Paper Airplane

35

Chapter Thirty-Five

 

 

                I shoved open the door with so much force that I actually surprised myself.  Harry was right on my heels, annoyingly rational as ever, and I really wasn’t in the mood to deal with him.  I stormed straight into the kitchen.

                “Lexie,” he said again, probably for the thirtieth time in the last five minutes.

                I ignored him, setting the roses he’d gotten me on the counter, gentler than I wanted to be with them.  When I turned around, he was there, having followed me once again. 

                “Lexie, listen – “

                “No.  I’m not listening to you right now, Harry, and actually I’d rather not look at you either, so if you’d excuse me.” 

                “If you’d listen to me, you’d understand that – “

                “I said no!”

                “Lex.”

                Firstly, since when did he call me Lex?  Secondly, I was further irritated by the fact that as my own voice grew to dangerously high volumes, his remained soft and calm, not even wavering once.  It was ridiculous how he could hold it together like this if he’s angry, because he’s yelled at me before, so why on earth wasn’t he doing it now?

                I don’t know why I wanted him to yell back at me, but I did, and because he wasn’t, I would much rather not even be near him.  It was odd and I didn’t understand it, but that’s the way it was.  It was like I couldn’t get away fast enough.

                “Move.”

                Considering I’m nearly an entire foot shorter than him, it’s safe to assume that I’m not very intimidating, even when I was glaring the way I was now.  If it were possible, I’d be shooting daggers out of my eyes, or at least trying to.  I was fuming.  And he wasn’t helping his case any.

                “You just need to be quiet for a second, and – “  He reached for me like he was going to steady me by my shoulders, and I was not having it.

                “Jesus Christ.”  I swatted his hands away and ducked out of his way, barely sliding past him without touching him through the kitchen doorway.  But once I was safely away from him, I hurried into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me, turning the lock all in one quick motion.

                With my back pressed against the door, I slid to the ground, pressing the palms of my hands against my face, which was still dripping wet.  Everything I was wearing – including Harry’s jacket – was absolutely drenched.  Water dripped from me to the floor, and I heard the quiet plopping like an echo over a lake.  I tried to focus on that while my head began to throb.

                The worst part was knowing how stupid this thing was that I was upset about but not being able to help it anyway.  I was angry at Harry and I was angry at Katie and I was angry at Brady and Lucy and I was angry at my parents for bringing me here, but mostly, I was angry at myself.  And I was angry that I was angry, because what’s happening is everything I’ve wanted this whole time. 

                But why did she have to text him this week?  Why did he have to answer and smile while he was doing it?  It was our last week together, and if he told the other boys not to bother him, that he was taking the week off, couldn’t he have told Katie the same thing?  Did he?  Probably not.  And why would he?  He’s supposed to be starting a relationship with her.  It’s only to be expected that he wasn’t about to go the entire week without talking to her.  I should know that and I should be fine with that.