When I was six years old I had a tea set.
The cups were white with paintings of pink flowers on them. The little plates had yellow ones and the spoons were so shiny I could see my reflection in them.
I used to take juice boxes and squeeze all the juice out so I had something to drink out of the cups since my mom would never boil me any water for tea. I used to think it was because she didn't want me to burn myself but then I got older and realized it was because she just didn't feel like it.
I wanted to drink tea out of the cups so one day I climbed the counter, teacup in hand to look for tea. I almost fell and I ended up dropping the cup. I cried for three hours.
I sat there and tried to shove the pieces back together, trying to mend it, put it back together like doing a puzzle. My fingers ended up bleeding because the tiny shards cut my skin open.
I'm the teacup.
I'm six year old me again.
The weeks pass by with a heavy weight on my chest that's Savannah's absence. Time flows like a jagged piece of broken teacup; irregular and melancholy.
Christmas Eve sneaks up on me and as the school empties out even more I become more lonely. I haven't spoken to Nick. I haven't done anything about Layla. Dawn and Eileen are the only ones that can get me to speak anymore. I'm 100% focused on schoolwork, doing extra credit, writing more than the given amount of words on essays. I am trying desperately to hide from the fact that I am unhappy.
My parents don't even notice when I call them, my fake cheery voice plastered on and crackling through the phone like a bucket of ice cold fakeness; I'm not surprised that they let me stay at school for christmas. I don't want to go home. I don't want to feel unwanted. Here at school, I'm a little less of a burden.
I've been spending almost all my time in the library. It's an abounding space with copious amounts of books on everything you could ever need. It smells like sandalwood and paper, the comfort of it keeps me warm. The chairs are decadent and soft and I often curl up on them, staying for hours with a book in my hand. I sometimes fall asleep by mistake and I'm awoken by Mrs. Lyle who becomes a sort of friend over my weeks in library.
Mrs. Lyle is in her late 40s, very short even when she wears heels, her dark black hair is cut sharply by her square jaw, she wears round glasses that make her look like a scared owl and always carries at least two pencils on her. She smells like menthol and candy canes.
She asks me to watch the library over christmas break. I oblige since it's rarely a time where there is more than one person in the vast space.
We spend the week before christmas with her showing me everything I need to know. How to keep everything organized and how to work the computer. It's all easy and I'm pleased with the much needed distraction. I should make Mrs. Lyle a thank you card one day.
The weather outside is on the verge of snow and I look out one of the lavish library windows out into the frozen grass and trees. It's warm in here.
Today has been slow and I stroll around the library, organizing books and restacking them. The library is two stories, the second half being a sort of loft with a view looking down on the front desk and large double doors.
I'm standing up on the second story when the doors open, much to surprise.
and the second surprise is that Miles is the one that's now standing in front of the doors that shut with a soft slam.
He notices me right away and we wave to each other. I'm taken aback to see him in here, it's rare that anybody strolls into the library but especially people like Miles.
I set down the remaining books I'm holding on a random shelf and trot down the stairs from the loft to greet him. He's wearing a green polo shirt, half tucked into his dark jeans with the collar flipped up; brown hair astaire and the signature smirk nothing but a faded glimmer.
I cross my arms, skeptical of course. "Do you need something?"
Miles gives a faint chuckle and shakes his head like I'm an old friend making an inside joke. I raise an eyebrow at him.
"A book."
"A book?"
"Yeah, a book, I'm allowed to read aren't I?" He edges past me and goes towards the rows of bookshelves.
"Well, forgive me for a little untrustworthy, Miles," I follow him.
He doesn't respond as we walk farther back into the books. I follow him through the maze and finally he stops in the nonfiction section, history books with thick bindings and crisp pages from being so untouched. Miles touches the spine of a book then drags his finger down to the bottom shelf and lowers to the ground as he pulls a heavy looking book about medieval art from the shelf.
"Little light reading?" I say, from behind him. What could he possibly need that for?
Miles sighs loudly and I can hear him rolling his eyes at me. He opens the book and instead of pages they're cut out to make a perfect square inside the space. I gasp softly when I see what's inside. Pills.
A clear baggie full of assorted drugs that look like jelly beans. He grabs the bag and shoves it in his back pocket and puts the damaged book back.
He stands and faces me. I'm staring daggers at him.
"What the hell, Miles?"
"You can't say anything," He sighs.
"Yeah because I'm totally okay with you hiding your drugs that are probably for your queen Layla in here."
Miles says nothing and I knew I was spot on about them being for Layla. I thought better of him for awhile there and when everything came crashing down it was hard to see the good in anybody. I still felt bad for him about being treated like a chess piece that Layla played with especially since I knew about the pictures that Layla was holding over his head.
"I thought you were on our side," I say.
"What side?" He raises his eyebrow. "Yours? Because it looks like to me you're a one man show."
"I don't have to be."
Miles looks at me, a little glimmer of hope and hopelessness in his eyes. If we were going to get Layla to stop we needed more than just the two of us. We needed Dawn, Eileen and Lance.
And Nick.
"I can't but thanks for the offer, Anna banana," He ends the sentence with a playful wink before brushing past me and walking away, the sound of the heavy doors closing,
I'm left with a cold pit in my stomach, the one that's been sitting there and stewing ever since Savannah got kicked out, torn from me, ripped from the rest of us.
