Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.
And I continued to slap my hands together as if sarcastically applauding a horrendous performance. I carried a sickened smile while walking through the balcony door. Stomping each foot for each step. My eyes trailed up her stunned body. She froze and jumped the first time I clapped. Long since ended the call, clutching the phone to her chest. Bright-eyed and frightened, Rachel's appalled expression was not at all concealed.
"I would call you an evil, rotten, heinous, disgusting, narcissistic, cold hearted, bitch but that would be considered a compliment for the likes of you," I snarled; my facetious act never discontinued.
Clawing. The need to toss this fucked up individual over the balcony was clawing at my insides. I wanted to scream, yell, and punch everything in sight. She wasn't known to me anymore. Because the truth of the matter was, I never knew her at all.
And suddenly majority of my vexation did retreat when the root of it was futile. I don't know why, but a year ago, seeing that same detachment and false sense of security in someone else made me think we could protect each other; someone to lean on. That had long since changed, but to watch it unfold before my eyes took me down another level.
"Get out," I uttered emotionless.
She still had that same blank stare and bashful stance, petrified.
"Get out!" Yelling with all of the might in me for her to snap out of what ever far away place she went off to summon up excuses. No, I was done with this in all its entirety.
Rachel's mouth opened only to close again. Her eyes went to the balcony door that I had been standing adjacent to. Hastily, she dashed inside and trailed to my bedroom. I guess to gather her belongings.
It really hurt how much time and thought I put into one person. You could even say embarrassing.
As I walked in more casually than she did. My feet followed after her to my bedroom ensuring that my items will stay put as she packs and shortly exits.
When I reached to where I heard shuffling. I took note of how frantic and humiliated she appeared. A part of me felt triumphant, though it did not fix the pointless betrayal. It was supremely idiotic to conjure up those feelings given it was somewhat expected from her.
Rachel's eyes rarely blinked as she forcefully shoved items of clothing and necessities for good hygiene into one of those reusable ninety-nine cent store bags; as much as she could fit in there.
Her next move had always been premeditated and I guess since this wasn't in the deck of cards, she folded all of 'em on the table right then and there.
So on accord, I let the pulsating mourning within me transpire out onto to my tongue. "Truly, it was quite the experience I had appeasing your needs Rachel. And I seriously doubt there was ever a 'family' or 'siblings' you had to cater to. I've put together that Jared must've pulled a you on you."
Her movements were suddenly rushed as if attempting to distract herself from hearing this. But I knew she saw me in her peripheral. I didn't have to be listened to, just heard.
And on continuing while leaning against the door looking the complete picture of tranquility when I was anything but. "Throughout this time I've spent with you, it has taught me a lot. My skin has gotten tougher even though my heart was a little bruised in the process. I don't regret what we had, whether it was all a lie or not. Adamantly, I have tried to shut it all out. And instead of allowing myself to grow from it, weeds began to flourish. The constant atmosphere of toxins took over my life. Perhaps, your intentions for coming to me weren't to kick me when I'm down but to face what it's like while always being on the ground. Regardless, thank you for the lesson, I've accepted my faults and have acquired the strength to forgive you and hope life treats you better than how you've treated me." My words were meticulously characterized into a combustion of sensitivity.
There was only so much I could say before words just couldn't do how I felt justice anymore.
By then, Rachel had her bag clasped together and her belongings all packed away. She was just standing there, boring into my ebony eyes while I dove into her aqua ones. The air had been cleared. A weightless feeling had momentarily took a hold of me.
"I..." She spoke. Then, shaking her head to cancel the thoughts, Rachel's eyes had been hidden away from mine. Like I had the gift of being able to read thoughts with vision.
Uniformly walking past, her head tilted downward and she left my room. The smell of tangy oranges and cigarettes lingered for a while. I waited back before following her to the door.
When I had gotten closer, her hand was on the knob but she didn't open it. Her back was facing me and she sighed, blowing the blonde locks away from her face.
"I suppose you have every right to think of me as the most heartless being on the planet. To be honest...I wish I was. But the truth of the matter is," She turned her head only slightly just enough for me to see her profile. "I'm not. Love scarred me just as it did you. It's a dog eat dog world. I've tried to remain compassionate but past sores had given me enough reason to know better."
The oxygen in the room was tight. Her voice was wearisome and distanced. Yet, I could hear a tinge of sympathy most would miss if they weren't paying attention. "The fact of the matter is, hurt people, hurt people Ace. Despite that, I did love you and have acknowledged the fact that you loved me. For whatever it's worth, I hope in some Utopian society or perfect world we cross paths again and we get to where we, as individuals, need to be." I heard the door knob twist and she yanked it open as the hinges squeaked in the process.
Before leaving, giving me her last few credits, "A part of me hates myself for it. The other part loves you for not letting me."
