Beth’s Point of View
I feel cruel, crueler than any villain portrayed in cinema. I feel dirty, dirtier than any manufactured girl or boy in the world who made bad choices regarding intimate decisions. I feel cheated, more cheated than I should, considering you can’t be cheated out of something that was never yours.
And I feel alone, more than alone, stranded, isolated, abandoned, than ever before in my life.
Ignoring my vibrating phone for the thousandth time, I allow my eyes to take part in surveying my new apartment. I’ve been here a whole week, and still, the place feels nothing like home. It doesn’t have the familiar brown stain where I spilled hot chocolate when I was thirteen, or the crack in the wall where I launched a softball when I was ten. It doesn’t have the all consuming smell of coffee, or the fridge with all the pictures and magnets marking different events in the life I shared with my family.
It has none of it.
It does have a nice television, which flickers with the images of Pretty Little Liars, and casts shadows around the dark living room. Lucky for me, the apartment came furnished, so the maple colored couch and dark brown rug that adorn the space are brand spanking new.
I consider heating some hot chocolate to spill just to make the place feel less like a showroom and more like a place I would actually live. I grip my blanket tighter around my shoulders, shaking in the draped fabric as the scene unfolds before me.
Shane used to hate it when I watched this show. He was convinced it was only a typical white girl obsession, and by liking it, it made me less of an interesting person. I begged to differ, but if I tried to bring it up, he would cover his ears or something equally childish, never giving me the chance to speak.
I don’t miss him, I realize. Not at all.
He wasn’t a bad person, that isn’t what I’m trying to say. He was good to me, and when we met and began dating, I’ll admit, I thought I felt it. The feeling everyone wants, everyone craves. He treated me like the special girl I wanted to be. The girl I didn’t think existed.
He was good enough to show me that she did.
He was good enough to help me regain the parts of myself that I lost during the time spent missing people, and other parts I never knew were a part of me.
But he also became the boyfriend I didn’t want to spend every waking moment with. His flaws I was too quick to become irritated with, like how he popped his mouth when he started speaking. Every. Single. Time. Once I made a game out of it; how many times could he do it in a minute?
I counted twenty-five.
We were known at school for being together for an outstanding length of time, and I think that that was part of what kept us together. Not out of love, or even desire to be with one another. It just became such second nature to be each other’s significant other that we continued to be without thinking about it.
We never talked about our future, if we would stay together after high school or if we wouldn’t. I didn’t even know if he planned on going to college. As far as I knew, he had no dreams, no aspirations, no goals. And it was the same for him; he didn’t know any of my secret dreams. The first person I had ever told was him.
It hurts to think about him. What he might be doing right now. Who he might be doing God knows what with. Was what happened special to only me? Is he thinking of me right this moment, these same thoughts, only reversed?
I probably wouldn’t ever know.
I knew that leaving would benefit everybody, namely me, because then it would decrease the risk down to zero of anyone finding out my secret. It was very selfish, but it would’ve been more selfish to stay put and drag everyone through the mud with me.
I also knew that there was no possible scenario, imaginary or otherwise, that would result in me attending that wedding. How would I be able to sit there, dressed in the baby blue bridesmaids dress, watching him wrap my sister in his arms as they are pronounced husband and wife.
For the rest of my life. He’ll always be my sister’s and not mine. He never was mine, and he’ll never be mine.
A knock at my apartment door silences my thoughts. I have yet to meet anyone here in Berkeley and have rarely left the house. I have no idea who could be there, but I throw the blanket off my lap and sit the remote on the ottoman before heading to the door.
I wrap my baggy sweater tighter around my slightly wider abdomen, standing on my tiptoes to look through the hole. It’s too dark in the hallway to tell, but I can almost make out a distinctly male figure.
Cautiously wrapping my fingers around the handle, I yank it backward and peek around the wood.
“Hello?” I say, peering upward.
I flick the light switch by the door onto the ON side, flooding the entry in dim waves of illumination. I squint in the sudden brightness, rubbing the heel of my hand against my eye.