I walk back up to the loft and finish reshelving the books. It's getting dark out, the sun closing her eyes to let the moon have a watch over us instead. I walk to one of the windows and push my fingers on the cold glass. I trail my fingertip over a frosty line from the rain. I stand there for too long, waiting until all that's left are the few dim lights that are on. I should lock down the library for the night, bundle up in my warm bed and maybe listen to Eileen trying to get me to talk to her about I'm feeling. She's been really pushing that lately. Says I need to address my core emotions or else I'll crumble.
My mind wanders to Nick, of course when does it not? Nick is stunningly clear in my head like I've looked at him everyday of my life and memorized every inch of him by running my hands and lips over the crevices and collarbones and freckles. His voice is the only thing I'm having troubling conjuring up in my mind. It sounds faded, just a memory that I lost and maybe I won't get back.
As if God himself were listening, the library doors open. I go to the ledge and look down and as the doors close with a soft cry, Nick is standing there exactly like how I pictured him.
The silence is heavy. I miss him. I hope he misses me too.
Nick follows the steps up to the second floor and I take the time to smooth out my rumpled hair. My breath quickens at the thought of being close to him after so much space apart. I think I might be blown apart if he touches me.
"Hi," Nick says, standing a few feet away.
The moonlight from the window dances over him like a painting coming to life. I wait for him to say something. I forgot i'm the one that's mad at him for lying.
"I didn't really know you were that into books," Nick says, hand trailing over one of the bookshelves.
"I guess you don't know me that well," it comes out sounding cruel and Nick pauses, looking taken aback. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to-"
"It's fine," He cuts me off, staring at the spine of a book.
There's a pause. I fidget with my fingers.It's been weeks since we actually talked. Dawn had been urging me to stop being angry with him because we were better off together than apart. I knew she was right but I also knew myself and how stubborn I was, one of the many traits I hated about myself.
It's not like us getting back together would somehow fix everything, Miles and Lance would still be getting blackmailed, Savannah would be gone and there would still be a crack in time and space that is unrepairable.
"Why did you come here?" I ask, taking a light step towards him. He watches my movements closely.
He shrugs. "I guess I came to say I'm sorry, about everything."
"I overreacted," I admit.
"You have every right to hate me," His voice is low and his eyes wander to my lips and then he pulls them away.
"I don't hate you," Another step towards him. "I-I'm an asshole, I knew it was Layla trying to-" I swallow. "Trying to rip us apart. I guess it worked."
"It didn't work," It's a whisper.
"Sure it did," I gesture to the space between us, the few feet. "Look at how far apart we're standing."
Nick gazes at me and I suddenly feel that feeling the first night we met, the pull and the electric current that runs between us and through our veins, connecting me, a poor girl with a broken tea set and a rich boy with a broken heart.
"I know Blake hates me and uh, Sav is gone but, I, um," He crinkles his forehead in thought, looking down at his hands as he reaches down to grab mine. "I still care about you."
"I know and I care about you too."
"I sense there's a 'but' coming," He gives me a forced smile.
"But," I pull my hands out of his. "I don't think we should be together."
When I say it I feel like I'm trying to drown myself. I purposely just tossed myself into the ocean and gave myself to a current, riptide, a cascade of waves that pull me under the sea and fill my lungs with water.
Nick's eyes look over my face and I try desperately to hide the fact that I want him to rescue me from drowning.
"My girlfriend died, Anna," His voice is soft. I feel like he just pulled me underneath deeper.
"I know," My voice cracks.
"I thought that was it. I thought nothing else would happen to me of any significance. I never thought I would be okay again, I didn't even want to come to school and I told myself that I would be here no more than a week and then I was going to be out, I was going to leave."
"But then I met you and you made me want to try again."
The sentence leaves his lips and as soon as it does I kiss him.
It's not softly, it's hard and his hands pull at my waist and I pull at his shirt. I guess if I were writing a cheesy romance novel about kissing him it would say something like "his hands burned with desire as they edged up my shirt and touched my skin" and things like "The kiss held the passion of 827 different planets and suns, all that were so white hot I could feel my body turn to lava" but I like to think I am not so dramatic that that's how I describe things.
But kissing him is white hot and I melt under his touch.
I pull back, both of us breathless.
"That was, uh," He breathes, placing his forehead on mine.
"Sorry," I laugh.
"No, don't ever be sorry for doing something like that, seriously just like do that whenever."
I laugh. "I am sorry," I lean back and place my hands on his face, thumbs on his cheeks. "For being a stubborn bitch and for being a bitch mostly."
"No, shh," He kisses my forehead. He speaks right against my skin. I can feel it tingle."You're not a bitch. I should have told you." His voice is soft.
"I shouldn't have-" He kisses me, swallows the rest of my words and I'm thrown into a whirlwind. When he pulls back I let out a shaky breath.
"Seriously, shut up."
"I'm trying to apologize, you dick," I chuckle.
"Apology accepted now shut up."
Before I can respond, he kisses me again. I let him for a moment and then I pull back, speaking right on his lips.
"I am really really sorry."
"And I am really really in love with you."
Time stops, she actually freezes this moment just for me and Nick, his words echoing through my head. I know I love him too, I felt like I couldn't breathe these past few weeks and now I finally can. I know I love him because every time he touches me I am suddenly home, I belong somewhere and it's right next to him. He is it for me. There's no other person that I want except for him. I know I love him because it's Nick, who loves me and who lost someone but still found a place to love someone else. I love him, I love Nick and it's scary and I'm scared to say it but I feel it so strongly, deep in my chest and clearly in my head.
I don't know how much time passes before I say it, maybe it was none at all.
"I love you, too."