Hard to Resist (14 page)

“Goodnight, Bryson.” As I’d said it, my chest tightened and I fought to keep my tears back. I shut the door behind me and he pulled off quickly. It was unusual for him to leave that fast. When he would drop me off, he would usually wait in front of the driveway until I was safe inside the house. But not that time. That time he was out of sight within a second. I watched his Jeep trail down the road until his rear lights grew distant and then disappeared. I turned to make my way up the driveway. I knew my father was waiting for me inside so I took a deep breath, shook it off, and headed in.

I was hoping that maybe he wasn’t feeling well or that he really did have to hurry off to babysit but that wasn’t the case. Bryson was going to see Sara behind my back. Back then, I didn’t even realize it. I made excuses for his stand-offish behavior. I made sure that every excuse was a good one and sometimes I would believe them. But it was getting out of hand. It was only a matter of time before I was to learn the truth.

****

Tapping my pen against my chin, I stare down at the blank sheet of paper before me. I’ve been debating all morning on whether to write or not. I decided that since I was home alone and didn’t have anywhere to go for hours, it was best to get something down. I’ve had all of these memories, all of these confusing thoughts running through my mind. It’s all so jumbled up that I feel like writing them down on paper is the best option.

I cross my legs and press the ball of my pen against the paper. Sitting at the coffee table of the living room on top of one of Harper’s throw pillows, P!nk, Ed Sheeran, and Gavin Degraw play through the speakers gently. I used to write like this at home when my parents weren’t there. I’d grab a stack of papers, place them on the coffee table, grab a beanbag chair, and scoot my legs under the table as jams filled the room. I would then get right down to work.

I compare you to him

Because you’re almost the same

Your chances are extremely slim

And you should take full blame

I’m learning that it’s not about you

With every waking moment

I torture myself with memories of you

But you couldn’t even hold onto it

He’s the same in some ways

But he’s helping me cope

I blame you on the days

That I catch myself sitting around with a mope

I can’t blame you for not being interested

But you could have spared me the grief

My vulnerability was manifested

And I’m glad that he provides me with some sort of relief

I honestly just want to say screw you

I honestly just want to stab you in the back

I seriously just want to yell “fuck you!”

Until my emotions can surpass the slack

What I feel is
hurt

What I’ve gone through was unbearable

You shoved my face into the dirt

But somehow that dirt has become valuable

I cherish the moments that I’m away from you now

You miss what you had; you crave what you’ve lost

I seriously should just take a bow

Because I took this pain like a woman . . . like a conqueror.

Like a boss.

Smiling, I read over the lines of my paper over a million times. The last two lines are what catch me. I love them. The fact that I actually do continue to breathe and go on with my life is proof enough that I’m getting through it. It’s like taking baby steps. They’re gradual but they will become strides as the days move forward. I was being suffocated with a plastic bag that Bryson had put over my head. But now I feel like I can snatch it off and toss it in the garbage. I feel like I can inhale and take a huge breath of relief. This poem proves how much I’ve been through with him.

I won’t pretend that he means nothing to me, though. The feelings that I have for him will take a while to fade and that’s only because he’s my first love. But it’s happening. I can feel it happening. A pound of all of the weight has been lifted from my shoulders. There’s still some massive weight lingering around but with time, I know it will all be gone.

My phone buzzes on the table and I reach for it quickly, spotting the unfamiliar number.

“Hello?” I answer with my eyebrows slightly pulled together.

“Hi! Is this Natalie Carmichael?”

“Yes it is. May I ask whose calling?”

“Oh, it’s Brittany from Miami-Dade!”

“Oh, yeah! Hi, how are you?” I pull my legs from beneath the table to stand.

“I’m wonderful,” she says as I place my pen on top of my paper. “I was just calling, as promised. I want to give you the directions early. My mom knows the manager and she say that a lot of people are going to be there tonight. Do you still plan on going?”

“Of course.” I smile. “I actually just wrote something that I may share one night.”

“Really?!” Brittany squeals. “That is fantastic. I hope to be able to read them soon.”

“You can read them today, if you’d like. We can meet up for some smoothies or something and I can bring a few of my best ones with me.”

“Oh, no. I seriously don’t’ want to take up all of your time,” she says as her voice lowers.

Giggling, I make my way towards my bedroom. “Brittany, you’re fine. I’m free today—well practically every day until school starts. I don’t mind it at all.”

“Are you sure?” she asks nervously. “I feel like I’ve already interrupted your writing. I know how it is for someone to interrupt something important—”

Brittany continues to babble but I only laugh. She’s adorable, really. She’s a nervous wreck with a new friend that she knows nothing about. I can tell that she isn’t trying to screw anything up. But I’m not like that. I accept people for the way they are. I guess that’s my problem. “It’s fine. I swear. What do you say we meet up at Smoothie King?”

“Sure,” she breathes, almost out of relief. “What time?”

I pull my cell away from my ear to check the time. “How about three? Open Mic doesn’t start until eight tonight, right?”

