Nathan

Back in high school, there was this couple who'd been famous for their sappy love declarations and fiery make-out sessions. Tarzana and Ryan. She a short, mouthy girl; he a boy with a stony look on his face. They'd had a tendency to cling to each other every second of the day, even during Algebra 2, and the teachers hadn't always appreciated that. Needless to say, it'd landed them in detention more than once, and that was where Lena and I had met them. Not that I'd ever been required to be there, but sometimes it'd been the only way to make sure I could spend time with her. My teachers had often shaken their heads at me whenever I'd entered the classroom after last period, asking me if I didn't have something better to do. I didn't.

Following Lena into detention allowed me to guarantee she wouldn't be screwing up her future altogether and gave me some quiet time to do my homework, the only condition my parents had lain down for me if I didn't want to end up at a boarding school. As long as you didn't have to be there, and just kept to yourself, it was an okay place to be.

It'd also given me the opportunity to study Tarzana and Ryan, and the way they acted around each other. Something in me had always been jealous of them, even if I wouldn't have admitted it back then. It was like for them, they were the only people that mattered, and everyone around them was just a second-rate gust of wind. I'd wondered what it would feel like to have a girl look at you like that, to know for sure you found someone who would risk their life for you. Most other kids had considered them extremely annoying, especially when they'd be French kissing during lunchtime. "Oh, you've got such a fragile romantic little heart," Lena had said once, after I'd defended them, spinning around me with an amused smile on her face. "Who made you that way? Your gran?"

Maybe. I hadn't known. I'd thought it was her that'd made me that way, because she was the only girl I had ever cared about. But she wouldn't have liked it if I'd said that. "Don't you think it'd be great? To love someone like that?" I remembered holding my breath, hoping she might change her mind about relationships. I should've realized I was only going to be disappointed.

She'd poked me in the chest, right in my heart. "Love like that is an illusion, dude," she'd said. "It's just fabricated feelings, like drugs. If you ever feel like you have found some extraordinary girl who is the best out of all of them, you either had too much to drink or need a reality check. This isn't Hollywood."

I hadn't really wanted to believe her, thinking grandma and grandpa had proven the opposite, and Tarzana and Ryan would as well. When they'd married right out of high school, I'd thrown Lena an "I told you so". She still hadn't been convinced. Three months later, the newlywed couple had already gotten divorced, and while Tarzana stayed here to work in a retail store, Ryan went off to college somewhere out of state. "See?" Lena had said. "Illusion. That love they felt? Teenage hormones. Trust me, Nathan, you're better off ignoring any of those feelings. They'll disappear soon enough."

Seemed like she'd been right. After all, rumor was nowadays Tarzana lived in LA with her two kids and no husband, and Ryan was flying around the world as a pilot.

That was one of the reasons I was reminded of them right now, hands grasping the armrests on both sides, seatbelt pressing into my skin, almost cutting off my blood supply. Sweat seemed to gush out of every pore of my body, and I couldn't see straight. For once, the terror was not caused by the fact I was high up in the air, but by what happened this morning, or last night, and by what would be happening next.

Sam's disgusted face was etched deep into my mind, glaring down at me like he'd never seen anything as revolting as me. I didn't know if I could ever get rid of it. The things he'd said... The things he'd called me...

Sick. Creepy. Pervert. Cheater.

It was the last one that got to me, the last one that sent the feeling of doom back to the pit of the stomach, growing larger and larger as I put more distance between California and me. I had cheated on my girlfriend. After almost two years of being together, I'd cheated on her. Cheated. Me. While I'd always been convinced I would never be that guy, would never do that to a girl. And then I went and did it anyway.

Yeah, we were in a bad place, not even really sure if our relationship would survive, but that didn't make it okay to just go and cheat on her.

Cheat, and then stay, fall asleep with her, and kiss her again in the morning — the full impact of what I'd done only started arriving after my brother had called me out on it, and for that, I was even more of a shit awful human being. I hadn't slept with her, though for a long, hard moment, with her touching me like that, I'd had every intention to. Didn't that count just as much? Wanting to?

Desperately wanting to.

What kind of guy did that make me?

So yeah, I did feel guilty, alright. Towards Charlotte.

But all that other stuff Sam had said I was supposed to feel? Disgust. Regret. Yeah, I didn't think I was feeling any of those. Maybe that made me an even worse person. I didn't know.

He'd been right. She was only seventeen. And I had met her when she was just fourteen. And objectively speaking, I shouldn't have been wanting to hold her like that. Shouldn't have kissed her. Shouldn't have kissed her again. Shouldn't have taken off my shirt. Shouldn't have considered the possibility of taking off hers too, and definitely shouldn't have considered taking off even more.

What kind of guy did it make me that I did do all those things?

I could say she was different. That she wasn't like other teenagers — but that just made me sound like an even bigger asshole, making excuses like that. Fact remained she'd been sixteen a day ago, and that it'd taken my brother's eyes for me to see I'd been doing something I probably shouldn't have been doing.

