Catching Raven (17 page)

“You’re not dependent on her?”

I tiptoe around the truth. “Not excessively. I’m an abandonment kid,
remember? I push everyone away.”

“Unless you’ve grown accustomed to having her in your life. In which
case, you might be latching onto her
because
of your history with
abandonment.”

“We’re good,” I assure, all cool and collected.

No, really. Everything’s fine.

We’re going to pull through this.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

r     a     v     e    
n

Holidays came and went. Winter passed
by in a blur. My final semester kicked off with a wild bash, and ended with a
full-blown graduation extravaganza. Despite all these back-to-back surreal
events, one thing has become achingly clear—Eric’s detachment from me. I’ve
been watching him gradually slip away, drifting quietly in the midst of all the
noise. He doesn’t even tell me where he goes anymore. We’ve fallen into a
well-versed routine where I ask what’s bothering him, and he responds with a
stoic, “Nothing, I’m fine.” Not wanting to be the pushy girlfriend, I drop the
subject and wait until the next day rolls around to express my concern. He’s
anything but fine. Even something as simple as going through the motions seems
too much for him to bear.

My bed no longer smells like him because he no longer smells like him.
The paint fumes are absent. He kisses me and it’s empty and fraudulent. Just
like his smiles. And his conversations. And our relationship. Who is this shell
of a person? My heart is in the hands of a stranger.
Maybe he can still
rally,
I hopelessly tell myself.
Maybe if I love him enough for the both
of us, he’ll come back around.
But that never really works, does it?

I’d trade anything to have the old Eric back. But more than that, I’d give
anything to see him happy again. The pain of watching him suffer in silence is
worse than admitting to myself that our relationship is over. We’re too far
gone. I guess that’s why I’m not overly surprised to walk in the door and find
him standing in the middle of my living room with a black duffel bag resting at
his feet, a tortured expression on his face.

It’s the first sign of genuine emotion he’s shown in months. 

My stomach drops. I swallow and push the door shut behind me, bracing
myself for the impending storm. I shrug my jacket off and toss it onto the
couch, then cross my arms over my chest protectively and motion my head toward
the bag.

“What’s that for?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

He rubs the back of his neck and lifts his gaze to mine. The depth of
remorse in his eyes completely guts me. Makes the silence even more
excruciating. He clenches his jaw. “I’m sorry.”

I stare at the ground and dig my heel into the carpet. It takes every
ounce of strength I have not to break down in front of him. I make myself focus
on keeping my voice even and my heart steady. Both are futile.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to get out here for a while. Find out what I want to do with my
life and actually make something of myself.”

“When are you coming back?”

He shifts back and forth uncomfortably.

“I’m not sure. I just need some time to figure things out. Hanging around
here isn’t helping my situation.”

A jolt of panic runs through me. What if he doesn’t come back? What if I
never see him again? And what does he mean by here? My apartment? Austin? Texas
as a whole? I know his words aren’t directed at me, but his tone suggests I’m
part of the problem.

“What about your job?”

“Today was my last day.”

My head snaps up. This isn’t a spur of the moment decision. He’s been
planning this trip for a while. Probably longer than I realize. Why didn’t he
say anything?

A stream of silent tears fall down my face. “Why didn’t you tell me you
were so unhappy? We could’ve figured this out.”

“No, we couldn’t. This is something I need to do on my own.”

I shake my head vehemently, not accepting that answer. He steps forward
to comfort me.

I take a considerable step back. “Don’t,” I warn. “You don’t get to be
the good guy in this scenario.”

His shoulders sink. “Rave, this has nothing to do with you. This is on
me. Please try to understand.”

“Understand what, exactly? That you’re leaving me? That instead of
confiding in me, you chose to shut me out like you always have? You didn’t even
try, Eric. The one thing I asked of you, and you couldn’t follow through.”

He holds his hands out, trying to reason with me. “What would I have
said? That I’m fucking miserable? That I have no clue where my life is heading?
I didn’t have any answers for you. I still don’t have any answers.”

