Jovie & Bash

Fourteen || Obsequious

"Are you alright, or do you want to be left alone to settle?" Greg asked in a curious drawl.

Bash ran a hand through his messy snow-flake covered hair and looked between us.

"I think I just need a bit of time to settle, if that's alright." He said it to the both of us, but he stared only at me, like a private message that I should leave.

I cleared my throat, feeling a pang of hurt swell alongside an insulted bruise. In an attempt to disguise my own injuries, I smiled. He held more power over my emotions than I realized, and I couldn't let him see that.

"Yeah, of course. You probably need some time to recover and...uhm, just call me? Maybe? When you're up to it?" He nodded in reply.

It was an awkward exchange, so awkward in fact, that Greg left the room. And I was left alone with Bash to stick my feet back into my shoes and put my coat on. He handed me my scarf and helped tie it around my neck-planting a short kiss in my hair to walk home with, to melt away with the flurries.

I understood where Bash came from. I too shut everyone out when I was in pain. I walked away from everything to clear my mind, to balance myself out. I could see, now, in his expression, in the way he carried himself that something had happened-something that wasn't my fault that he needed to sort out. I put him on the backburner, now it was my turn.

What I didn't realize about my methods? It hurt to be on the other side.

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Bash didn't call for three days. I went back to school, tried to focus on things that mattered, but my mind kept going back to him.

Had I done something wrong? He left shortly after saying he loved me, when I hadn't said it back. When he got to L.A., he didn't stay in touch. How else was I supposed to interpret this? I knew how I was, I knew I pushed people away-that I couldn't get too fond of people who were temporary. Had he figured that out? Had he realized something when he went back to L.A.? Had the dreariness of Ashwood Creek finally lifted from his mind to realize how ridiculous it was that he stayed with me-that he loved me?

It felt like walking through thick molasses. How had I gotten this deep? How had he gotten me this deep? Usually I was shallow enough to get out quickly, to wander about and get lost somewhere else. But, he had slowly pulled me in after him, and I was stuck now, desperate to get out even though it stuck to me and begged me to stay. It wanted to drown me, suffocate me, and I was fighting. Not me. Not me. This wasn't me.

I needed to pull myself together. If this is what people who felt too deeply felt every day, I couldn't afford staying. Algorithm machine. Find the simplest solution. Follow through. If he was releasing me-I was pulling away too.

I gritted my teeth, and pushed on.

Angry.

I didn't understand. I didn't want to understand. I just wanted out. So, I went to the library to release him.

Through the giant weighted doors, past the librarians who had gotten to know me so well they greeted me with my name-smiled brightly, offered a book. I ignored the bubbler and started up the stairs. The building was so dark now due to the snow buildup on the skylight. Every speck of dust seemed to disappear; bright yellow paint turned a moldy color. I didn't waste time losing myself among the books, I simply sat down in my usual spot in the leather chair by the window overlooking the park and waited.

As usual, he silently rolled to a stop beside me and sat down. His tired eyes and mismatched buttoning on his shirt pulled at my sympathies, but I knew I couldn't let that get to me. The nervous flutters were building up inside me, my ears were burning, and I scooted forward in my seat, prepared to leave in a rush.