march 22 2010

"Tanner," I called, tapping the shoulder of the aforementioned boy as he tried to escape from my grasp. Unable to ignore me again since I was addressing him directly, he huffed out an annoyed breath, shielding his eyes from the sun beams that were peaking through lumpy storm clouds with his hand.

Luckily, school had ended for the day, so students were bustling away from the both of us, who were loitering at the front stairwell, staring each other down. A quiet whistle of wind settled between us, filling the silence. Thunder crackled from above. Fat drops of precipitations fell from the sky, splatting against the concrete. Raindrops seeped into my shirt, down my back, and into my socks.

Finally, I pressed my lips into a thin line, and approached him. "What the hell was that back there?"

He gritted his teeth, and took a step forward. The storm raged on, this time at full force, circulating in the air with a strange electricity. "Charm, I didn't write that."

"So?" I said, unable to hide my annoyance at him. Not just annoyance, but disappointment as well. Because despite everything, I knew he was better than this. This was not the same boy that stood up for me numerous occasions when I was vulnerable. I refused to believe it. "You let your friends write that. You sat there and watched them without saying anything. That's just as bad."

"Don't you think I know that?" he snapped, voice strained, clawing the sides of his forehead. Water streamed down from his matted fringe onto the base of his throat. "I regret it already, I swear. I was so mad at her and I let that get the best of me."

There was a tender note in voice that suggested he was being sincere. My expression softened for a second before a strike of lightning flashed, the static rattling me back into reality. "So you don't think about us like that?"

"Of course not," he assured me, putting a warm hand on my shoulder. "Charm, you're like family to me. I would never say that about you, ever."

"You have to apologize," I told him, shaking my head.

"I will," he promised, nodding, "as soon as possible."

"Not just you," I said, tucking a strand of wet hair that was plastered against my forehead behind my ear, "all of your friends. Every single one."

"Charm," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, "you're being unreasonable."

"I'm really not," I retorted, crossing my arms while I ripped away from his grasp. "Frankly, you're lucky that I don't want an apology from them as well."

"The reason why Jane's upset is because I was a part of it. She's not mad at them, she's mad at me. Let's not blow things out of proportion. You're overreacting," he fired back.

There it was again: his way of flipping the situation so I was the bad guy instead. I was always either overreacting or underreacting. Too clingy or too aloof. Reading too much into things or not paying attention at all. Whatever it was, it was always my fault, not his.

When he sensed my discomfort, he reached to wrap his arms around me, and I let him. His chin settled on the top of my head. My cheek squished against his chest. His arms nestled on my waist. Our breathing synchronous. I was so cold, and he always radiated warmth. So much warmth, that I felt safe when he held me like this. So much warmth that my guard melted away. So much warmth, that I almost forgot why I was mad at him. Almost.

"I'm sorry, Charm," he whispered in my ear, rocking me back and forth as the world around us seemed to be falling apart more and more by the second, but I didn't care. He was there with me, and that was all that mattered. Amidst all the chaos from the storm, he held me close, like he always did, because he is constant. Unchanging, like the math problems I was so fond of. Even when the Earth rotated round and round, he was my one focal point, the one still point in an ever changing world that I could rely on. The anchor to my shore. My rock. "It won't happen again."

The thing is, I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him so fucking badly. So fucking badly. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, my gut was telling me otherwise.

But there was a history that wove us together so tightly. A history that plagued me every second that I couldn't just ignore. Too many layers that seemed to pull tighter at the second, and I couldn't break free. Too many times he saved me without expecting anything back. And it blindsided me.

I needed him in my life more than he needed me in his, and he knew this. I knew this.

I couldn't lose him, goddamn it.

Thus, I bit my tongue, and allowed myself to hug him back. This time, my embrace was stronger than his.

"I love you, you know that right?" he told me, playing with the ends of my ponytail.

Unsure of what else to do, I nodded, because I didn't have the heart to tell him the same thing.

***

Tanner and Jane didn't come to school the next day.

