Wasted Words by Staci Hart

“Oh, well, mine’s full.”

Everyone was silently watching me, though Tyler’s thoughts screamed at me to sit back down and let it go. I ignored him.

“Come on, I just don’t want to go alone. Don’t make me beg.” The words were sharper than I meant, and Martin’s brow dropped as Bayleigh shifted closer to him.

“I don’t think she wants to go,” Martin said possessively.

“Well,” I snapped, “I don’t think you know her well enough to speak for her, do you?”

His eyes narrowed, though I saw the hurt in them. “Maybe not, but I think you maybe know her well enough to know not to speak to her like that.”

I looked around at all of their faces, which were full of shock. “Jesus, I just wanted someone to get a drink with me. I don’t even know you, Martin, but you’ve sure settled in, haven’t you?”

“Cam,” Tyler said in warning, moving to reach for my hand, but I shook him off.

“Forget it,” I muttered, fuming as I grabbed my bag and bowling shoes. I blew toward the door feeling stupid and shitty and wrong, nearly tossing my shoes in the window at the poor attendant before leaving.

I burst through the door like a raging storm, heart pounding, thoughts flying. The night was cool and crisp, and the fresh air hit my lungs — I hadn’t realized how hot it had been inside. But it did little to clear my cloudy mind. I’d barely made it to the corner before I heard my name, an angry syllable and made me pick up the pace.

It was Tyler, I knew, but I kept going, not wanting to talk to him, not wanting to see him disappointed and angry. Not wanting to admit I’d been wrong.

So I walked as fast as I could as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Unfortunately for me, Tyler’s legs were twice as long as mine, and he caught up to me easily, calling my name the whole way.

“Cam, stop,” he demanded.

I realized there was no avoiding him, so I whirled around to face him, ready to unload, unleash the hurricane. What I didn’t realize was that he was literally right behind me, and I slammed into his chest with enough force to knock me backward and on my ass in a windmill of arms and legs, some mine, some his as he tried to catch me.

I’d been laid out flat, and I looked up the side of the building and a streetlamp, feeling the cool concrete underneath me, too full of feelings to even get up. I just laid there, breathing painfully, nose burning, my anger abated, leaving only humiliation and remorse. Tyler was on his hands and knees, having fallen in the kerfuffle. He laughed, his anger gone.

“You okay?” he asked.

I looked over at him with my chin locked and shrugged as a tear flipped out of the corner of my eye.

His smile fell, and he sighed as he lay down next to me and reached for my hand.

I took a breath and let it out, not wanting to talk, afraid I’d really start crying in earnest. But I calmed, sorting through my thoughts, thinking only about what I’d done and how wrong I’d been.

“You’re disappointed,” I finally said, quietly.

“I am,” he answered, his words as soft as mine.

“I embarrassed you.”

“You did.”

“I embarrassed myself.”

“Yes.”

I took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.”

He squeezed my hand and looked over at me, but I couldn’t meet his eyes, just stared up at the street lamp. “I know. But I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

“No,” I said simply. “I guess not.”

We lay there on the dirty ground, and I absently wondered if germs could get through my military jacket and jeans, or if there was such a thing as getting diphtheria through contact with New York pavement. His thumb shifted against my wrist, moving his bracelet out of the way.

“I’m an asshole.”

“Not usually.” I could hear him smiling, but I still couldn’t look at him as I sorted through my feelings, wanting to explain.

“I just … it just made me so mad. I mean, he just rolled up in there on his nerd-steed and got the girl without even trying, and here I was spending all this time trying to hook her up with Greg, and for what?”

“That’s really the question, isn’t it? Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because …” I struggled to find an answer, but I didn’t have one, not a real one. “Because it just did. I love them both, and I thought they could love each other, if they were given the chance. I wanted them to be happy.”

“Then why does it matter how they get there or who they’re with?”

“It doesn’t. Not really.” I took a breath and said quietly, “I don’t like being wrong.”

He chuckled. “No kidding?”

I squeezed his hand, unable to laugh. “And if I’m wrong about them, maybe I’m wrong about other things. Like, maybe I’m wrong about everything. About you and I, about being together. I don’t want to be wrong about that, Tyler.”

“There is no right or wrong, remember? Not when it comes to this.”

Tears spilled out of my eyes, and fog crept up on the edges of my glasses. “God,” I said with a small sob. “I was just horrible to your friend.”

“Yeah.” The word was sad, laden with disappointment, the edge dull but present nonetheless. “All he ever did was show up, Cam. That’s it. You showed him your ugliest side tonight, made him feel unwelcome and unwanted when your approval meant everything. Now he’s hurt, Bayleigh’s hurt, and no one even knew what to say. The whole thing was badly done, Cam. Really badly done.”