8:39 PM
Madeline says nothing as she drives me home. I'm grateful for the silence. The searing sun has been clouded over by a blanket of dreary grey and it looks like a thunderstorm is coming.
It seems entirely appropriate.
My sun is gone.
I lean my head against the glass of the passenger side window and stare blankly at the world. A world which should have simply ceased to exist the second Jax was no longer a part of it. A world that has the audacity to continue—to go on as everything was before—like mine didn't just explode and rupture into a thousand tiny pieces I can never put back together again.
I pull my knees to my chest and close my eyes, wishing they could stay closed forever.
Madeline's voice is shaky when she finally breaks the silence. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." My voice is clipped. Short. "Sorry, I want to go home."
Problem with this is home is no longer home. Be it this time or another one, my home in this vast existence is wherever Jackson is. I want to go there.
Madeline slumps a little in her seat. "I'll take you home then."
The first drops of rain start to fall as I exit the car.
Even heaven is grieving his absence.
I mutter a barely audible "thanks," to Madeline and before I shut the door she tells me to call her later. I lie and promise that I will.
It's no surprise that Tori isn't at the dorm. In itself this is another small blessing because I am sure my appearance and the shadows that surround me would only invite a barrage of unwanted questions, not to mention the hospital bracelet still wrapped around my wrist.
I change into a pair of cotton pj pants and a clean t-shirt, tossing the one I'd used to wipe Xavier's blood from his face in the trash bin. I flip back my covers, and am about to climb into bed when I notice Jax's beanie sitting on the night table.
I pick it up, allowing the knitted texture of the fabric to bump along the tips of my fingers. Each ridge brings back a memory until my mind is consumed by them. It smells just like him.
I look over at Tori's empty bed, clutching the beanie to my chest.
"I wish for him back," I say out loud. "I'll do anything. Please, I didn't mean it." My throat gets thick again and I swallow hard. It's like trying to down shards of broken glass. Tears sting my eyes with more force than they have yet.
I remember when he first came to me. How crazy I thought he was. How insane he must be to sit there and proclaim to love me. But he did. It was true. I remember tracing the clocks along the skin of his arm, listening to the story each one told. The way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world, how he smelled of citrus, his incredible voice, his touch, most importantly, everything he taught me.
Jackson knew first hand how precious time was. How life can snatch it from you in an instant with no regard for your feelings. How you can wake up one morning and everything is fine and then go to sleep that same night with a gaping hole in your chest feeling nothing but empty.
Beanie in hand, I crawl into bed, pressing his hat to the side of my face. I let the tears come because there is no point in trying to fight them. I'll lose. So I cry and cry and cry.
I cry until there is nothing left.
Until the well of sadness is dry and nothing remains except the empty hollow feeling of being alone—invisible.
I close my eyes, hot from the tears and I mercifully fall asleep.
The day is overtaken by night and I toss and turn through most of it; getting up only to use the washroom and wishing away this new Jackson-free reality. I am officially woken by Tori coming through the door. Her arms are adorned with shopping bags and her face with a wide smile until her gaze settles on me and her smile falls.
Proof that I look how I feel.
Utterly broken.
She sets the bags on her bed before rushing to mine and crouching down so we're at eye level.
"Oh my God, Lola. What happened?"
"I can't talk about it," I whisper. I can't bear the thought of answering questions right now so I hope it's not too hurtful and turn my face to the wall, my back to Tori.
I feel her hand settle on my shoulder from behind. "Can I get you something? Tea? Advil?"
"A gun," I mutter.
"Oh honey," she says, "Whatever it is, I'm sure it's not that bad."
It is that bad.
"I don't want to talk about it. Please, just leave me be."
"Alright," she says. The air around me shifts—Tori is standing. "Let me know if I can do anything."
I pull the beanie back up to my face, close my eyes and sleep.
By the second time I wake, the room is darker. Night has fallen again.
