Blue Horizons (A Horizons Novel Book 1) (8 page)

Chris and I have been together forever. Literally, since the day I was born. Our fathers were fraternity brothers, both married their college sweethearts, and after law school decided to open a practice together. Chris is two months older than me and one of my first baby pictures is of the two of us together in the hospital after I was born.

Every memory I have, he’s in it. He was my childhood friend turned middle school best friend, and when I was fifteen, he kissed me for the first time. From holidays to vacations, cotillions to prom king and queen, he has always been with me and me with him. Up until a year ago, I thought he was my forever too. Now, I know he’s not, I just don’t know how to get out of it. We are the golden couple of Kensington County and we are expected to last.

I begged and pleaded with my parents to let me stay home tonight, but they insisted I accompany him to the annual Memorial Day dinner at the country club.

“People won’t understand,” she says. “They expect to see the both of you, together. You know how proud everyone is of the two of you. Kensington’s very own All-American couple.”

I’m so sick of this nickname. I don’t want to be an “All-American couple,” and I didn’t want to see him, but they don’t understand. I’ve tried confiding in my mother, and I think she believes me, but she’s never been one to rock the boat, and in the end told me I was overthinking things. If dark fingerprint bruises scattered across the tops of my arms is me “overthinking,” I shudder at the thought of what an actual eye-opening cause for change would be.

Chris turns the car off, pulling me from my train of thought, and I know it’s now or never. Letting out a deep sigh, I look straight out the windshield, tightly clasp my hands together on my lap, and say the words I’ve dreamed of saying for months now. “Chris, we are over. I don’t want to be with you anymore, and if you would stop and think about it, you don’t want to be with me either.” Silence fills the car and instead of feeling relief, I’m both heartbroken for the end of what we once were and frozen with fear.

“What?” he says a little too calmly for me. “Do you hear what you’re saying? You’re out of your damn mind if you ever think for one second that I will let you walk away from me. I know that things have been a little off between us, but you’ll come around. You are
mine
. You always have been and you always will be.”

My heart falls. He isn’t taking me seriously. I didn’t think this conversation was going to be an easy one, but I’ve prayed nightly that he would be relieved and agree with me.

“No, Chris, you’re wrong. I might have been yours at one time, but I’m not anymore. I don’t know who you are, but I do know this . . . I don’t like the person that you’ve become. Obviously, our families are close and I hope that we’ll still be friends, but I can’t be your girlfriend anymore.”

His eyes narrow into slits and his jaw ticks from grinding his teeth. His skin flushes as his evident anger surfaces, I know I need to get out of the car soon and go inside.

“Did you really just give me the ‘We can still be friends’ line? We’ve never
been
just friends and we’ll never
be
just friends. Is there someone else? There better not be. Do you have any idea what I’ll do to him—and you—if I find out there is? Jesus, Avery, you are making me angry and you know how I get when I’m angry.” His fingers squeeze the steering wheel and his knuckles strain white.

Fear slithers in under my skin leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Of course there’s not anyone else. When would I have time for that? Unlike you, I’ve been one hundred percent faithful.” Disgust slices through me at the memory.

Over spring break, he had gone to Florida with his friends and thought it was okay to experience a little “once in a lifetime fun,” as he called it. I never would have known if I hadn’t seen a text come in to his phone that said, “Thanks again, Chris. You were awesome in and out of bed. Next time you’re in Florida look me up.” I was devastated.

His nostrils flare at the reminder. Like any self-respecting person who thinks they deserve better, I’d tried to end it then, and that was the first time he hit me. Being hit by someone you love and cherish was so degrading. It wasn’t the physical pain, but the emotional pain that was so excruciating. It was as if at that exact second the dream of us had died. Yes, things weren’t ideal between us before that moment, but that hit had been the exclamation point I needed to finally say, “No more.” Every girl in this type of relationship fanaticizes that the other person will change—see how hurtful they are being. After all, something changed to make them this way, but after I realized the behavior wasn’t going to stop, there was no going back.

“Why do you always have to get angry? Why do you have to hurt me? Why can’t you just talk to me like you used too? I don’t understand what’s happening to you, Chris.” I’ve tried to have this conversation with him before, but each time he just blew me off or talked down to me. I used to know him so well. We laughed, joked, shared secrets, and finished each other’s sentences. We used to be so happy.

He tilts his head as he mulls over my words. “What’s happened to me? Are you serious right now? I’ll tell you what’s happened to me . . . I am God around these parts. I was expected to be the town hero and that’s what I became. Perfect grades, perfect football, perfect wrestling, perfect college acceptance, perfect family, and perfect girlfriend. Although you don’t seem to be holding up your end of the deal.” I’ve always recognized the pressure he felt to be perfect, but I had thought we were in this together . . . stupid me.

“What deal?”

