True (True Believers #1)(60)
Author: Erin McCarthy

And it did.

So I picked up the phone and called my grandmother.

The next day, I boarded a bus to Florida to spend the week before classes with her and my grandfather.

Chapter Twenty

January was cold and dark. All the way around. It was icy winds, slippery sidewalks, five o’clock sunsets, and a hole in my chest that couldn’t be filled no matter how many Fritos I stuffed down my throat.

I got up every day and I went to class and I studied and I hung out with my roommates. Sometimes I even laughed. I was determined not to let Tyler ruin my life. I was determined to recover, be normal.

But sometimes I also found myself doing strange things. I took the bus to Tyler’s neighborhood and I walked down his street, knowing I could get caught, but not caring. I stood at the corner and I looked in, seeing his mother passed out on the couch and catching a glimpse of Jayden in the kitchen.

I walked away, dissatisfied with my voyeurism.

I started to send texts, then deleted them.

I walked alone, a lot, in the dark, prompting Kylie to express concern. But I liked the cold, the angry, howling wind. I liked how my cheeks stung and my lips cracked and my eyes teared up from the cold. I blew my breath out and watched it and listened to it, the quick huff, that illusion of steam. I liked the way my nose went numb and my toes went numb and my fingers went numb in my pockets. I felt alive, I felt like my body was slicing through the night, through the darkness, warm, blood pumping.

I refused to listen when Kylie and Jess tried to tell me what was going on with Tyler. I refused to go to Nathan’s.

Yet I found myself online searching databases, finding Tyler’s mug shot from his arrest, and printing it out. I carried it in my notebook, his tight sullen face staring out at me when I flipped through my calculus notes.

Once on campus I thought I saw him, and I ducked behind a tree, feeling like I was going to throw up.

I scratched out the R on my tattoo with a black marker, then washed it off three seconds later.

And every day the sun rose, and every day I healed a little more.

I started tutoring at the local elementary school, working with at-risk kids. I quit my work-study job, deciding that the bookstore didn’t need yet one more middle-class kid making eight bucks an hour. My time could be better spent at the grade school and the shelter.

One time in late January, I saw Easton in the hallway. I hadn’t even realized I was at his school, but it wasn’t that far from the house, so it made sense. I called out to him, ridiculously relieved and excited to see him. His head turned and his eyes widened. Then he bolted away from me, shoving another kid to get down the hall, his lip trembling.

I stopped, crushed.

***

On Valentine’s Day I called my dad. We hadn’t spoken since I had left for Florida. Six weeks was a long time to go without contact. I had sent him texts so he would know I was okay, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to call him. He hadn’t called me. It was a pattern we needed to break, immediately, or we were going to do it forever.

“Rory?” he answered, sounding anxious.

“Hi.”

“How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m okay.” I was in the study lounge, the only person there, as usual. Kylie was out with Nathan, and Jessica had gone out to the bars with Robin. I had declined an invite, preferring to distract myself with studying.

“I’ve been worried about you.”

I put my feet on the coffee table and inspected my slippers, sighing. “Look, Dad, we need to quit doing this. Ever since Mom died, you and I have avoided talking about the hard stuff. We just ignore our feelings and it’s not good. I really am having a hard time right now and I need to know that you’re there for me.”

“Of course I’m there for you. I just wanted to give you space.”

“If you could be in my face about me not seeing Tyler, you can be a little more in my face about making sure I’m okay. That’s all.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. It’s hard for me to . . . share how I’m feeling.”

“I know. I am pretty much a carbon copy of you. But I don’t want us to be strangers to each other. We’re all we’ve got. I mean, well, you have Susan, but you’re my father. My family.”

“You’re the most important person in the world to me, and I want you to know that.”

It was good to hear. It was what I needed to hear.

“How were your grandparents? I should call them more often.”

“They’re good.” My mother’s parents were more like her, talkative and full of energy and life. Even in their seventies, they were in about seven different clubs and activities down in Naples. “It was nice to see them. And I think I gained five pounds the week I was there.”

“You could use the meat on your bones. You got my scrawny build.”

“Thanks a lot. I thought thin was in.” I crossed my ankles, feeling a sense of peace settle over me. “So what are your Valentine’s plans? It’s nine o’clock. I hope I’m not interrupting foreplay.”

“Rory!”

I laughed. It was almost like I could hear my dad blushing.

“I have to accept you’re not a little girl anymore, don’t I?”

“It looks that way,” I told him. “I grew up when you weren’t looking.”

“Damn. And I can still remember when you would bring home Valentine’s Day cards from school. One was a clock that said “Just in Time, to be Mine.”

I grinned. The man was getting sappy. Clearly we should not go six weeks without talking ever again.

“Rory. I’m sorry about Tyler. I really am.”

My chest tightened. “Thanks.”

Thirty minutes later, I said goodbye and went down to my room, ready for a studying change of scenery. I opened the door and flicked on the light. It took me a second to realize the room wasn’t empty. Jessica was on her bed, head thrown back in pleasure, a guy between her thighs. When he lifted his head to see what was happening, I realized it was Bill, Nathan’s roommate.

“Oh, geez, sorry! I didn’t know you were in here. I’ll go back upstairs.” Embarrassed at what I’d seen, I went straight back to the lounge. I crammed a bunch of quarters in the vending machine and bought myself a bag of chips, trying not to feel envious that I wasn’t spending my Valentine’s Day that way.

I’d been fine, all day. Really okay.

Now I had a pit in my gut and a desperate desire to check my phone every three seconds for a text I knew was not coming.