Edited
Aiden hasn't spoken to me in days. And Autumn is with Blake.
So here I am, sitting in the café. Alone. Pondering everything that's happened between Aiden and I.
Maybe it was me, or maybe it was the fact that I was a complete and utter wreck at the moment, but the café looked rather dreary today. A couple sat in the back booth, the girl furiously shouting at the boy in front of her who was throwing his arms up in frustration. A young red—headed girl sat with silent tears trailing a river down her cheeks. And a boy in the booth across from her sat, staring into the distance as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
The entire atmosphere of the café had changed. The place that I had once come to seeking comfort and happiness had turned into a house of solace. Buckets of sadness and frustration tinged the air, leaving the entire room filled with a thick and suffocating atmosphere.
The place that had started to become the hang out spot for Aiden, Blake, Carter, Riley, Autumn, and I was now the place that was beginning to become my fortress of solitude. For the past few days, I've kept coming here, ordering my usual, and thinking about Aiden. Thinking about how much I hurt and betray him. Thinking about how much I wanted him to forgive me. But how many times was he going to forgive me for believing Evan over him? Aiden was right about him. How many times is he going to forgive me for choosing Evan over him?
The bell above the door gave its familiar jingle and I looked up, a part of me desperately hoping to see the one person I couldn't stop thinking about, but that same flood of sadness began to wash over me like a never—ending rain cloud, when all I saw was a young couple walk in, hand in hand. I suddenly felt my heart squeeze so tightly in my chest at seeing the two. The young boy sported a quirky grin as he stood and watched the brunette order herself a hot cocoa. The whole time, all he did was watch her, his eyes darting back and forth between her lips and her eyes, as if looking at her was the most important thing he could do. The way he looked at her...it reminded me of Aiden. That intense gaze only he could hold. Of how sometimes I would catch him doing the same thing to me. And that thought. That thought alone...broke me.
How could I ever think so terribly of Aiden? Especially after everything he's done for me?
I took a sip of my hot cocoa and wiped a tear that had fallen from my eye, turning my gaze towards the window, where just across the street lay Grand Central Park. The memories of the first time I had ever confided in Aiden flooded back to me. We had sat in that very swing set, sat on the same grass where I poured my fears out to him. I had confided in him at a time that I barely knew him, and I couldn't believe how far we'd come since then.
A lot has changed since that day.
Before I could think twice, someone slid into the seat in front of me, and as I turned my head, I caught the familiar glimpse of Riley's curled ringlets of hair. She looked at me sympathetically.
"Hey," she whispered.
I tried to smile, but it was limp. "Hey."
She looked at me.
"Are you okay?"
I let out a small breath.
"Not really," I whispered, looking up at her. I could tell she wanted to tell me something, and I wanted so badly to ask her if she knew anything about Aiden and the girl Landon had been talking about, but even if she did know I wasn't sure she would tell me. Riley has become so close with the boys I'm not sure anyone can break their bonds of friendship.
"He's not okay either." she said. "He misses you...even though he'd never admit it."
He misses me?
I felt tears sting at my eyes. He misses me even after everything.
I'm such a terrible person.
"I miss him too." I whispered, tracing the rim of my cup with my finger, not able to look Riley in the eyes. Because if I did, she would know exactly what I wanted to ask her.
I looked out the window again. An old woman was walking across the street at leisurely pace with her walker in hand. She dropped her purse in the crosswalk and I watched as a young man picked it up for her and helped her the rest of the way across the street.
"Emery, I know what you want to ask me, but I can't tell you anything."
I looked at her finally, into her speckled green eyes.
She shook her head. "I made a promise to Aiden."
"I know."
She reached for my hand and squeezed. "He'll tell you when he's ready. He just needs a few days to cool off. You know how he is."
I nodded, as she stood, again offering me a sympathetic smile, before heading out of the café. I knew that Aiden needed time to cool off. I know how he is when he gets angry. What Riley said is true. But the thing I was afraid of, wasn't what he was going to say to me. It was whether or not he would ever look at me the same way, and whether or not he would ever trust me again.
That's what I was most afraid of.
It was now Saturday. Exactly six days that I hadn't spoken to Aiden. And it felt like an eternity, but it's not like I could drive over to his house and say I was sorry, apologize for everything, and then everything be peachy between the two of us.
I wish it was that easy. But it's so much more complex than that. I'm not even sure Aiden will ever forgive me for this. The fight he and I have over my forgiving Evan is nothing compared to this, because this time it's not about someone else...it's about us.
Dad was off from work today, so he insisted on making breakfast when I had woken up—his usual French toast. I wasn't quite in the mood for social interaction, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings, especially since the two of us hadn't had breakfast together in quite some time. Since he got promoted to manager of his building, he's been around a lot more, something I've been grateful for. But I haven't been home much in the past few days, because I knew if I was, he would know something was up with me, and I didn't want him to worry, or see me break down in tears every five seconds when I thought about Aiden and what I've done.
I could smell the warm aroma of sweet syrup and cinnamon wafting in the air as I sat on the edge of my bed. I found comfort in the smell of home. It was something that, no matter what, never changed, even if the rest of the world did.
"It's ready kiddo!" Dad called from the kitchen as the sound of banging pots and pans echoed up the stairs.
Every fiber in my body wanted to lay in my bed, sulk, and cry some more, but I owed it to my dad to walk downstairs and eat breakfast with him. It was the least I could do after all that he'd sacrificed for me. Especially when mom left.
I padded down the stairs, my arms limp at my sides, before I headed for the kitchen, taking a seat on the wooden stool at the kitchen island. I was ninety-nine percent sure I had dark circles and bloodshot eyes, but it didn't matter how much I tried to cover it up, when my father's eyes landed on me, the recognition flashed in them. He knew something was wrong.
Dad cocked his head to the side, slowly placing a plate of freshly baked French toast and eggs in front of me. "You been gettin' enough sleep kiddo, you look pretty banged up?"
I reached for the fork and knife, nodding my head slowly. "I'm okay," but even as I said the words, I knew I wasn't. The utensils in my hand felt like I was carrying a deadweight, and the more I forced myself to use them, the slower my movements became. I had been sitting there cutting the same piece of French toast for five minutes.
I could see my dad frowning at me. "Where's Autumn?" he asked.
"She's with Blake."
That was a lie. Autumn was home today. She had been texting me non—stop for the past few days, but I just didn't have the energy to talk with her. To be honest, I'm not quite sure why she hasn't barged through the door already. Maybe she knew I just wanted to be left alone and was trying to give me some space.
I sent her a silent thank you for that.
I took the first bite of French toast, barely dipping it into the circular swamp of syrup that had formed in the corner of my plate. It was good, but my stomach just wasn't having it. I didn't have an appetite for anything, except I didn't want my dad to feel bad, so I forced myself to eat it, very slowly.
Dad took the stool next to mine, scarfing down his French toast while I worked on my tiny little third bite. "Where's your other friend—Aiden—is that what his name is?"
I stopped chewing, the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach starting to grow worse and worse, almost like knives twisting and scraping my insides. Like I had just been set on fire from the inside, and I was getting ready to burst.
I set my utensils down, stood up, kissed my dad on the cheek, mumbled, "Thanks for the breakfast," and turned, crossing my arms over my chest as I padded back towards the stairs. Any second now, I knew I was getting ready to break and shatter. That my emotions were going to be obliterated into nothing, and I was going to cry myself to sleep all night long, but it wasn't until what I heard my dad say to himself. It wasn't until I heard his muffled words from the kitchen, halfway up the stairs, that I knew I was done for.
"He's not just her friend, is he?" he mumbled.
No. He's not. He's so much more.