Pounding. Skylar was used to headaches, but she wasn't used to constant pounding in her head lasting for days on end. It had been a week and a half since Jude had been injured, and although Skylar was getting updates on her through Blair, she had yet to see the girl. Her resignation from the bar had been immediate, and tomorrow, she'd be starting her new job in the cafe across the street.
It reminded her of Jude, but she didn't care. She just didn't care anymore.
But she couldn't lie to herself: she liked that Blair was giving her updates. Jude had taken a month off work, with which Jon had been very understanding. She liked hearing that Jude was getting a lot of sleep, and eating a lot, and helping Blair out around the house. She liked when Blair said the bruises were starting to fade, and the bandages were being thrown out. She liked hearing these things, but she'd never admit them to anyone other than herself.
She was supposed to be mad at Jude. And she was. Really, she was furious. But it's like she had told Jude before: it doesn't work that way. She couldn't just stop liking Jude because of this.
That's when she realized that she had picked Jude over Blair. And what she felt for Jude was here to stay. It wasn't something she could simply brush off, even though she wanted to. She wanted to so badly.
But it doesn't work like that.
Blair had called that morning, asking about her headaches. Sometimes, she reminded Skylar so much of a mother, and she laughed, because up until a month or so ago, she'd been in love with a girl who acted like her mom.
"Do you think it's to do with, like, how many head injuries you've had?"
"I haven't actually had that many," Skylar said, holding her palm against her forehead, and trying not to laugh at how concerned Blair sounded.
"Three concussions is a lot, Skylar."
"I know."
"How's your memory been?"
"Not bad." Skylar shrugged, and sat up. Her legs hung over the side of her bed, and she stared at her bare feet, swinging them back and forth. Despite the headache, she was in a good mood this morning. It probably had something to do with the fact that she'd gotten to sleep in until noon. But something still felt like it was missing.
A piece. The piece that always felt like it had slipped out of her skin without her knowing. She didn't even know what the piece was-she just knew that there was a piece of her out there, blowing through the streets of Toronto, lost. And so was she, without it.
"My memory has never been that bad, you know. You like to exaggerate it."
"Because sometimes you forget where you put your own toothbrush! What if you were in an emergency, and you, like, forgot 9-1-1?"
"That's not short-term memory. That's long-term. Believe me, I won't forget 9-1-1, and I won't forget your birthday. I've known those things for so long."
"What about little things?"
"Like what?"
"Like, do you remember what Jude did? Because I hope you forgot."
Skylar sighed, this conversation exhausting her, but Blair's insistence made her laugh. "I couldn't forget something like that even if I tried. It's all I can think about, so it's lodged in my memory."
"Remember when you forgot her name."
Skylar laughed. "Yeah. That was really bad."
"So you forget little details like Jude's name when you first met her, and where you put something?"
"Right," said Skylar, trying not to lose her patience, because they had been through this at least one hundred times in the past few years, and Blair never seemed to fully understand it. It was like trying to teach a five year old quantum physics-they'll probably say they understand it, and pretend they do. But they don't.
"You never forgot little details about Logan." Blair paused, cleared her throat. "Even now, you haven't forgotten."
"That's because I try so hard not to forget them. I cling onto them, because I know if I don't they'll be gone."
"What is Jude's full name?" Blair asked.
Skylar raised her eyebrows. She let her fingernails run against her rough skin, bare underneath her duvet. Warmth that began in her feet rose to her cheeks like a thermometer at the mention of Jude, and because no one was around to see it, she didn't try to hide how she felt. It irritated her, because, she reminded herself, she was furious at Jude, but she couldn't help it.
"Jude Anna Emery."
"You seem to have that down pat." Skylar could picture the smirk on the blonde's face. "Alright, what colour socks was she wearing the first night you met her?"
"What the hell?" Skylar asked, laughing. "Even if I didn't have memory problems, I wouldn't remember that. What are you trying to prove, Blair?"