I've been in this bed sleeping for a two full days.
Tori's lamp is on and she's reading a book that she flips over when she realizes I'm awake.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
I sit up in bed. "No."
She shrugs and goes back to reading her book until there is a knock on the door.
"Mouse," Xavier's voice says from behind it, "you home?"
Tori opens her mouth to reply but I quickly hush her. "I don't want to see anyone right now, least of all X. Make him leave. Please."
She looks at me, wide eyed. I haven't properly filled her in but I don't intend to do so now. "Please," I say. "Make him leave."
She sets the book down again and opens the door just a crack, enough to poke her nose and part of her face through.
"Hi Xavier," she says brightly.
"Hey," he says, "Lola home?"
I see the back of Tori's head shake side to side. "No. I haven't seen her. Just got here myself."
"Are you sure?"
"Course I'm sure," she says, pulling the door even closer to her body. "I'm half dressed," she offers by way of explanation, "But I can tell her you stopped by."
"Her phone is dead," he states, ignoring her half dressed remark.
Tori's voice shifts in pitch. "Oohkay," she says. "I'll make sure to tell her to charge it but I'm sure she knows that already."
"Thanks."
I shut my eyes tight and wait to hear the door close but it doesn't.
"Is she with Jackson?"
Even hearing his name spoken feels like I've been sliced through the middle and divested of my insides. I pull the pillow up to my face to stifle the pathetic gasp that escapes from my mouth.
"Like I said, I don't know. Just got here."
"Yeah, okay," X says. "Just let her know I'm looking for her."
"I will."
"Thanks," he says.
"No problem," Tori replies. Finally the hinges creak and the lock clicks in place. "Mind telling me why you're hiding from your best friend?"
"We're on hiatus."
"Does he know that? I don't think he got the memo."
"I don't know if he knows and to be honest I don't care."
"What gives?"
Tori doesn't know anything. She doesn't know about my wish. She doesn't know it came true. She doesn't know Xavier thinks he is in love with me, and that for the past few months I've been falling into love. Hard and fast like a tidal wave with someone other than X. Or that now that someone is gone. Poof. Vanished without a trace. I'm sure she can't tell that I'm dying. That my soul is fading into the same black hole or oblivion that stole Jackson from me.
Tori is clueless.
"I just don't want to see him, okay?"
"No. Not okay," she says firmly. "I'm not sure what's going on but it's obvious you don't want to tell me but if there's one thing I know it's that whatever is going on with Xavier is temporary. You need to fix it. You're Lola and X. It's like peanut butter and jelly or cheese and crackers or oreos and milk."
"Are you done with the food references?"
"Sure," she says. "Point is, you belong together and you look like shit. Is it because of Xavier?"
I think about Xavier's unwanted, uninvited kiss. The fight that followed and the words that I can never take back.
"Yeah," I say. "It is because of him."
I stay in bed for another full day and the next night. I've missed a slew of classes, I haven't called Madeline, haven't responded to Xavier and left Tori in the dark.
If I wasn't here on scholarship, I'd have dropped out. Planning for my future doesn't hold the same appeal as it once did because I no longer wish to have one.
Even so, in my current state, I know that I can't fail. I can't make years of blood, sweat and tears all for naught. This simple truth gives me the single reason I have to leave the bed.
My effort is a notch below minimal. I put on a clean pair of jeans, a plain white t-shirt, stick my hair into a topknot and put my glasses on. Deodorant is about as fancy as it gets right now.
I slam away my textbooks into my messenger bag and head to Professor Calhoun's class on Eighteenth century literature. I choose this as the first class to return to because apparently I'm into self-imposed torture. Today's lecture is on prose and style of various eighteenth century writers.
I am about to push through the door when I hear Xavier behind me. "Lola. Hold up."
I pause for a fraction of a second before deciding I can't. I can't look at him. So I push through the door and scurry to find an empty seat near the front of the class.