I hadn't lied to her. Kissing was overrated. At least, it had been, most of the time. But there had been something about kissing her, even if it wasn't hard to tell how inexperienced she was, something I couldn't pinpoint, that'd made me want to keep on doing it all night, that'd finally made me understand exactly why Tarzana and Ryan had never been able to stop. Something that set you on edge and didn't let you come back down even if you tried.

Kissing June, it'd been like...

Coming home.

And damn, had I wanted to be as close to home as possible.

But maybe those weren't feelings that were necessarily connected to her, right? Maybe it was just because I'd been struggling these past few months, continuously tired, always out of place, always feeling like I didn't measure up...

And then she kissed me, and all of that vanished, and everything was... was...

Yeah. It still didn't make it okay.

Shit. I did kiss her. And I did want to. Even so, it wasn't like I went around kissing seventeen-year-old girls on a daily basis. The last time I'd been attracted to teenagers, I'd been one myself. Which, approaching it rationally, wasn't that long ago anyway. And it wasn't me who kissed her, it was the other way around.

That raised another question...

Why did she kiss me in the first place?

She'd seemed happy — the little lights in her eyes had been glittering, and that smile... What had been going through her mind when she leaned in? Was it the wine, was it me taking off her jeans, something impulsive fed by hormones? Was it her testing if I'd told the truth when I'd said she was a girl I'd want to kiss? Was it something else, and if so, what had the something else been? Should I even be thinking about this?

And why, why did I kiss her back?

And why had it all seemed so clear and simple last night, and had it only turned into a mess in the morning? Had I really been that drunk? Fabricated feelings. There had been wine. A substantial amount of it. But not that much, because she was far from twenty-one and we were in the US and not in Europe.

Right before I fell asleep, there'd been something about the ring, something that'd filled me with wonder — had it really felt that right or was that what I made of it now? And if it'd felt that right, again, what kind of person did that make me?

"Cabin crew, please take your seats for landing."

For a brief moment, I thought I recognized Ryan's voice — then, I realized that was absurd, and that we were landing, and that I wasn't ready to land, because I didn't know anything yet.

Didn't know what last night had been.

Didn't know what this morning had been.

Didn't know what today would be like.

I just didn't know, and as the plane directed itself towards the ground, it suddenly seemed strangely appealing to die in a crash after all.

Seven missed calls.

I wished I hadn't turned on my phone, but I had to — I had to let Charlotte know I'd returned and that I wanted to talk. Her tone had been hopeful when we'd agreed to meet in the apartment, and it made the feeling of doom tear at my insides.

Seven missed calls.

Ignoring June wasn't what I wanted. But I also had no idea what I did want, so for now, it was the only thing I could do — what could I say to her if I didn't know anything? What if she regretted it? What if she didn't? What if she was mad at me for leaving like that? What if Sam had talked to her, convincing her I was a creep for doing what I did? What if she hated me?

I swiped her name to the left, deleting all notifications of her trying to reach me. My fingers were shaking, and I almost accidentally called her instead. This was the right thing. It was. I needed time to think. Time to explain to Charlotte what had happened — because that was the one thing I was sure of, that she deserved the truth, the truth about what kind of guy I really was. She'd hate me, and she'd chuck me out with the trash, and she'd tell everyone about the failure I was, and I'd lose Albert's respect quicker than I got on the plane this morning.

I put my phone on the coffee table, like it was an accessory to my crime, and planted my elbows on my knees, head in my hands. For some strange reason, I was angry with Lena. Angry with her for dying. Angry with her for telling me I could be normal, I could function like regular people. Angry with her for spoiling Ryan and Tarzana's marriage, because somehow, it suddenly seemed like it was her fault they didn't make it. Angry with her for saying the one thing one day, and completely contradicting herself the other.

I pulled at my hair, trying not to think about June in my arms or Sam's disgusted face; the combination of the two dizzied me, and I had to focus. It wasn't about them right now. It was about Charlotte. About what I was going to tell her.

There she was. The fast ticking of heels on the stone floor sped up my heartbeat, and I wished I hadn't gone back here. I could've taken the money and vanished, to Bali or some other sunny country — only it would've made me even more miserable than this situation. I was stuck again, nowhere to go, like I'd been all my life.

"Hi there," she said, with a hesitant smile. When I looked up, she immediately dropped it, eyes scanning the whole of me. "What happened to you? You look like you're gravely ill."

"I cheated on you."

I just blurted it out — it was like the words had been balancing on my tongue for hours, and now fell off. I had hoped telling her would lift the weight off my shoulders, but in reality, the desire to get back on a plane and disappear into the depths of the Atlantic became even bigger.

I tried to keep my eyes on her, not wanting to be a coward. She only stared at me, motionless, arms hanging next to her body. The silence was murderous — I wished she'd shout at me, or throw something at me, or at least plastered that disapproving expression on her face. Instead, she avoided my gaze, turning her head away from me. "Why..." she said, "are you telling me this?"