And the last view I had of her were those long, pale, slender legs dressed in ripped jeans with fish net stockings in the tears. That worn out red and black plad button up (the top one always missing) with a carton of cigarettes in the pocket peaking out. Radiant platinum blonde hair, and those intricately crafted features going alongside a unique set of colored, Caribbean Sea eyes that I'd never forget.
Out of my life she went.
I had to tell myself to breathe again. It all felt like the tragically beautiful overdue ending. There was something new in the air that I couldn't get a taste of even if I licked my finger and held it up to recognize it. To identify ones feelings is a task I believe was incredibly useful in the long run.
The apartment was deflated in silence and looking around at nothing in particular, I understood how so much could happen in one little setting and befall in so little time.
That night, I greeted Nonna's tired eyes and sore voice. She went straight to her bedroom after a weak 'hello.'
I knew better than to ask her any abundant questions relating to the day's events. She didn't seem up to hold any conversation. My poor Nonna. She deserved all the happiness in this world.
While laying in bed, my eyes blazed with drowsiness. It felt impossible to peel them open but I just grew more and more restless; tossing and turning. Until around two or three in the morning, I drifted off with the thought of seeing Willow tomorrow...
~
My alarm clock blared the most obnoxious tone. Whenever I had a lack of sleep, everything felt foggy like I took a short nap or didn't get any at all. Unfortunately, this fogginess prevailed and disorientation didn't subside until after I had gotten dressed. I'm sure from another person's point of view, I was your average walking zombie.
When all of my early morning tasks were complete such as, brushing my teeth, hair, and sprinkling cold droplets of water onto my face, I was prepared to catch the bus. As I walked, the strangest temptation fell on me to go upstairs and walk Willow down to keep her company. Though at this point it was in fact illegal.
The steps creaked and each one I took reminded me of yesterday's events and how much of it spiraled completely out of control. I missed her and a quick sprint down them wouldn't allow me to run away from my ongoing affections.
Walking down the pavement toward the bus stop, I did see Willow. In all honesty, I did my absolute best to avoid making eye contact or accidentally reacting on impulse to touch her. My book bag straps were restraining my aching fingers. Words were not spoken, as she kept her head down and I did my best to keep mine up. A school bus finally circled the cul-de-sac.
Getting on the bus and arriving at school went by in a blur. There was a piece of me that just could not get with the program. Marcus tried to ask me what was wrong but I curtly brushed him off. He took the hint and quickly redeemed himself by conversing with Geena. She gave me a knowing look and I had to prevent myself from gagging.
Maybe I was a little insulted that Willow didn't at least try to hear me out, yet I was in her shoes that day I saw her and Blake; it took a while for my ears to finally open. The entrance was packed since our bus arrived late. The sweatshirt I wore kept me modestly warm so when I took note of her quivers it got to me. I had no knowledge of what caused it. Willow's traditional pea coat hugged her form with a knee-length skirt and stockings. If I may say, the look was predominantly sexy on her.
Much like that early rise from my bed, the day itself dragged on and on until the very aspect of keeping my eyelids peeled open was no longer a priority. Really, the only thing that revived me was the notion of seeing my beloved at the end of the day during art class. I hadn't seen Tony nor Alyssa much and hardly anyone scrutinized me like they usually did that day.
"Hey Marcus," lunch had begun and he had been in the line long enough for me to greet him and hopefully clear up the explanation behind my stubborn attitude.
"Hey Ace," he responded nonchalantly. "Wanna tell me about this morning?"
I stirred up as much sugar coating and summation of the situation as I could. "I've loved Willow for a long time but my ex came to town and ruined that for me so she refuses to even associate with me."
He was more than a little taken back, "Two girls fighting over you? What a privilege."
"I'm being serious. I'm not even sure something like this is even reversible at this point."
The lunch lady asked if I wanted a hot dog or a burger, then Marcus. We both chose the ladder. Collecting our trays, "Depends on what your ex did to ruin it."
"What do you mean?" I gave him a sideways look. Even though it was the most obvious question and I expected a rephrasing of it, on the contrary, Marcus gave me a diplomatic answer.
"I mean, if it was as minor as you subliminally describe, were you and Willow stable enough to withstand the past to begin with? Was the bond you both had with each other that strong to hurdle over these issues and take a step in a new direction? Seems to me if trust wasn't a problem, she'd be in this lunch line with you-not me." We both walked over to the register as I had been left tongue-tied.
My eyes stared into the back of Marcus's head in just the pure disbelief from the foundation of his inquiries.
He typed in his lunch number, as did I (at the cost of a few weeks of complications in the front office). "You don't give yourself enough credit," I told him.
Both of us exited the line and continued on our way to find a seat at one of the long tables that was naturally for the teenagers higher up on the social ladder. "Or you just don't know an easy fix when it's presented to you."
"Presented how? Sure, trust is definitely something to work on, but that doesn't resolve the fact that she refuses to do anything about it."