“Hi.” I finally get a good look at the man in my doorframe. He isn’t too tall, maybe medium height. His spiked brown hair is close to trendy, I would say, at least for a male. His hazel eyes sit below enormous lashes and a button nose pokes between the planes of his cheeks. He’s quite attractive, but hardly anything like my Jim.
I mean, Nash.
“I think your mail was delivered to my apartment’s box. 3C.” He points to his door, across the hall and to the right slightly. He hands me the stack of envelopes. “I’m Bryan, by the way.”
“Beth.” I say, sticking my free hand out to shake his. My shoulder clears the sweater loosely draped on them, and it falls to the floor behind me. I dismiss it, focusing on my neighbor. “You look so familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”
It’s true, I can’t put my finger on it, but he looks so familiar, like I get a sense of deja vu from looking at him.
He crinkles his brow, thinking. “I don’t think so...I’m a second year Biology major at CAL. Do you go there?”
“I’m a freshman this fall. But I haven’t started classes yet.”
“Oh,” he says, nodding thoughtfully. “What is your major?”
“Literature, with a minor in English.” I am still distracted by the task of remembering where I know him from, and all of the sudden, the answer barrels into me like a train.
“Oh my God!” I cover my mouth my hands. “You were the biker! The one I almost hit with my car!” I exclaim, feeling a little sick at the memory.
His face changes. “That was you?”
I nod my head in response, embarrassment stealing my voice. I feel so terrible about that, in some ways I’m glad that I was able to see him again so I could have the chance to apologize, but I also feel so guilty it makes the encounter awkward.
“I’m so sorry. I guess I was just, um, really distracted.” I sigh. “But it won’t happen again, I promise.”
His face stays solemn for a few long moments, but then he breaks into a smile. “I forgive you.”
“Would you like to come in? I can make some hot chocolate. I haven’t met any other neighbors yet.” I step aside, opening the door further. Having company wasn’t how I imagined my night going, but meeting and making a new friend would be a good distraction.
“Sure. I have to get going in a little while, but I have time for a cup.” he says, following my gestures inside.
He shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the hooks next to the door, one of the few amenities I added upon my move. Stepping out of his boots, he follows me into the kitchen. I click off the TV on the way, blushing slightly when I see he notices what I had been watching.
“Pretty Little Liars? I love that show.” he remarks when I reach to remove the cocoa powder from my cupboard. My shirt rides up and my fingers graze the swollen area as I yank it back down.
“Really? Every guy I’ve ever met has made fun of me for watching it.” I click the stove on, measuring out scoops of the mix and adding appropriate cups of milk to the concoction.
“I like it,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.
I smile, busying myself again.
An hour later, we sit at the table, occasionally stirring our mugs while we talk about college and PLL. I put my feet on the chair next to me, wincing silently at the swollen feature. I have to remember to take a bath later.
“Well, I have to get going,” he says, standing and setting his cup back down on the surface of the table. “But maybe tomorrow or the day after I can take you to get some stuff and show you around.”
I swallow loudly. “Um, Bryan, that’s so sweet, but I kind of-”
“Oh, no. Not like that. I’m gay.” he says, interrupting me. My eyebrows shoot so far up my forehead I wouldn’t be surprised if I got permanent wrinkles.
I couldn’t say it was a complete shock, there were a few warning signs, I just hadn’t been paying much attention to them.
“So it doesn’t have to be awkward. I’m gay, you’re kind of something,” he smiles, mocking my earlier words. “And we can be Pretty Little Liars buddies and it won’t be weird.” he says.
“Okay.”
Once he’s gone, I shut the door and sink against it, mulling over our conversation and pulling on my bottom lip. He knew I was something. Does that mean he could tell I was, whatever I was, with Jim?
I prefer to think of him that way, thinking of him as Nash makes me think of the other person he is, the fiancé to my sister.
If it’s that obvious, what am I going to do?
You guys finally found out who the biker guy was, and some of you were right, he did come back!
Honestly, I love being an evil author and torturing you guys, it makes me feel so special that you care so much!
If you are good little readers again, and get 12 votes and 6 comments, I'll update by tomorrow. Deal?
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