Blindness(97)

“I’m stuck, Charlotte. I’m stuck somewhere between being hurt and hating you. I want to f*cking hate you. God, do I want to hate you!” he says, sitting down on the edge of the bed and rubbing his forehead. “But I don’t. I just want to understand. Damn it, Charlotte…I thought we were happy. I thought I knew what you wanted. What went wrong?”

I sit on the opposite corner of the bed, pulling my leg up sideways and turning to him. I want to reach for his hand, hug him. I fold my hands in my lap and look down, breathing slowly through my nose to give me time to gather my words. I’ve practiced this speech a million times, and I perfected it on our flight home.

“We were happy, Trevor. Or at least, what I thought was happy. But I was so blind,” I say, and Trevor starts to stand, rolling his eyes. I reach for his hand and grab hold of his pinky, startling him, but stopping him. “Please…you have to listen. Even if you decide to hate me.”

He slumps forward and relents, taking his seat back, this time a little closer to me.

“I’m not talking about Cody. Trevor, this…this…isn’t about Cody. It’s about who I really am, and the me you think is real,” as I say the words I feel Trevor tense, and his brow curls with his confusion. “I had one year—one year—of my life that was normal. I had a dad that loved me, and he started to pull these things out of me, these pieces of who I would become. But he left. And I got lost. All I knew was what I didn’t want to be—Caroline, Trevor. I wasn’t going to dwell on my dad’s death, I wasn’t going to live sheltered and afraid, and I wasn’t going to be alone. So I ran away—to Western. And I met you. And you were…everything that every little girl puts down on paper when they dream up their future prince, Trevor.”

He grimaces at me, throwing me the bullshit card. But I keep going, because I’m telling him the truth.

“I’m being honest,” I say, balling my hand into a fist over my heart and closing my eyes. I can feel my breath starting to fade, and my voice is starting to shake. “God, Trevor—you are perfect. You’re perfect in so many ways. And I wish I could turn our story into the fairytale. But there’s just so much about me that you don’t know—don’t see—those things you ignore.”

He’s shaking his head at me, not understanding. “Charlotte, I know you. I loved you…I was going to marry you!” he says, reaching up to rub his temples.

“And I’m so lucky to have had you, Trevor,” I say. “But…you didn’t really know me. If you knew me—if you understood me at all—you never would have thrown away my father’s desk.”

The silence that hangs over us is thick, and I can’t stop the one tear that glides down my cheek. I look at the corner of the room, where my desk once sat, and then I look back at Trevor, and I see the pain hitting him again.

“Don’t…” I start, scooting closer to him and reaching for his hand. “You thought you were doing a good thing, Trevor. You were being thoughtful. It’s just…that thoughtfulness is meant for a different girl. This girl likes old furniture, is desperate to shop in the junior’s section and find her youth again, and…god I’m sorry Trevor, but she doesn’t want to move to the city.”

Minutes pass without a word…without a breath. For a second, I swear Trevor is crying, but he’s fast to wipe the tears away. On instinct, I put my other hand on top of his, squeezing it. Trevor lets me, but only for a brief second before he pulls away and stands, turning away from me. I hear a few more sniffles, and then he goes back to packing his suitcase.

“Like I said, you can stay here…if you need to,” Trevor says, finishing up his packing, and zipping up his bag. I don’t respond, but instead slide the ring from my pocket, leave it on the bed, and back out of the room. I retreat to the kitchen for coffee. I sip on a cup for a few more minutes while Trevor finishes packing, and I hear him drag his bags through the front door. I watch from the window as he puts them in the trunk and gets in the car. Seconds later, he’s gone.

And I’m back to being alone.

All I can think about is Cody, finding him, and telling him everything—how Jim threatened me, why I tried to stay away. I have my only final exam tomorrow, and part of me hopes Cody will be at the study session. I know it’s where he should be, but I also know it’s not where his heart is—all of his attention is ten miles away with the last thing his father built.

I go anyway, full of hope. The room is packed, more so than on regular weekend study sessions, but I know the second I step foot in the room Cody isn’t here. I gravitate to the seat I sat in the first time I saw him. Habit, I guess, though I’ve only been here once or twice. Somehow I feel like being here, sitting there, is a connection to him.

I spend the first 30 minutes watching the clock and spreading out my books and papers, pretending to soak them in, though I’m really only staring at them until the words blur together.

I’ll be lucky to scrape by with a D on my final exam—and that’s fine. I’ll get a C overall, and that’s enough. I quit caring about my grades the second I got that phone call from Caroline, the moment I went eye-to-eye with Mac’s killer, the instant Cody’s tires sped away from me.

Without even thinking, I push the send button, and I realize I’ve been staring at my message to Cody all this time. I just sent it—like floating a feather in the wind and hoping it gets noticed.