Walking Disaster

“Yeah.”

“Call Trent. And you need to eat something and take a shower. You look like shit.”

With that, Shepley shut the door. It still didn’t shut right from the time I had kicked it down. Every time someone closed it, the time I destroyed the apartment over Abby leaving came to mind, and the fact that she came back to me not long after, leading to our first time.

I closed my eyes, but like every other night that week, couldn’t sleep. How people like Shepley went through this torment over and over with different girls was insane. Meeting someone after Abby, even if that girl were to somehow measure up, I couldn’t imagine putting my heart out there again. Not just so I could feel like this all over again. Like a slow death. Turns out I’d had it right all along.

Twenty minutes later, I could hear America’s voice in the living room. The sounds of them talking quietly as they hid from me in Shepley’s room echoed throughout the apartment.

Even America’s voice was too much to take. Knowing she had probably just spoken to Abby was excruciating.

I forced myself to stand up and make my way to the bathroom to take care of showering and other basic hygiene rituals I’d neglected over the last week. America’s voice was drowned out by the water, but the second I turned the lever off, I could hear her again.

I got dressed, and grabbed my bike keys, set to take a long ride. I’d probably end up at Dad’s to break the news.

Just as I passed Shepley’s bedroom door, America’s phone rang. It was the ringtone she’d assigned to Abby. My stomach sank.

“I can come pick you up and take you somewhere for dinner,” she said.

Abby was hungry. She might go to the cafeteria.

I jogged out to the Harley and raced out of the parking lot, speeding and running red lights and stop signs all the way to campus.

When I got to the cafeteria, Abby wasn’t there. I waited a few more minutes, but she never showed. My shoulders sagged, and I trudged in darkness toward the parking lot. It was a quiet night. Cold. Opposite of the night I walked Abby to Morgan after I won our bet, reminding me of how empty it felt not having her beside me.

A small figure some yards away appeared, walking toward the cafeteria alone. It was Abby.

Her hair was pulled up into a bun, and when she got closer, I noticed she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Her arms crossed against her chest, she didn’t have a coat on, only a thick, gray cardigan to ward off the cold.

“Pigeon?” I said, walking into the light from the shadows.

Abby jerked to a stop, and then relaxed a bit when she recognized me.

“Jesus, Travis! You scared the hell out of me!”

“If you would answer your phone when I call I wouldn’t have to sneak around in the dark.”

“You look like hell,” she said.

“I’ve been through there once or twice this week.”

She pulled her arms tighter around her, and I had to stop myself from hugging her to keep her warm.

Abby sighed. “I’m actually on my way to grab something to eat. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“No. We have to talk.”

“Trav—”

“I turned Benny down. I called him Wednesday and told him no.”

I was hoping she would smile, or at least show some sign that she approved.

Her face remained blank. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Travis.”

“Say you forgive me. Say you’ll take me back.”

“I can’t.”

My face crumpled.

Abby tried to walk around. Instinctively, I stepped in front of her. If she walked away this time, I would lose her. “I haven’t slept, or ate . . . I can’t concentrate. I know you love me. Everything will be the way it used to be if you’d just take me back.”

She closed her eyes. “We are dysfunctional, Travis. I think you’re just obsessed with the thought of owning me more than anything else.”

“That’s not true. I love you more than my life, Pigeon.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. That’s crazy talk.”

“It’s not crazy. It’s the truth.”

“Okay . . . so what exactly is the order for you? Is it money, me, your life . . . or is there something that comes before money?”

“I realize what I’ve done, okay? I see where you’d think that, but if I’d known that you were gonna leave me, I would have never . . . I just wanted to take care of you.”

“You’ve said that.”

“Please don’t do this. I can’t stand feeling like this . . . it’s . . . it’s killin’ me,” I said, on the verge of panic. The wall Abby kept around her when we were just friends was back up, stronger than before. She wasn’t listening. I couldn’t get through to her.

“I’m done, Travis.”

I winced. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s over. Go home.”

My eyebrows pulled in. “You’re my home.”

Abby paused, and for a moment I felt like I’d actually gotten through to her, but her eyes lost focus, and the wall was up again. “You made your choice, Trav. I’ve made mine.”

“I’m going to stay the hell out of Vegas, and away from Benny . . . I’m going to finish school. But I need you. I need you. You’re my best friend.”

For the first time since I was a little kid, hot tears burned in my eyes and dripped down one of my cheeks. Unable to restrain myself, I reached out for Abby, wrapped her small frame in my arms, and planted my lips on hers. Her mouth was cold and stiff, so I cradled her face in my hands, kissing her harder, desperate to get a reaction.

“Kiss me,” I begged.

Abby’s kept her mouth taut, but her body was lifeless. If I let her go, she would have fallen. “Kiss me!” I pleaded. “Please, Pigeon! I told him no!”

Abby shoved me away. “Leave me alone, Travis!”

She shouldered passed me, but I grabbed her wrist. She kept her arm straight, outstretched behind her, but she didn’t turn around.

“I am begging you.” I fell to my knees, her hand still in mine. My breath puffed out in white steam as I spoke, reminding me of the cold. “I’m begging you, Abby. Don’t do this.”

Abby glanced back, and then her eyes drifted down her arm to mine, seeing the tattoo on my wrist. The tattoo that bared her name.

She looked away, toward the cafeteria. “Let me go, Travis.”

The air knocked out of me, and with all hope obliterated, I relaxed my hand, and let her slip out of my fingers.

Abby didn’t look back as she walked away from me, and my palms fell flat on the sidewalk. She wasn’t coming back. She didn’t want me anymore, and there was nothing I could do or say to change it.

Several minutes passed before I could gain the strength to stand. My feet didn’t want to move, but somehow I forced them to cooperate long enough to get me to the Harley. I sat on the seat, and let my tears fall. Loss was something I’d only experienced once before in my life, but this felt more real. Losing Abby wasn’t a story I remembered from early childhood—it was in my face, debilitating me like a sickness, robbing me of my senses and physically, excruciatingly painful.

My mother’s words echoed in my ear. Abby was the girl I had to fight for, and I went down fighting. None of it was ever going to be enough.

A red Dodge Intrepid pulled up next to my bike. I didn’t have to look up to see who it was.