His head turned in my direction. Those cloudy grey eyes swirling, "Are you trying hard enough?"
Shrugging when we got to the table, lunch carried on as usual. Marcus doing most of the talking and I contemplating over his mental challenges he unknowingly threw at me. Maybe it was that simple or it could have been downplayed by someone who really just does not understand.
Last block finally came, I half expected Mr. Shale to approach me about the restraining order and removing me from my original placements throughout the day. From my insight on it, I presumed Lydia had been too lazy to notify the school.
There she was. It had been quite the battle to at least get a glimpse of her face all day since she kept it hidden from view with the help of her hair. Willow's make up wasn't necessarily cake-y, you could just tell it was heavy enough to hide whatever damage her aunt had produced. My heart clenched. I wished I could have protected her though I'm sure a night in jail wouldn't have been in Nonna's plans to bail me out.
The seat next to her was empty which uplifted my mood in terms of our proximity impediments. And just when I made my way over there, Willow easily lifted her canvas and sat next to a girl with sunshine yellow hair.
I rolled my eyes. Really? So I took the empty back row of chairs and sat by myself, isolated. Everyone's paintings Mrs. Atkins had assigned for us to do a month ago (but put an extension on) had been neatly placed over onto the arts and crafts table. The one I did of that woman many nights ago was somewhere over there. It technically didn't fit the criteria of 'defining yourself with creativity in one format' yet it was all I had. Unfortunately, these had to be presented in front of the class.
Mrs. Atkins pulled up a seat near the front, probably to grade the presentations while each student went up. "Now class, I don't want you to be nervous while showing everyone what you've made. Take this opportunity to express yourself publicly. Ease you impatience and display what kind of grade you deserve."
Her smile never wavered and it hit me that only one who took great pleasure in what they did could smile that broadly with so much emphasis.
It prolonged onward. Majority of the class just gave the explanation that it was their happy place. When people no longer volunteered to go up, she started calling in alphabetical order. Of course that meant Willow Andrews was to go up next. My heart raced a million miles a minute at the thought of us somehow locking eyes. A hot second was all I needed.
Even from the back, I saw her hands shake in panic. However her face gave away little to none of what she was most likely feeling. Somewhat a blank and bored manner. She made an effort to land the canvas on to the easel for everyone to see, a light sheet was over it and the time to take it away had finally happened.
I was in shock at what I saw. Despite that, was left no time to recuperate as Willow began her explanation. "This painting displays the image of a woman who has a lace blindfold only covering a portion of her left eye and not the right. She's pulling it off of the left eye which is moistened with tears whereas the other is still covered and that portion of her face his wrinkled with a joyful smile. The other side is void of any emotion. The hand that his pulling the blindfold is bruised."
Mrs. Atkins nodded, "Now... your close reading."
Willow mimicked the movement as a sign of obedience. "The left eye is covered yet she is smiling. This side of her hasn't been treated wrongfully by the world. She has been able to be protected from the harsh realities of it. Ignorant in a way, but blissfully. The right is the one no longer masked with happiness, she wasn't supposed to but the woman became aware of what it was all about. How the nature of some people she thought as humane..."
Her intense gaze met mine, "Wasn't. And what she really was blinded by had been love. Her initial doubts had been hidden away by empty words and broken promises. This side of her has been shattered all because the blinders had been put away. The hand is bruised because she has tried to fight this, day in and day out. The struggles and hurt one goes through in life, she has scuffled with to maintain her innocence and naivety. Unfortunately, that had been too much to ask for."
My throat was dry. Everything around me was starting to become blurry. I had to lean my elbows onto my knees and conceal the tears that started to descend upon my face. I didn't feel sorry for myself. Willow probably felt this everyday and physically I was starting to give in to it. 'It was all a misunderstanding' I wanted to say. I'd never jeopardize the special connection we shared. My eyes remained closed and I privately wiped the evidence of my pain away.
God, when did I become so soft, or as willow put it, aware of what I was feeling? Everything was still black as my hands still covered my face and eyes. I had suddenly become deaf, the expected frustration from someone's voice repeatedly calling my name, snapped me out of this melancholy haze.
"Mr Valentino, it is your turn to present." I never looked up and rudely answered with, "I don't have it," knowing damn well it was on that table.
Why was this so excruciating? Shouldn't I have a tougher skin after all this time? Guess when you leave something frozen out for a long time it will eventually thaw.
I don't remember much after that. Just the shuffling of book bags and the final bell ringing. I couldn't even stomach the thought of being near Willow without wanting to hate myself. Because even though her eyes were desolate while looking at me, they were unforgiving. They were the same pair of eyes I wore when looking at Rachel. And that's when it hit me the most. That I had become the one who hurt me in Willow's eyes. As if a cycle had continued and spun its web around me. I wasn't supposed to be that person for her. It was me who should have been her saving grace, not her bad habit.