Los Angeles | 2010
Alex's POV
Coming to school today was a mistake. I realized it as soon as I reached the classroom. Bradley wasn't here yet. I saw Leo and the others in the back, and they waved at me. I customarily waved back, but I couldn't bring myself to sit in my usual place. That empty chair next to his felt like an accusation. I made my way to an empty seat away from my usual one, sat down, took out my notebook, and began scribbling nonsense just to have something to look at.
Sometime later, I felt him enter the classroom. My head snapped up against my will. His gaze locked onto mine. For a split second, I saw his cerulean gaze pressing down on me, and I saw the same hurt I was feeling reflected back at me. I couldn't hold his gaze; I looked away, my heart hammering against my ribs. I heard him make his way to our usual spot, pause, and then change direction. He eventually settled in with Leo and the others. I chanced a look. His back was straight, his shoulders tense. His gaze was cold, and his body language reflected the same aloofness. He was shutting me out.
Throughout the day, I had felt his gaze on me during classes, a heavy weight I couldn't shake. I wanted to talk to him, to get this over with, this pain, this hurt, but I was scared. I had been so cold to him, and he had said some hurtful things in return. I felt like a coward, hiding behind excuses. In my moment of weakness, I had lashed out and blamed him for something he never had any control over.
At lunch, I thought I would talk to him, but when I entered the cafeteria and saw him sitting with Leo, David, and Patrick, talking to them in his stoic manner, I felt a pang of hurt. Seeing them all together made it all the more clear that I was truly alone. There was no one to comfort me, no one to boost my confidence in times of crisis. Brad was the one who did all of that for me, and I had pushed him away. There was no hunger in me. I turned around and went back to the empty classroom.
I sat at my desk and replayed all the moments of that day, subjecting myself to all the hurt that I dished out and the one I got in return. After replaying it countless times and breaking into sobs again and again, I realized that no matter what, I wanted to be with him. I wanted him to make everything okay again. Yes, I didn't have friends, but I had him. I couldn't lose him, too.
The fear of losing him was finally greater than my pride. After the final class ended, I made my way to the lockers. To his locker.
I saw him at his locker, pulling out his gym bag, getting ready to leave for practice. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, terrified bird trapped in a cage. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to hide, to go home and lick my wounds in private. But a newer, stronger fear overrode it: the fear of losing him completely.
My feet felt like lead, but I forced them to move, one agonizing step at a time, until I was standing right behind him. My hand was trembling as I reached out and gave a short tug on his sleeve.
He turned, his body tense, his face a mask of guarded hurt. But when he saw me, saw the state I was in, his expression shifted. I couldn't look at him. I just stared at the floor, the words a choked, desperate whisper.
"Don't—don't go. Just stay with me today.... Please."
The single, earnest "please" was the most honest and terrifying word I had ever spoken. I waited for him to pull away, to tell me he had practice, to leave me standing there alone.
"Yes," he said, his own voice quiet and thick with an emotion I couldn't decipher.
The relief was so sudden, so overwhelming, that my knees almost buckled. I watched as he spotted Patrick walking down the hallway and quickly moved to intercept him. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I saw Patrick look from him to me, and a look of quiet understanding passed over his face. He just nodded.
Bradley was really doing it. He was staying.
He walked back over to me. The hallway was starting to empty out, leaving us in a quiet, fragile bubble. He still hadn't said anything else, and I still wasn't looking at him.
"Where do you wanna go?" he asked softly. And then I felt his hand find mine, his fingers lacing through my own, squeezing it in an attempt to comfort me. It was a simple, solid pressure, an anchor in the storm of my own making. And for the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe again.
"Outside. Away from here," I said, my voice hesitant and small.
"My place should be empty right now," he said softly. "Erin has practice, so she will come back late. Do you wanna go there?"
I just gave a meek nod, not trusting my voice. We walked out of the school and made our way to the road. Harris had pulled up the car, and we just slid into the back seat in silence.
Bradley told Harris to head home, but I barely paid attention to the words. My mind was a chaotic jumble, a frantic rehearsal of all the things I wanted to say once we had some privacy. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I was hurt. I didn't mean it. But I did mean it. How do I explain this?
The world outside the window was a meaningless blur of color and light. The only real thing was the constant, steady pressure of his hand holding mine. He hadn't let go of my hand even once. Every time my thoughts started to spiral, I would focus on that single point of contact, the warmth of his fingers intertwined with my own. It didn't fix anything, but it calmed my heart a little, an affirmation that he was still here, that he hadn't run away.
Finally, we reached Brad's place. We walked through the silent, empty house and up the stairs. He pushed the door to his room open and held it for me. I stepped inside, and he followed, the door clicking softly shut behind us, leaving us alone in the silence.
"I—I…" I started, but before I could find any words, he closed the small distance between us and wrapped me in a hug. The world, which had been a harsh, loud, and lonely place all day, suddenly went quiet. I felt his breath on my neck, and the comfort I felt being embraced by him couldn't be put to words. I felt safe and warm. I hugged him back, almost clinging to him, burying my face in his shoulder.