I use the backs of my fists to wipe the tears from my eyes. All it does
is make room for new ones. “It’s not about having the answers. I understand not
knowing what you want. I understand feeling scared because you have no idea
what comes next. God, I can even relate to the overwhelming desire to leave and
go find yourself. I’m all for that. What I don’t get is why you didn’t have the
decency to tell me this months ago? I must’ve asked you a thousand times what
was wrong, and you never once said a word.”

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t because he knows I’m right. Whether he
meant to or not, he screwed me over.
Again.
And I’m left wondering why
we ever even dared to step out of the friend zone.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” he begs.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a traitor. You have no idea how much this is killing me. I’ve
tried so hard to make this work. I wanted to avoid hurting you at all costs,
but I couldn’t hold on any longer.”

“So you strung me along out of fear and pity? Gee, when you put it that
way, getting dumped doesn’t seem so bad,” I snap.

“It was never going to work and you know it. I’ve been sinking like an
anchor and dragging you down with me. You didn’t sign up for a lifetime of
playing fixer-upper. It was only a matter of time before you started resenting
me.”

“I resent you now!”

He winces at my outburst. I drop my gaze and try to ignore the unsettling
feeling rising up in the pit of my stomach. He walks over, cups my face in his
hands, and tilts it upward, desperate to get through to me. “For the first time
in my life, I’m not running from anything. I’m fully prepared to deal with
everything I need to and face it all head-on. Then I’m coming back for you,” he
vows.

“Don’t bother,” I say angrily, yanking my face out of his grasp. “Just
go.”

He backs up, stunned. There’s no point in listening anymore. I stare off
to the side, not willing to engage in this conversation. Perhaps he’ll get a
taste of his own medicine.

When he refuses to leave, I yell, “Get out!”

He hesitates for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Ultimately, he
succumbs and wraps a hand around the back of my neck, bringing my forehead to
his lips. Warm tears dampen my skin. “I love you,” he murmurs into my hair,
inhaling my scent like he’s committing it to memory. “So fucking much.”

The gesture makes everything hurt a million times more. I squeeze my eyes
shut and try to concentrate on anything but his departing words.

When the door shuts, I wander into my room, crawl across the bed, and
collapse, hugging a pillow to my chest like a broken child. Sobs wrack my body
for what seems like hours. Somewhere in the midst of all that heartache, I fall
into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

“Okay, we have Cherry Garcia, Half
Baked, and Strawberry Cheesecake. Take your pick,” Mia announces, surveying the
Ben and Jerry’s selection in our freezer.

“Cherry Garcia, please.”

“You got it.”

She grabs it, along with the Half Baked, and zaps them both in the
microwave. She fishes out two giant spoons from the drawer and delivers my fix
in record time.

It’s been over a week since Eric left. No matter what I do or where I go,
everything hurts. All the time. I keep waiting for it to subside long enough so
I can pretend to enjoy a glass of wine, but you can’t cheat emotional pain.
I’ve experienced heartbreak before, but this is different. Eric was my first
everything. No amount of drinking, eating, crying, or venting can undo the mark
he’s left on my life, let alone my heart. If I could go back in time to the
very first moment I met him and give my younger self some advice, I’d just
stand there in front of her, looking as atrocious as I do now, and point to
young Eric as the culprit.

There. Problem solved.

Now where’s my time machine?

Music, Rom Coms, and art have all been banned from our apartment. Blonds,
black hoodies, blue eyes, ’80s movies, stoner comedies, happy couples, and
anything relating to James Dean are next to go. The urge to drive to his place
and see if his furniture is still there—or if he still is—hits me every day. I
could just ask Mia, but that would mean she knows more about his whereabouts
than I do, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow. Plus, I think it’s better for
everyone involved if I’m unaware. I need to concentrate on moving forward, not
holding out hope that he may return.

“Have you checked the mail to see if any design schools have gotten back
to you?” Mia asks.