Out of all the reactions she could've given me, this was the one I least expected. No fists. No tears. No raised voices. Only a question, a question I couldn't comprehend. "Because it's the truth."

A tiny, deprecating laugh, and she shook her head. Her response confused me even more than I already was, especially when she sighed, bowing down to take off her heels. She picked them up, flinging them to the other side of the room. "Sometimes," she said, walking a few steps towards me, "I wish you were the kind of man who would simply lie to me."

What the fuck could I say to that? Sorry, I'll keep that in mind for next time? Why wasn't she chasing me out of the apartment yet? Did she think I was kidding?

Her face went blank as she sat down in the armchair, leaning back, completely relaxed. The only signs of stress were the red blotches in her neck, slowly becoming more apparent. "I asked June once, if there was another girl," she said, and I tensed at the mention of her. "She was furious with me for even suggesting it. And here we are. Seems like she was wrong. You're no different than any other man, in that respect." She bit her lip now, her eyes strangely distant. "Was this the first time it happened?"

"Yes." My answer came so fast that for a second, I thought she'd think I was lying.

She nodded, though. "Did you go to bed with her?"

"No." Although I'd wanted to. "We kissed."

She narrowed her eyes, then shook her head again. "You came all the way home only to tell me you kissed another girl?"

Just to tell her? What was she even saying? It didn't matter what I'd done, if I'd only hugged the girl or slept with her for weeks, it was a betrayal of trust, and she deserved to know. I would've wanted to know, had it been the other way around. I yanked at my hair again. There was no reason in this world anymore, and millions of thoughts ran through my mind, preventing me from finding some sense.

To my astonishment, she laughed, an easy, cheerful laugh that certainly didn't fit the situation. "You should see your face right now," she said, like all of this was a joke. "You kissed another girl, and then you came straight home to tell me about it... Looking as if you could die of shame..." I didn't really see the humor in it, but she apparently did, with the way her shoulders were shaking. "Do you know how many times my father had an affair?" she continued. She was talking to me, only it was like she wasn't really registering me, absentmindedly touching the rings on her finger. "People always thought I was oblivious, that I was unaware. But I can list the names of all the women he sneaked around with since I was a young girl because he's not as good at sneaking as he thinks he is. Do you think he ever told my mother? Of course not. He doesn't regret any of it. Why would he confess, risk a messy divorce, if everyone's happy this way? And then, here you come, guilt written all over you, saying you kissed another girl."

So that was the image of relationships she grew up with. A devoted wife and a husband getting away with it all. "Just because your father is an even worse person than I am, doesn't mean what I did is okay."

Seemed like all I said was funny to her. She was trying to catch her breath, biting her lip. "What are you doing? Trying to convince me you're a foul person and I should break up with you?" This was too strange. She should be furious with me, she should hate my guts. And here she was, laughing in my face. "Do you want to break up?" All at once, she was serious again, no trace of her amusement from earlier.

I didn't want to hurt her any more, and I didn't want to lie about anything, raising myself to the standard of her father, so I gave the only answer I could: "I don't know." Because I didn't know anything, and her strange behavior made it all that more difficult.

She took a deep breath, then patted my knee, like I was some sort of dog who'd done a good job. "Well, figure it out." I couldn't find any sign of pain in her features — it was almost as if... as if she was relieved. The idea was so nonsensical I was starting to wonder if I'd ended up in a dream. She picked up my phone, and for a second, I considered telling her the girl I kissed was June — she couldn't stay calm after that, could she? Before I could make a decision at all, she handed it to me. "Block the girl. I don't know who she is, and I never want to know, but I do need you to block her."

She looked at me expectantly. Block the girl. Block June. How could I? The phone was heavy in my hands. My vision became hazy, my heart beating rapidly while I typed in the password. I didn't want to block her, and yet, I didn't want to disappoint Charlotte even more than I already had. Didn't want to be like her father. It felt like a test, to see if I really felt guilty — and I did. With a tightness in my chest, I went to Phone Settings. One click, and it'd be done. If I hesitated now... what kind of guy would that make me?

There. Done.

I ignored the feeling of doom creeping to my chest — I could always unblock her again, even in five minutes, she'd never know. I could say I'd still been up in the air. Yeah, I just needed to figure stuff out, and then I could unblock her and call her. If Sam would ever let me.

Charlotte was biting her lip when I looked back up. "Don't be mistaken," she said, straightening her shoulders. "I am angry with you. But the fact that you came back to tell me... it says a lot about the girl you prefer in the end."

I didn't say anything, because something in me was questioning whether that was really true. She might not have realized it yet, distracted as she was by the plans she'd been making ever since I took her to Walmart — I had, though, even if it was only slowly dawning on me, inch by inch. There was something not right about us, and maybe it'd been that way from the beginning. Maybe, no matter how much she wanted to, this couldn't be fixed, because it'd never been whole to start with.