"That you like Jude. Because when you like someone, you make sure to remember the little details." Blair paused, clearly expecting to be interrupted by Skylar. But the brunette was curious to find out where this was going, and besides, she was in a good mood-she didn't feel like her completely stubborn self that morning. "And because you like Jude, you should be supporting her right now. She's going through a really tough time."
Skylar considered it. Really, she did. She always thought of herself as a bad person, but even she wouldn't want Jude to be alone at this time. While she was struggling. But that's the thing-she wasn't alone. If Blair was willing, and able, to look past what Jude did, then why did Skylar have to?
"I know she is," said Skylar, finding her voice quiet, and gentle, and not at all how it usually sounded. "But I'm not going to budge. I don't want to see Jude again. Ever."
"Skylar, you like her-"
"It's just a little crush. I'll get over it." Suddenly Skylar felt like herself again. Throwing the duvet off her body, she stood up, said, "I've gotta go, Blair," and hung up before the other girl could say goodbye.
I like Jude.
I hate Jude.
And the only way to rid the dissonance breaking into war inside her head was to rid herself of the word "Jude." No more talking about Jude. No more thinking about Jude. And definitely no more seeing Jude.
No more.
-
Skylar felt the foreign heat of someone else's touch on her skin; of someone else's lips on her own; of laying in someone else's bed. Myra. That was her name, right? Skylar didn't think it really mattered. The girl had drank more than a bottle of white wine on her own, all the while insisting that Skylar join her. Of course, Skylar politely declined, but watched Myra drink, and drink, and drink, and laughed when she started to hiccup, and comforted her when she started to confess, and most of all, kissed her when she wanted to kiss.
It didn't matter that she didn't know Myra, and couldn't remember the drink she had ordered from the cafe. It didn't matter that Skylar was hooking up with a customer after her very first shift. All that mattered was that Myra wasn't Jude.
Myra's hair was black and straight. Her neck was thin and her nose curved outwards. She wore glasses but, with a shaking hand, took them off and left them on the messy bedside table, on a stack of magazines with cover girls and makeup tips.
Skylar was scared. But nonetheless, with steady fingertips, she drew circles on the back of Myra's neck. She felt everything she was supposed to, but experienced each feeling as detached from her body. Everything was good but all of it was fake. Or, she felt all the warmth on her body, but none of it on her mind. And when Myra fell asleep, Skylar tried to tune out the sound of her breathing. Wishing she was alone, she turned onto her side, and realized that hooking up with another girl wasn't going to stop her from thinking about Jude. This wasn't a little crush. This was something big-the first girl she truly liked since being in love with Blair-that she was going have to overcome.
Skylar turned around again, glancing over her shoulder at Myra. It might've been temporary, but her mind was off of Jude for a little bit. And that was better than nothing.
-
All she can think of is everything she remembers about Jude. Blair wasn't wrong in insisting that because Skylar liked her, she remembered the little details.
The snug black t-shirt she wore on the night they met.
The few flecks of red nail polish remaining on her toes the day Skylar saw the bruises.
The dimple in her left cheek, reserved for only when she was genuinely smiling.
Was it wrong that Skylar wanted to be the one who made her smile big enough, real enough, so that dimple surfaced?
Why would it be wrong? Who would she be hurting? Logan?
No. Because Logan is dead. Four years in the ground. Skylar knew well enough that she wasn't coming back.
Would it be hurting herself? Yes. Because she would be forgiving everything she ever stood against. But then, being with Jude would heal her so much.
Until last night, she hadn't realized how lonely she had been. She forgot how good it felt to hold someone in your arms, to be held in somebody else's. Myra didn't fit. But she knew that Jude would.
But she couldn't. Or, she wouldn't. So the dissonance was back. But she had decided on one thing: it was time to move on.
Blair was her friend. Nothing more.
The bar was an old job, that would not be visited, no matter how much the smell, the sounds, the atmosphere, reminded her of Logan.
The cigarettes would stop.
And Skylar would continue.