Because You're Different ✔

43. Unsaid

June

My dad told me a story today

Something about mom, five-hour commutes, and

fresh perspectives

Wish I could believe him

But he tells me he's fine

That the cigarettes aren't his

That mom isn't crying

I wonder, is he lying

or wasn't his heart the only thing to be attacked?

He seems to forget the crucial point

That mom was his

But you were never mine

Useless. I couldn't even get my feelings down on paper. This didn't describe the constant supply of tears threatening to leave my eyes all day, didn't describe the desire to scratch open Charlotte's perfect face, didn't describe how I wondered if I should just kiss him every single time I saw him — it wasn't like I had anything to lose, right?

Why write if I was incapable of translating those emotions into words? Why wonder if I should kiss him if I was an unattractive leaking tap the whole last night we spent together in who knew how long? Something he'd said long ago had been glued to the front of my mind, pushing me to take action. I didn't have the courage. Missed my chance to have the real thing.

But what if I wasn't the real thing?

What if I was?

What if he was my real thing, but I wasn't his?

Those questions exhausted me, as did pretending to be cheerful on the morning of their leave, which resulted in this, me in the backseat next to Hayley, leaning my head against the window, trying to fight the nausea present in my stomach since the night I found out. It'd grown worse with each passing day, and right now, I was sure I'd throw up if I even opened my mouth for one second.

Hayley was holding my hand, and, to my astonishment, Sam's, who sat to the right of her, red-eyed, glassily staring at the landscape shooting by. He and Nathan had spent a day at the beach together, a week ago, and we'd held a movie marathon afterward — no idea what we'd watched. I'd tried to hold onto it, to imprint it on my memory... I failed. I couldn't remember anything but the way I'd felt, and that was something I rather forgot.

It seemed like most of us rather forgot. The only one who was talking, the only one who seemed genuinely excited, was Charlotte, in the front seat, chattering on about what she'd missed in the last few years. Proper tea. Rain. Real chocolate. I didn't think anyone was listening to her, except for Nathan.

Luckily, it was only a twenty-minute drive to the airport, or I wouldn't have survived. I mustered up all of the energy left in me to participate in Charlotte's thrilled search for the right baggage check-in — they'd send most of their stuff ahead, only carrying a few essentials. While she put her suitcase on the moving band, I wondered what would happen if I pushed her on it too, if she'd disappear in the blackness, never to be seen again. I was too exhausted to try it out.

Time never seemed to be on my side. First, it made sure I was too young, and now, it sped up until we reached the moment we had to say goodbye. Hayley had told me to confess to him, to make him stay, but I knew by now she never really meant for me to play out her bold plans.

Maybe I should, though.

Maybe it was the only option I had left.

"Oh, no, Nathan, look who's here!" Charlotte pointed to something behind us, and I turned to find a group of people walking towards us, all of them their age, all of them immaculate and confident and mature. I watched silently while they greeted Nathan and Charlotte, saying goodbye at the same time, pledging they'd visit when they could. Who were these people? How long had he known them? Why did they think they had the right to barge in on these last few hours? They talked and laughed like they saw each other every day, only adding to my already large pile of hurt. Maybe he shared less with me than I'd thought.