You're to Blame(72)

“It’s fine, but if you want to do this, you’ll need to give me a minute.” I hold up my hand, passing by Wes in the hallway.

When I walk back out in my comfy clothes, Wes and Rachel’s heads hang close together while they whisper. I plop down on the couch and cover my body with one of the many throws.

“I owe you an apology,” Wes states.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, my voice scratchy, full of sleep.

“You could’ve told me, Charlotte. You’re the closest thing I have to a sister, whether you and Jacob are together or not.”

“Did you know?”

“He’s my brother, Charlotte. I knew about the cheating, I didn’t know about the....” Wes looks down at his stomach. The panic of screwing this up is obvious in the way he hurries his words.

I wave my hand in his direction. “No, don’t worry about it. Jacob opened my mind to a lot of stuff. It wasn’t your story to tell.”

“You saw Jacob?” Rachel asks. I hear the couch adjusting to her absence as she stands. “How was it?”

I stand and look at Wes and Rachel, their expectant glances waiting for all sorts of information I don’t have the capacity to give right now.

“I’m going to go lay down,” I explain.

“Okay, how long should I let you sleep?” Rachel’s worried. She has never once offered to wake me, knowing I love my slumber.

“Until my heart stops hurting.” Dread settles down to the marrow of my bones. The not knowing is enough to kill me. I clutch my chest. What if this never stops feeling this way?

Tucked tightly under my covers, I close my eyes. A pinch of light comes through the curtains, but not enough to make it impossible to fall asleep. Hell, I’m certain I could find slumber anywhere at this point. Sleep is all I need.

I wake with a fright and jump from the bed. Sweat covers my body, drenching my tank top. I rip my slippers off and take deep, even breaths. The dream felt so real, I could practically feel Duke’s body next to mine.

We were in a bed, but the cool wind was whipping around us. I was still warm. Duke made sure to hold me close, and when I leaned up to look around, we were at the cement walls. As soon as I started to read, the words scrawled on the wall disappeared.

“Everything is gone,” Duke whispered.

He could’ve been right in my room, but when I woke, disappointment filled my heart.

I open my drawers, looking for shorts and a sweatshirt. It’s chilly outside, but I’m burning up on the inside. Adrenaline carries my searing body through the apartment.

“Where are you going?” Rachel yells, peeking her head out of her room. Her eyes inspect what I’m wearing, landing last on the tennis shoes dangling from my fingers. “Going for a run?”

“Something like that. I’m not bringing my phone.” Without putting my shoes on, I burst through the front door.

“Charlotte.” Rachel follows me out into the hallway. “Are you okay? You seem spastic.”

“I just need to clear my head.”

“And you can’t do that here?” She glances back through our open apartment door.

“I’m looking for a beautiful mess of answers.” I don’t wait for her to try to convince me to stay because I don’t need to talk. Movement and fresh air is what I’m desperate for. It’s crucial to figure out a way to hurt a little bit less.

I head towards the unused trail that starts right outside of our apartment complex.

Instead of walking, I run, remembering the morning after Duke and I slept together. The burn in my chest. The rhythmic way my lungs beg for relief. All this pain feels therapeutic in some weird way. It also makes me feel closer to Duke.

When I reach the top, I pull back the thick foliage and step inside Duke’s little oasis. He’s right. To most people, this is an abandoned lot, full of half cement walls and graffiti. But it’s more than that. I can feel people’s troubles melting away, and I need more than a few of mine to disappear.

Being here is the right thing for me, so I sit on the cement wall in the middle of the opening and read each piece of work. Words describing how people felt in the exact moment they felt it. Quotes from books and poems.

I jump down and walk to a nearly naked slab of cement. Two words, love and animosity, are painted in precise cursive. Whoever wrote it means those words, and I start to think how well they go together.

I grab a can of spray paint someone left behind, maybe for this exact moment. Many people don’t believe in fate, but I do. I know it’s real because I’m in this place, ready to write my own beautiful mess.

You’re to blame. I underline those three words, in hopes he’ll see them someday and know it was me.

Because you make me feel alive.

Because you say my name like it’s a lifeline.

Because you promise me things without uttering a single word.

I steady my breath and drop the can to the ground. The clink and clunk of metal on cement may be my new favorite sound.

Maybe I fucked this all up, but I’ll never apologize for my reaction. It felt real in the moment, but as the dust settles, I know now my reaction wasn’t a direct response to Duke. It was my ego. I’ve always had the upper hand.

Instead of going straight home, I jog along the streets of campus. Sweat beads on my forehead, burning my eyes as it drips down my face. I embrace the feeling and push, truly running for the first time in my entire life.