“Right,” she says. “Well, gather those poems and I’ll meet you there—at the one on the beach, right?”

“Yup,” I say while toying with a hairclip on my nightstand.

Kay. See ya there!”

“See ya!” I call before ending the line. I place the hair clip down then sigh. I rake my fingers through my hair as I stare at the carpet. If I want to be honest with myself, I’m nervous about the fact that Brittany will think I’m a lunatic for writing such depressing and heart wrenching poems. My best poems are the ones that I had written out of pain or the ones that I had scribbled down through blurry eyes. I want to share my dreams with someone. I can’t continue to bottle all that I have up. My only hope is that she actually likes them and doesn’t run away from me full speed.

Chapter Fifteen

“So what do you think?” I ask nervously as I grip my cup that is full of a creamy strawberry-banana smoothie. By the creases in Brittany’s forehead, I’m not sure what she’s thinking. Her eyes are glued to the paper and are scanning each word over and over again. It isn’t too long before she stops reading to look at me. Her green eyes are wide and crystal-like as she stares into mine. She seriously looks like she’s just seen Freddie or Jason. “Was it that bad?” I ask with a slight wince.

“Bad?” she asks before her mouth gapes. “Natalie, please excuse me for my language, but that poem was fucking amazing! Who are you talking about in it?”

“An ex of mine.”

“Wow,” she breathes as she reaches for her cup of yogurt. “I could feel your pain. There are seriously no words that can describe what I felt while reading it.” She picks her spoon up and slides it into her mouth. “Have you shared these with anyone besides me?”

“Yeah. I have a friend back in South Carolina that loved to read my poems. Her name is Grace. She’s the reason that I started writing, actually.”

“Oh really?” Brittany raises an intrigued eyebrow as she swallows her yogurt down. “How so?”

“Well, she knew that I loved to write. She would tell me to just put it all down on paper. I’m kind of glad that I did now.” I sit back and place my hands between my thighs. “You’re sure you loved it?—I mean there wasn’t anything on it that makes you want to run away from me while screaming your head off?”

“Hell no,” she says quickly as she sits forward. “Seriously, you should think about getting these copyrighted and put out in the world. I think lots of girls would understand this kind of pain. I’m one of them.” Brittany’s features fall as she reaches for her cup of Greek yogurt again.

“Oh,” I mumble. I highly doubt that she wants to speak about that right now. “Well, maybe one day. I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet,” I say to avoid that conversation with her.

“Oh yeah! No sweat. Do it when it feels right.” Picking her spoon up again, she stares at the pink yogurt. “So, are you coming alone tonight? I don’t want you to be, like, a third-wheel or anything. Jordan, my boyfriend, is coming and I tend to get a little . . . stuck on him.”

I smile heavily as I watch her almost sink into her sequin green tank top. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I have someone coming along that I’m sure will love the Open Mic just as much as us.” A smile plays on my lips as I lower my head and think of Nolan. He stayed until three in the morning. It was wonderful to spend time with him. I don’t think there was a moment that we didn’t make-out. Every hour, our lips were touching.

“Heated cheeks,” Brittany muses with a smirk as she points her spoon at me. “I take it he’s a lover of yours.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Just a friend.”

“For now,” she counters playfully. “I know that look. I had it before. You’re seriously red all over. You like him a lot.”

“Is it really that obvious?” I ask. I kind of figured that it was going to get obvious one day.

“Very,” she says then sticks her spoon into her mouth to gulp her last scoop of yogurt down. “Is he hot?”

“Very,” I say with a slight giggle. She giggles with me then places her spoon in her empty cup before reaching for my stack of poems. She stacks them on the table before tucking them in the yellow folder that I had carried them in.

“You take these home and really consider reading them for Open Mic sometime. I think the one that I just read is the best one—all of them were great but that last one was just . . .
wow
.” I grab the folder with a nod and we both stand from the table.

“Maybe,” I sigh.

****

As soon as I step into the apartment, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I shut and lock the door behind me before pulling it out and checking the screen.

Gracey.

My heart does fifty flips in my chest as a grin sticks to my mouth like glue. I’ve missed Grace. I haven’t talked to her in weeks. She’s been on lockdown since she got caught trying to sneak out and go to her boyfriend, Trey’s, house. He’s the one that she had met at the infamous house party on graduation night.

I press the answer button and let out a shrill scream through the receiver of the phone.

“Good God, Nat! I hate when you do that!” she complains before giggling. “What’s up girl? I’ve missed your ass like crazy!”

“I know,” I groan as I slump down on the sofa. “Your parents finally decided to let you off the hook?”

“Yeah,” she breathes. I can tell that she’s fiddling with something. It’s always been a habit of hers when she’s on the phone or when she’s talking to someone face-to-face. “I think they’re realizing that I’m not a child anymore. I talked to my mom this morning and she gave me a speech about how pregnancy will cut all of the fun out of my life and shit like that. It was the same old junk just a different day.”