“That you belong to me! Where I go, you go. What I do, you do. What part of this have you forgotten?”

“No.” My voice comes out in a whisper as I shake my head. For quite some time now, I’ve known that I am not going with him. Once it’s time to leave Kensington, I will be going by myself and not to Northwestern where he thinks we’re going. I’ve secretly made my own plans.

“YES!” He pounds the steering wheel. “Why won’t you just do as you are told and shut up?! I swear, the older we get, the dumber you get! It’s really not that hard of a fucking concept!” My heart clinches at how easy it is for him to talk down to me. I’ve spent so much time loving him, and now it just feels wasted.

His hands start rubbing the steering wheel, back and forth, and it reminds me of that children’s game where you give Indian burns. It’s only a matter of time before his hands are on me mimicking the action. He’s not thinking clearly. I need to get out of the car and into the house as quickly as possible.

Opening the door, I put one foot out when I’m suddenly jerked back into the car. My hip hits the seat belt connector and pain streaks down into my thigh.

“Where do you think you are going?” he snarls through his teeth.

“It’s been a long day. I’m ready to go to bed,” I say quietly to try and calm him.

His fingers loosen on my arm and I rush to get out of the car and close the door. Mist covers my face and I wrap my coat more tightly around me as I start walking.
Get inside, lock the door. Get inside, lock the door.
If I can just get inside, everything will be fine.

“You know what?” His voice comes up from behind me and slithers under my skin. “I think that sounds like a great idea—let’s go to bed.” His hands wrap around my arms and he squeezes, pushing me forward. Tears blur my eyes at the pain, and fear strikes my heart over and over like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

Why is he doing this to me?

Dark hair flashes before my eyes and I’m instantly brought back to the present. Chris has blonde hair—he’s not here, he’s not chasing me. The guy moves to stand right in front of me and I jerk to the left to go around him, but he holds his hands up to stop me. All I can do is look at the ground. I can’t breathe and I just know he’s going to touch me . . .
please don’t touch me
. He puts one finger under my chin and pushes it up so he can look me straight in the eyes. His other hand is holding up the number two and he begins to slowly wave his fingers back and forth between our eyes. He’s asking me to keep eye contact with him. He removes his finger from under my chin and steps closer to me, but he still isn’t touching me.
Please don’t touch me.
Slowly, he bends down where his eyes are level with mine and pries my hand off of my stomach and places it on his chest. He lets go of my hand and with perfect clarity I hear him say, “Breathe with me.”

I can’t take my eyes off of his. It’s too dark out to see their color, but the wrinkles between his eyes on his forehead show concern for me. Concern! He isn’t upset with me, he isn’t freaking out over my behavior, and . . . he doesn’t want to hurt me.

My hand registers his heartbeat. It’s smooth, steady, and I focus on the gentle cadence as it thumps against my hand. Warmth from his skin pushes past his shirt and drifts over my hand and up my arm. There’s an inner strength that’s radiating off of him and he’s passing it to me. Whoever this guy is, he’s slowly taking control of the situation and me. I hate feeling out of control, and I never want another person to hold control over me again, but there is something about him in this moment that makes me feel safe and makes my heart slow. If only I had had this feeling about five minutes ago, maybe none of this humiliation would be happening.

“Breathe with me.” He repeats this a few more times and I begin to mimic his deep breathing.

The noise in my ears quiets and the pressure on my chest gradually begins to relax. Being overwhelmed by the situation, I look around when he brings back up the two fingers and waves them between us again. My eyes lock back on his and tears pool in my eyes. I don’t know if these tears are leftover from the adrenaline, the relief that this is passing, or from embarrassment. A breeze passes and feels like it’s pushing me into him. Leaning forward, I lay my forehead on the middle of his chest. He doesn’t move and makes no attempt to touch me, but the steady rhythm of his heart welcomes me.

“I’m so sorry I said that to you.” His voice is quiet and remorseful. “I was trying to be funny, and I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

I don’t say anything back to him. I mean, what would I say? Besides, I certainly do not want to get into a conversation as to why this episode of mine happened in the first place.

I’m not sure how long we actually stand in the driveway, but eventually I step a little closer to him. His hand comes up and cradles my head, almost like one would a child. His fingers slip into my hair and my eyes close at the sensation. I can’t remember the last time that I was this close to a guy. My heart is still pounding a little harder than normal, but I’m starting to think that it’s for a different reason and not out of fear. The scent of his cologne from earlier has faded, but he smells just like what I think a guy should smell like . . . clean, a combination of fresh laundry, citrus, and a musk scent. It isn’t overpowering and the scent of him combined with the air from the fall night is intoxicating.

Letting out a deep sigh, I relax against him, and slowly, he reaches down and grabs one of my fingers with one of his.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” He takes a step back from me, his eyes scanning my face, and then he pulls my finger and together we walk back up the steps and to the front door.