention.

“You still love me?” I ask sheepishly, feeling my hair drip around me.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Zephyr asks, taking the towel from my lap and patting it against my hair.

I shrug my shoulders.
Well, where shall I begin?
“Because I broke your heart,” I answer matter-of-factly, looking away from him.

“Can I be honest?” he asks, still drying my hair.

I nod.

“I had this feeling that you’d come back to me. I wasn’t sure if it would be today or tomorrow or next week, maybe not even until a couple years from now, but I just knew that you and I would end up together—will end up together—in the end.”

He was always so sure of himself. “I feel like I should be angry about that,” I mutter, taking the towel from his hands to dry my own hair.

“Why? Because I’m so sure of myself?” His smirk makes me smile. It’s so familiar.

“Shut up,” I murmur, giggling. Then I remember the blonde. “Then what was with Blondie?”

“You mean Bridget?” he asks.

I slowly turn to glare at him. He shouldn’t use her name around me.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “She’s only a friend, Joey.” I look away. “I promise.”

With those words, I believe him. Not because I feel the need to but because I do. No truer words were ever spoken.

I shake my head, not sure what to say. Instead, I just lean into him, mashing my wet head to his dry chest. He doesn’t say anything, just rubs his hand up and down my back.

“I really love you, Joey Archembault.” It is so wonderful when it escapes his lips, I’m lost in the words, floating on cloud nine.

“I love you, too, Zephyr Kalivas.”

We remain like that until I’m warm and my hair dries, until his sister walks through the door with a goofy grin plastered on her face, until his parents walk through the door to see his son with his previous-ex-now-current girlfriend. We were asleep by then, me folded onto his lap, both of us beneath the flannel blanket. I only know this because his parents love to take pictures of good things.

This qualified.

That night, my dreams drifted sweetly from the norm.

I was lying in a field of daisies, smelling the sweet floral scent wafting through the air. I pull on my arm, feeling the hand connected to mine, and lift the hand to my lips gently to kiss the fingers connected to mine lightly. It’s as if our hands are magnetic and nothing can pull us apart. Soon, my hand meets his lips and I smile when he leans up to look at me, his grin blooming.

“Are you happy?” Zephyr asks. The wind blows around us, sweeping his hair crazy about his head, but it only makes my smile grow wider.

I nod. “I’m always happy when I’m with you,” I tell him, reaching my hand up to thread my fingers through his hair. “I love you.”

“Not as much as I love you.” He leans forward to press his lips to mine briefly before pulling away.

“Dear God,” I blurt loudly. “We’re not going to be one of those annoying couples are we?” I ask between giggles.

“What annoying couples?”

“You know, the ones that walk around the halls holding hands and repeatedly stating their love for each other like a broken record.” I wouldn’t mind
being
one of those couples, actually. “
I love you more. No, I love you more.
” Zephyr laughs at my imitation. “Or worse, the ones who call each other, then say,
No, you hang up first. No,
you
hang up first. How about we hang up at the same time
. Then they count and wait but neither has hung up, so they giggle like weirdos.”

Zephyr’s laughing hysterically. He’s lying on his back, holding his stomach as the laughter rocks his body. It’s adorable.

“These are the reasons I love you,” he tells me. “But I promise that w’ll never be like that.”

“Thank God!” I cheer.
But I honestly wouldn’t mind
.

When I wake up, I’m still in Zephyr’s arms on the couch in the living room. Only now, there are pillows beneath our heads and two more blankets covering us. It’s Saturday and I didn’t expect for his parents to be that understanding, but this time they didn’t wake us up—or Zephyr—with an air horn. That’s always a good sign.

I shift where I lay, trying to move my arm before I completely lose complete feeling, when Zephyr’s eyelids slowly glide up, revealing his lovely dark chocolate eyes. “I could get used to this,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms tighter around me. He’s keeping me as close to him as he can.

“Me too,” I whisper.

Staring into his eyes mesmerizes me but I can’t help but with the distraction I get when I see the flecks of paint still splattered on his face, his clothes, and his arms like freckles. He looks like one of those large jawbreakers. The type you can never finish.

“What were you painting?” I ask, trying to count the spots on his cheeks.

“Huh?”

I reach toward his face and rub my finger against one of the spots of paint close to his nose. It’s dry so it doesn’t rub off onto my thumb or smudge; I use the excuse to touch him.

He checks his arm, spying the various vibrant colors dotting his skin. “Shit, I completely forgot about that.”

“Was it important?” I wonder if I ruined one of his pieces by keeping him from it.

“No, I was just experimenting with something new.”

Zephyr sits up, tugging me up with him, and I let him lead me up to his room to show me the canvas set up in its usual place by
the window. The painting set up on the easel by the window doesn’t appear to be anything
distinct
—but what the hell do I know about art?

On the large canvas is a mix of color expertly blended in a hazy wave. I walk toward the painting and notice little dots of paint not blended, as if they were just thrown onto the canvas from across the room. Knowing him, that’s exactly what he did.