You Make Me (Blurred Lines #1)(30)
Author: Erin McCarthy

She was growing it out. It sort of fell all over in an exaggerated shag. She shook it. “Thanks. I’m sorry you can’t come in, but I don’t think she would be happy with me.”

“It’s okay.” I had never intended to stay with Tiffany. I knew the situation. “I’m just glad to see you.”

“Me, too.” She gave me a searching look. “I’m really sorry about Ethan.”

My eyes dropped to the ground. I couldn’t stop them. The pain was still too fresh, too raw. “Yeah. It sucks.”

“Want to sit down?” She gestured to our feet. “Pull up a step.”

“Why don’t you sneak out after she’s asleep? I’ll be at my house.”

“They probably turned the water off, you know.”

I shrugged. “We still have the outhouse.” Even as I said though, my nose involuntarily wrinkled. I’d gotten used to living in the dorms and the sorority house, where everything was cared for by the university. I hadn’t gone hard core in a long time. It was amazing how quickly you could get used to an easier lifestyle.

Tiffany’s grandmother started yelling again.

“For someone with emphysema she hollers an awful lot,” I commented.

She laughed. “Yeah, no shit. It’s amazing what self-righteous anger can do to your lung capacity.”

I was glad that she could laugh but honestly, it broke my heart. I wanted more than anything for Tiffany to have a happier life. She was so smart and kind and loyal and yet no one appreciated her. Except for me.

“I’ll talk to you later,” she said. “If it gets weird at your house or there is no electricity let me know.”

“Yep.” I gave her a wave and jumped off the porch, feeling oddly lighter than I had since Ethan had come back from Boston. My heart was broken, but I wasn’t trapped. I was never going to be trapped again.

There was still a key in the garage under some old flowerpots no one had put flowers in for twenty years. I shoved the key into the kitchen door lock and turned. It resisted but then gave way with a click. I pushed the door with my shoulder to get it open. The room was dim and dusty. The air felt heavy and still, undisturbed for a long time. Even though the house was for sale it didn’t look like anyone had been there to view it. Reaching over I flipped up the switch and to my surprise the lights actually came on. Hell, yeah.

I went from room to room. It wasn’t a big house. It was shabby, even shabbier than I remembered now that I had been away from it. It smelled musty and there were mouse droppings in various corners. But it still had me swallowing hard, good memories coming to mind. Everywhere I looked, I saw my father, smiling, laughing. I saw my mother, in better days, calling me over to her so she could brush my hair stroke after stroke. I loved when she did that, her hands a little shaky, but gentle, loving. I had closed my eyes and given in to the small shivers of pleasure that the sensation had caused.

And I saw Heath in the house, me teasing him, flicking water from the sink at him while we washed dishes. I saw him holding up his finger to me to be quiet as we snuck out past my father sleeping on the couch, his eyes full of mischief and love.

Sitting on the front porch after my melancholy house tour, staring out at the water off in the distance, I cradled my phone in my lap and jammed my hands into my pockets. I wanted to cry, yet my eyes were dry. I just felt fragile, like glass. No longer numb, but no longer determined to ignore my feelings. I wanted to let them in, grieve for the loss of Ethan, our future. Yet even though I dragged in and out deep cleansing breaths, the tears I expected, craved, never came. Maybe there weren’t any left.

I was waiting for Ethan to text. That was just so Ethan, to apologize, to offer further explanation. But he didn’t. It made me feel like I had left in every sense of the word. That I could stay in Vinalhaven and no one on campus would miss me. Would even notice I was gone. Because if Ethan didn’t care, who would?

My friendship with Aubrey, which I hoped would continue, was forever changed.

When my phone buzzed, I glanced down in disinterest, assuming it was Tiffany saying she couldn’t leave the house. It was dark, cold. I could hear the waves in the distance but other than that, the night was quiet. My phone seemed too loud here and I turned the sound off.

It wasn’t Tiffany. It was Heath.

Your friend said you went home. Are you in Vinalhaven?

Yes.

For how long? Want me to come up there?

Did I want that? I wasn’t sure.

But when I looked around I realized that Heath was already with me. He was everywhere in the house.

While my pain over Ethan was private, no one knew me like Heath did, not even Tiffany.

Tomorrow. If you want.

So easy for him to reel me it. I couldn’t resist.

I want.

And now I no longer had my relationship with Ethan to protect me.

Chapter Twelve

That night I slept in my old room but the house made sounds I didn’t remember. It moaned and creaked and strained against the wind. Maybe it was because for the entirety of my life, I had never been alone in the house. Not once. There was always at least one parent or my brother or a foster sibling or three. No one was ever out of the house all at once and definitely never at night. Heath wouldn’t have been able to come that night anyway, not since I’d taken the second ferry, the last of the day, but I still wished he was with me as I huddled under stale sheets.

I’d never been afraid in the house before, and that wasn’t what I felt then either. It was more the realization that the world I’d built for myself wasn’t real. That even surrounded by people, I had always been completely and utterly alone.

Just like I was now.

Digging under the mattress in the dark, I pulled out my diary from high school. For a minute I just lay there, pressing the notebook against my chest. Then I rolled over and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. There was only a single dim bulb but it was enough to see the spiral notebook. It was just a simple purple cover with college rule pages inside that I had gotten at the drugstore for a dollar. Inside, I had started by recording thoughts and some bad poetry, but mostly I had been too restless to sit and put down my feelings in a coherent way.

Instead I had written lists. The classes I would take in college. What I wanted for food at my graduation party (which never happened). Everything I ate in one day just out of curiosity. Things I was good at. Things I was bad at.

And I wrote Heath’s name, over and over, almost absently. I wrote it in the margins surrounding my lists. Heath Deprey. Heath Deprey. Heath Wolf Deprey.