I can't say I wasn't worried, because I was. Especially about the latter, because she hasn't been responding to my texts. Tanner insisted that he was only absent because he was feeling under the weather, which shouldn't have been such a shock to me, considering we were standing out in the middle of a storm for quite some time.

I had decided to take it upon myself to visit her alone, which was no easy feat. It took a lot of thinking while I paced around the empty cafeteria.

On the bus ride there, I laid my head against the window, the condensation fogging the glass and the graffiti scribbled distorting my view of the outside. On high alert, I traced the little scars on the surface that seemed to be concentrated on the jagged lines of crimson spray paint.

Jane lived in the heart of the Marina district, which was a long bus ride away from our school in the Outer Sunset. 30 minutes and two buses later, I requested the stop closest to her house, thanking the driver as I descended down the steps.

Ocean-infused winds tousled my hair in every direction. Along the sidewalk was a breathtaking view of the Pacific, more specifically a boathouse, where yachts and sailboats embarked on a journey across the water. The silhouette of the Golden Gate Bridge could be seen behind a string of cotton-candy like clouds, its presence ever so jarring and commanding at once.

She lived in a big house located on the corner, with 3 stories and a balcony the size of my bathroom. In terms of architecture, it wasn't consistent with the other San Francisco homes I saw elsewhere. The windows were widers and grander, allowing more light through. And in general, it was less, well, depressing looking.

Climbing up the steps, I noticed that her car was parked in the front, meaning she had to be home. Taking a deep breath to curb my anxiety, I finally worked up enough courage to ring the doorbell.

Then, I waited. A long time, actually. It must've been minutes, but it felt like years.

Confused, I opted for the antique door knocker that had a carved lion design instead.

Still, nothing on the other end.

I knew I should've left that second, but I was worried, so I didn't. My mom left me a key to her place that I had never used before on my own. I kept it on my chain in case of an emergency. Hesitantly, I fumbled it into the lock, and clicked the door open.

Almost immediately, a faint whimper could be heard coming from somewhere in the distance.

Intrigued, I followed the noise, trying to track the source of the sound. The Keo residence was tidy, for the most part. There were articles of clothing flung here and there on the furniture, but the patterned rugs were spotless and the surfaces were dusted to perfection.

Shiny hardwood floors guided me down the hallway, where small frames of family photos were hung in an organized manner.

Eventually, I arrived at the loudest wavelength, right in front of the ajar door to the bathroom. Reeling backward, I hovered my fist in front of the knob, debating whether or not to cross this boundary.

"Jane?" I called in a hushed tone.

The sobbing on the other side only intensified, this time adding hiccups into the mix. I could hear the quiet sloshing of water hitting porcelain.

"Do you want me to come inside?" I tried again, pressing my ear to the door.

Again, no response.

"I'm coming inside, alright?" I declared, filling the threshold. Instantly, the pungent smell of bleach filled my nasal passages. Water had leaked from the tubs and puddled onto the tiled floor. Smears of blood were painted on the interior of the shower curtains. And in the middle of it all, she sat in the middle of the ruckus, hands clutching a towel as she wept.

Kneeling in front of her, I noticed that the water she was sitting in wasn't clear--it was murky grey and reeked of a strong chemical smell.

"Jesus, what the hell did you do?" I muttered in horror as I pressed open the drain, watching as the water level gradually decreased.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket. "I'm going to call your mom okay?"

"I just--I--I just want to be pretty," she managed to croak out in between sniffles, and then it all clicked in my head. The empty Clorox bottle sitting on the sink, the bloody towels, the pale scarred were all supposed to lighten her.

Those boys really got into her head, huh.

I didn't say anything--just reached to intertwine my fingers with hers as I frantically explained to her mom what had happened through my mobile. All the while, her thumb rubbed a small circle on the back of my hand.

And that was the first time I felt it. The violent swarm of butterflies taking flight in my stomach, the wings fluttering at a thousand miles per hour.

I wondered if she felt it too.