Chasing Spring(33)

Admitting that only made the hurt sear into me a little deeper, so I rolled over and stared at my blank wall, trying to find another subject, any subject, to grasp on to. The next morning my dad and I would plant some heirloom tomatoes. I concentrated on the process: tilling the dirt, adding fertilizer and fresh mulch, picking a plot with full sunlight and well-drained soil, digging a hole wide enough for the plant to fit into without it being too deep, adding a cage so the plant could hold its own weight...

A door opened in the hallway. I looked up and held my breath trying to pinpoint which door had opened: my dad’s or Chase’s. When I heard the soft rumble of game footage, I knew Chase still wasn't home.

I flipped onto my back and blew out a puff of air. My hands clenched the sheets and I willed my mind to turn off so I could get seven hours of thoughtless sleep. I blinked, then squeezed my eyes shut, then arched my neck to readjust my head on my pillow, and then finally I sat up to beat my lumpy pillow into submission.

When I'd had enough, I decided to find some NyQuil in my bathroom and see if that would knock me out.

It took a moment to adjust to the bright light when I flipped the switch on in the bathroom, but when I did, the first thing I saw was my mother's eyes staring back at me in the mirror.

Drugs had changed her, physically and emotionally. They’d aged her face, marring it with deep-set wrinkles. They’d yellowed her teeth and left the stench of death in her breath. They’d thinned her hair and tattered her fingernails. Her cheekbones had hollowed, her eyes sunk behind dark circles, but there was no changing that eye color. Her pale green eyes were in her genome, the same way they were in mine.

I leaned forward and stared into the mirror without blinking. I studied the coloring in my eyes, trying to see beneath their surface. They looked like two cut emeralds, rimmed with a deep, dark green.

I studied one and then the other, trying to find subtle traces of her, which is probably why I didn't notice Chase until he was standing right behind me. He was a blur of features and then I shifted my gaze and met his eyes in the mirror. The light hazel was a refreshing change.

“I won't turn into my mom,” I said.

“I know,” he nodded.

“I won’t become what she was,” I said, emphasizing my point.

“Then don't,” he said, swaying gently from side to side, slowly enough that I had to tilt my head to confirm that the movement was actually happening.

“Are you drunk?” I said, spinning away from his reflection to take in the real flesh and blood.

“I was on the mound,” he began, ignoring my question. “I struck out the last batter and when I looked up in the stands, you weren't there. Why weren't you there?” His eyebrows were tugged together, knit down the center of his forehead in frustration.

“I was there. I was there the whole time, but Ashley called and I couldn’t ignore her,” I explained. “By the time I came back, the game was over.”

My words didn't seem to mean anything as his demeanor stayed the same. “I wanted you to be there waiting for me,” he said.

“Kimberly was waiting for you.” The words were out before I'd even formed them in my mind.

“Lilah,” he warned with a harsh tone.

“What? I wasn't going to stand behind her in line to talk to you. I'm not a competitive person, and I know when it's time to bow out.” I was being immature, and still, I couldn't rise above it. I couldn't be the person Chase needed me to be.

“I kissed her tonight,” he said, stepping forward so that I had to take a step back. “Kimberly.”

I took another step back and the back of my thighs hit the cold sink; I had nowhere else to go.

“Is that what you want to hear?” he asked. “That I kissed her because I was drunk and pissed at you?”

“Chase, stop.”

“No,” he said, caging my body against the sink with his arms as he bent lower. His face was level with mine and I could smell the beer on his breath. I hated that he still looked so painfully handsome. I didn't want to think he was handsome; I wanted to go back to before, when no one could hurt me and I kept everyone at arm's length. Maybe I hadn’t been happy, but at least I was safe, content, constant.

“I'm glad you kissed her,” I lied through my teeth.

“No you aren't,” he argued.

I squeezed my eyes closed and turned my head so that I wouldn't be tempted to lean forward and close the gap between our lips.

“I won't fight over you.”

“Maybe I want you to fight for me,” he said, skimming his cheek against mine.

I pinched my eyes closed. “You're drunk. You won't remember any of this in the morning.”

“You know what?” He leaned forward and his breath hit my earlobe. “She'll never be you, Lilah.”

I absorbed his words in two slow breaths.

“You need sleep,” I offered with a gentle tone.

“You don’t know what I need,” he argued with a fury building behind his hazel eyes. He hauled his body against mine and his chest hit me with enough force to knock the wind out of me, but when his lips met mine—that’s when he stole my breath.

My fingers wound through his hair, trying to keep him at a safe distance, but his hands gripped my waist, lifting me back up onto the bathroom sink. I wound my legs around his hips and lost sight of everything beyond him. In a black and white world, Chase and I would never end up together—our mothers had ensured that—but in that small bathroom, under the harsh fluorescent lights, we dragged each other deeper into the gray—the messy, guilt-ridden space that sat between right and wrong.