𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓! | harry styles

𝐗𝐈𝐕

I'm fine.

My stomach bottoms out and my ears pulse with horror. That's it. That's all she's got to say.

Call me. I type, unwilling to believe she's not wanting to.

I can't right now. I'll talk to you soon.

My next email telling her to try hard goes unanswered for the forty-six minutes I wait and I don't know what to think. Maybe her dad is there? She had to sneak to use her confiscated computer? She wants no paper trail?

I slam the cover of the laptop down and place it on the coffee table, wrapping my arms around my aching stomach while my mind comes up with a thousand scenarios that don't feel dreadful.

I still don't tell Lydia. I dress for work, disbelieving I'm going to get away with this for another day, the small nagging in the back of my mind reminding me there's no way my luck isn't going to run out. It'll only be worse if she finds out on her own, I know, but it doesn't make me man up.

Smoking, driving, not eating, that's what I do with my day. The huge bicentennial festivities start in two days, and I'll be noticeably absent. The town is getting ready, decorating with the red, white, and blue banners, the flags on the streetlights celebrating the birth of our town, the window paintings of Uncle Sam and the American bald eagle the Cub Scouts did on every storefront.

My truck makes a pathetic drive-by past the football field, fresh white lines already in place on the field and the grandstands decked out in the school colors of gold and red.

On the third day of my fall from grace I realize I can't be seen driving around town in my truck without being noticed, so I rent a cheap car a town over and stow my truck at the cabin when I'm circling the small area where everyone I know lives.

I feel like a jerk, a dirty criminal, an outcast. But now at least I'm an invisible one in a cheap, brown sedan.

I'm chaotic, smoking too much, and obsessing too much because I still haven't heard from Evelyn. The laughter I heard over the phone when I talked to Josh is seared on my brain; I decipher it a million ways.

Maybe there was a hint of sadness in that laugh. A stiffness that only I could pick on as being forced. I'm sure it's what I thought; she's putting on an act. Brave in the front of missing me.

At home, I'm listening to moody, depressing music, some songs that played while Evelyn and I were in her room looping over and over again and Lydia questions my choices. I see it in her eyes; she thinks it's her, the wedding, the pressure. She internalizes it and makes herself the one to blame.

The phone rings and I tell her not to answer it, distracting her with my sawdust-filled mouth making an obligatory peck on hers. She's happy to comply, her hands ghosting over my back as she tries to deepen the kiss, not realizing I'm so not there with her.

I'm in a pink bedroom. I'm in the back of my pick up. I'm in Evelyn.

My dreams are a mix of angel wings on a silky, teenage back crossed with sledgehammers smashing me to bits.

I wake up sweating, gasping for air, checking my phone and then the laptop in a vicious cycle every three hours. Lydia and the dog sleep peacefully next to me, and I stare at them, thinking, planning, spinning.

I'm up early Thursday so I make Lydia the one thing I know how to make, scrambled eggs with cheese. She's so surprised and thankful as she sits on the stool at the counter it makes me feel even worse. I should've just not done it.

"So tomorrow's the big game! You must be excited." She munches on her toast, not saying a word at the black bottom that's leaving burnt crumbs on her sweater.

I swallow coffee so I don't have to answer right away, and then frown as I put my mug down. Just fucking tell her. Get it over with. "Yup."

"I forgot to tell you, your father called me at work, saying he was having trouble getting a hold of you." I freeze, wondering if she's giving me an opportunity to tell her something she already knows. "I take it he didn't go to practice the last few days?"

I have no idea if he did or didn't. "No, uh, no."

"I'm surprised. I mean, this scout visit is all he's been talking about. He's dying for Josh to go to U of O."

"Josh doesn't want to go there. The scout from Ole Miss is coming, we invited him two weeks ago."

Lydia looks at me wide-eyed. "Your father doesn't know, I take it?"

Bingo. It all falls into place. "No, that's why I've been avoiding him. Do me a favor and if he calls again, make an excuse. I'm busy with the obstacle course or something."

"Of course." We talk about Josh for a minute, and I can tell she's confused why I didn't confide in her. If she only knew. She puts her dish in the sink, telling me I'm going to be late if I don't hustle with a kiss on the cheek.

I stand at the kitchen counter.

I stand for a long time. One spot, no movement, just the laptop open next to me with nothing new coming from it.

Once I finally leave the house, I trade the pick up for the crime mobile and drive by the school, hoping for a glance at Evelyn. I'm not sure why she'd be walking around outside, but just in case, I stay for about an hour, watching.

Then I take my pity party to her street.

I sit two houses down on the opposite side like I did last time, smoking and watching. Serena comes and goes, Mayor Castillo arrives home, and then…

Evelyn comes home. With Sullivan.

Draped over her like a goddamn ape. Which she doesn't seem to mind as she smiles at him and they enter her house, shutting the door and shutting me out.

That night, I don't go home.