interlude ii

One week, two days, seven hours, and eleven minutes.

That’s how long I had been under friend-and-family patrolled house-arrest.  They meant well, I’m sure they did, but  between Jess, Oliver, and my dad, I almost never got a chance to leave my bed, much less the house.   Jess insisted on doing all the grocery shopping and chores.  My dad brought over dinner for both Jess and I every night (I’m sure Kristie was behind that one).  Oliver called three times a day to see if I needed anything else.  I was being suffocated by their “meaning well”.

When Zac texted me at one week, two days, seven hours, and fifteen minutes, I was sitting in my mom’s rocking chair, staring out the bay window of the living room.  I almost didn’t even reach for my phone when I heard the familiar tone, knowing it was him—he had texted me every hour since I had been home to see if I was alright or wanted to talk.  I would have assumed my not answering him the first hundred times would have been an indication that I didn’t want to talk to him.

If there was one thing Zac was, it was persistent.

I knew he wouldn’t relent until I answered him, even after over a week, so I finally gave in and typed a quick response back to him.

“I’m fine.  I’ve been fine.  I don’t have anything else to say to you.  Please just leave me alone.”

There really were no words left for me to say to him.  My first night out of the hospital, I had said all I needed to say.  It had never been fair of him to keep both Kate and I on a string, competing for his affections, even if she had no idea what was going on.  As human beings, we were both pitiful and despicable.  As much as I loved him, it wasn’t enough to justify doing something that would hurt multiple people if the truth ever surfaced.

I couldn’t get the look of betrayal out of my mind—it was such an ironic reaction for him to have.  It was that look that only strengthened my resolve as I told him to forget I existed and pushed him from my room.

My phone chimed, indicating yet another text was received.  I picked the phone up, frustrated, and looked at the message.

“I’ll leave you alone if you want me to, but I just have 1 question.  Did you ever love me?”

My first instinct was to throw the phone, the second to be snotty and snippy about it.  I didn’t want to fight with him, though, and the truth was, I still loved him, even in that exact moment of realization that I could not have him.

“Of course I love you,” I replied.  “I will always love you. But loving you doesn’t make it right—it makes it worse.  So please, just…leave me alone, Zac.”

After that message, my phone remained silent.

 

 

 

 

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