"I missed you," he said, his voice cracked and raw.
I broke the hug to finally look at him, to actually see his face after all this turmoil. The coldness of the morning was gone. The only thing visible to me was relief in his eyes, and I felt that same profound relief echo in my own heart.
"I'm sorry," I managed to crack out, my own voice barely a whisper.
"No, no, I'm sorry," he said immediately, his expression pained. "You were right. I had a part to play in all this, even if I didn't do it actively. It happened nonetheless because of me."
"No, you couldn't have known," I insisted, a fresh wave of tears streaming down my face as I remembered the fight. "And I was wrong to blame you. I said so many hurtful things to you, Brad. I'm so, so sorry."
He placed his hands on my cheeks, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears. I could see tears of his own forming in his eyes. "I was wrong to lash out at you, too. I couldn't handle the blame. I couldn't fathom playing a part in hurting you, and in my denial, I hurt you even more."
"We both messed up, didn't we?" I said with a sigh, reaching up to wipe away a tear from his cheek. "We can fix this, right?" I asked, my voice small and hesitant.
He cupped my face with his hands. "Of course. I'm not going to leave you so easily, Lexi," he said, a watery smile finally returning to his face.
"Nor am I letting you go away from me, either," I shot back, a real smile of my own finally breaking through.
He kissed me then, and I kissed him back. There was a hunger in each of us for the affections of the other, a desperate, profound need to close the distance that had opened between us. After holding onto each other for some time, we finally broke our embrace, both of us a little breathless.
He sat on the bed while I sat on the chair, the charged energy in the room finally settling into a warm, comfortable peace. We were ready to talk.
"So," he started, his voice low and hesitant. "I spoke to my mom, and she made me realize that I have been negligent. That my actions have led to you suffering."
I looked up, confused.
He took a deep breath and continued, laying out the facts like a strategist giving a mission debriefing. "She pointed out how my actions towards Jenna after her confession ended up hurting you. I didn't see it, but I basically... iced her out. I didn't mean to, but I did. And my mom said..." he paused, struggling with the words, "...she said that because I'm a leader at school, my friends—Leo, David, the team—they all subconsciously followed my lead. We isolated her, without even trying. So she lashed out at you."
As he spoke, the last few months of my social life clicked into place with a horrifying, sudden clarity. I came to finally see how things got so twisted and why Jenna acted the way she did. It wasn't just random, petty cruelty. It was a reaction. A consequence. The realization didn't erase the pain Jenna had caused, but it put it in a new, logical context. I felt justified in my hurt, but also immensely guilty for how I had reacted to it all, for throwing the shrapnel from that explosion at him.
"I'm sorry," he said again, his voice full of a sincerity that made my heart ache.
"No," I said, my own voice shaking a little. "You couldn't have known it would all go down like this." I finally met his gaze, ready to be just as honest as he was being. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I reacted harshly against you, without ever truly understanding how things came to be. I've been hurting ever since the fight," I confessed, the words an admission of my own misery. "I said so many awful things."
"We both did," he said softly. "I was wrong to lash out. And we are fixing this now aren't we? We will be better for it. I don't ever want to lose you Lexi"
"You won't" I said to him with promise. We sat there silently for a while staring at each other.
He sat on the bed, looking at me with a worried, earnest expression. "I think I can fix things with Jenna," he said, his voice hesitant. "Maybe she might come around to being your friend again. What do you say to that?"
I thought about it for a moment. A week ago, I would have jumped at the chance for him to solve my social problems. But something had shifted. "No, it's alright," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I think I will speak with her on my own terms. Now that I know how things went down, I have a better direction on how to handle things."
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"I am," I said, feeling a new sense of confidence. "Don't worry, I won't break down this time. I have had enough of that from her." He nodded, accepting my decision. We sank back into a comfortable silence.
"About—about your birthday," he began again, looking nervous. "Would you... go on a date with me tomorrow?" He looked at me with so much expectation etched on his face, it was insanely cute. A wicked, playful idea sparked in my mind.
"No," I said simply.
His face fell. He looked utterly aghast, a picture of pure, heartbroken shock. I couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out smiling.
"Oh, no you didn't," he said, a look of amazed disbelief on his face as he realized I was teasing him.
I started laughing. "Of course I will silly. I told you, didn't I? 'Next time you ask me to do something, I'm going to say yes. Just so you know.'"
He smiled at me then, a brilliant, relieved grin. He got up from the bed, walked over to me, leaned down, and kissed me again as I sat on the chair. Somehow, there was even more affection and warmth to this one than before. I slung my arms around his neck and kissed him back without restraint.
'Yeah,' I thought, a feeling of profound peace settling over me. 'We will be okay, no matter what happens.'
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The healing begins. Drop some Powerstones guys.