Artgirl

8// leaving it up to you

CHAPTER 8: LEAVING IT UP TO YOU

"We're laughing and we're joking like we always, always used to. Until rudely interrupted by your half-wit of a boyfriend who tries to call you, to see you again, to be your friend, to hold you in his mind," Leaving It Up To You, George Ezra

This one, well, it's for you.

-

Nicolas Bear Forrest

FORGET her, I thought.

The idea seemed so freeing. If I did, I could go back to going on dates regularly, to being able to look at a girl and not think of how beautiful Zoey was. To cease comparing every strand, every kiss, every smile to hers-because that drove me to the edge of sanity.

In the midst of the wind whirl that was her life, she could still genuinely laugh. Effortlessly, she brought summer into every step, even if most of the time these days, rain followed along as well. As much as I tried, I could never truly relieve the slow, agonizing pain that liked to creep onto her at the worst moments.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't be her superhero. It was impossible, after I'd been the villain in her life for so long. If it was in my hands, I'd make all the bad disappear, just to see the unafraid, crazy Zoey. Now, she was afraid, all the time, which caused her to build up a wall of bricks around her, so tall that even birds would die trying to surpass it.

She was her own superhero. She had a cape around her neck, dreams in the palm of her hand and her soul tucked in her back pocket.

Adrian wasn't home yet; he was either working late or not working at all. He often fell asleep at work, organizing new radio segments or looking for new ways to keep the station fresh to ears. Past 3 a.m., I didn't expect him to be home. Cold homemade chicken breasts sat in the microwave, having an appetite often broke through any concentration to study.

Throughout the years, I made up a study system, one that forced me to study. It all came from the lack of sleep; I could never really focus during the day. Nocturnal, I wasted my time for a good cause.

A knock on the door tore me away from the depth of studies. I tore away my headphones and waited for a repetition, I had trouble hearing when music was blasting in my ears. It happened again, and I wondered if Adrian was too drunk to open the door by himself.I opened the door, prepared to deal with a pissed Adrian. He had a routine; giggle, vomit on the floor or simply march in and faint somewhere in the room.

Instead, I greeted a distraught face I hadn't seen in four years.

"James?" I said, "What are you doing here?"

A suitcase sat at the bottom of his feet, he looked like he went to hell and came back, barely. "It's nice to see you too, man."

I pulled him into a hug, but the lack of effort drooped on him. I shut the door behind him and looked at him properly. Not much changed in the space of four years, except the shadow of a stubble on his face. He dragged himself one of the couches, kicked off his boots and sat down, head leaning back.

"You flew all the way here," I declared.

He nodded, and gulped. "Our anniversary's close. She shut the door in my face. Jessie, her roommate I think, insulted me, across the door, and told me to go fuck myself."

The whole scene was imaginable. I was satisfied of the idea that Zoey didn't throw herself in his arms and forgotten all he did, or at least what she knew.

I blurted out what was on my mind, "You thought coming here would make her forget what you did?"

"What?" He removed his arm from his face, "I don't know. I'm not good at this thing."