A couple months back, I sent out numerous applications to art institutes.
I’ve received letters from four, but I’m too scared to open them. Those
envelopes hold way too much power. Everything I’ve worked for hinges on what’s
revealed inside. Oh, and another tiny detail: zero of the schools are located
in Austin.

“Not yet,” I lie. “They’ll probably come in the next week or so.”

“You applied for fall semester, right?”

I scoop a bite of ice cream into my mouth and nod. I watch as she puts
two and two together and gives me a dubious look. Surprisingly, she doesn’t
press the issue. Maybe she figures I’m dealing with enough as it is. Whatever
the reason, I’m grateful.

She sets her ice cream down on a coaster and adjusts the hem of her
shirt, then kicks her feet up on the couch and gives me her full attention.

“Listen, I know the timing sucks, but I really need to talk to you about
something,” she confesses.

“Fire away.”

“I didn’t want to drop this on you last minute, so I’m telling you now.
Keep in mind I never meant for it to come right on the heels of you and Eric.”

“Okaaaay,” I say cautiously. “What’s up?”

She exhales an unsteady breath.

“Chase asked me to move in with him.”

My face falls.

“What? When?”

“A couple days ago,” she says, eyeing me with uncertainty. It’s a look
that reads Fragile: please handle with care. Have I mentioned it drives me
crazy when people approach me with kid gloves? Makes me want to take
my
gloves
off and throw down. Sure, my heart's no longer in pristine condition, but that
doesn’t mean I won’t persevere. Diamonds are forever, honey.

After convincing her that I’m not going to freak out, she relaxes and
gives me the rundown. “He wants me to move in ASAP. I told him I’d have to give
you a heads up and put in my thirty-day notice. The last thing I want to do is
put you in a bind, so if that’s cutting it too close, just say the word and
we’ll figure something else out.”

I’m silent. On the one hand, I couldn’t be more thrilled. Chase is a
great guy and she deserves someone who treats her the way he does. But on the
other hand, I need my army of girlfriends. They’re my lifelines in this cruel
battle of love and war. Where lovers fail, friends rise. Without her, I’ll be
forced to face my reality for what it really is: lonely and depressing.

Despite all that, I can’t bring myself to ruin her happy moment. I
plaster on a tight smile and lean over to give her a hug.

“If there’s anyone who deserves a stable life, it’s you, Mia. You’ve been
through hell and back.”

She releases me and stares into my eyes with a glimmer of hope. “Does
this mean you’re okay with it?”

“Under one condition. I get to be the one to decorate your apartment.”

“Oh, God. Are you going to go all out like you do during the holidays?
Because I gotta tell you, I don’t know if I can handle that. Bright colors and
forced cheeriness make me want to gouge my eyes out.”

“Don’t hold back or anything,” I state dryly.

The moment I say those words, it dawns on me that Eric would’ve said
something similiar if he were here. He’d play off Mia’s energy and churn out a
speedy rebuttal, chock-full of sarcasm. I press my hand against my chest in an
attempt to suppress the familiar ache and refocus my attention on Mia.

“In all seriousness, though, I call dibs on the shopping and decorating.
It’ll keep me busy. You and Chase can have a tiny say, but ultimately, I make
all the decisions.”

“Jesus. You’re like a bridezilla, but for interior decorating. What would
they call that? A designzilla?”

“I prefer the term boss bitch.”

She laughs.

“You’d wear that title well.”

“And don’t you forget it,” I say.

Later in the night, as I’m about to crawl under the covers and give
myself over to the divine feeling of freshly-washed sheets, my attention drifts
to the letters piled up on my vanity. I sit up and reach over to grab them.
Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I flip over the first envelope. It’s from
California College of the Arts. I slide my finger under the tab to rip it open
and pull the letter out, carefully unfolding it. My heart nearly stops beating
when I see the word
accepted.
I stare at the letter for several seconds.
Bittersweet tears fill my eyes. Finally, a chance to prove myself and channel
all my energies into my life-long passion. I know I have a long way to go and
plenty to learn, but it’s a start. Even if every other school rejects me, the amount
of gratitude I have for making it into one is indescribable. Anything to get
away from here.