Damaged (15 page)

CHAPTER 21

The next few weeks pass painfully slow. At night I stare at the ceiling. I can’t sleep. It feels like my arms have been chopped off. I have phantom pains. God, and the nightmares. My mind drifts and I see Peter getting hit by a car, falling off a cliff, or getting shot in the chest. Every time it’s the same—I see what’s going to happen moments before it occurs. I run toward Peter, screaming at the top of my lungs, but he doesn’t hear me. I’m never fast enough, never loud enough, and I’m always a second too late. There are never any good-byes; Peter’s simply ripped away from me.

One night
the dream is so vivid. Peter is smiling, saying something to me. He’s stepping backward with that wry grin on his face. The ground is hard and dry. The clay cracks, but Peter doesn’t look behind him. The parking lot turns into nothing but miles and miles of cracked red clay. It’s like watching him walk onto thin ice. I’m frantic, calling to him—begging him to come back—but he can’t hear me. The ground under his feet suddenly cracks apart. Peter falls. I launch myself toward him, toward the massive chasm in the ground. I fall at the edge of the hole just in time to have Peter’s fingers narrowly miss mine.

I scream.

I
shriek so loudly that the nightmare becomes real. I yell in my bed and dart upright. My body is covered in cold sweat. The sheets are stuck to my body. I’m tangled and thrashing, trying to get free. Millie jumps up and flips on the lights. My hand is on my chest. I’m trying to tell myself that it wasn’t real, that Peter is alive and well, but the dream feels so genuine that I’m close to tears.

Millie’s standing there with a broom in her fist
s, as though she’s going to bludgeon an intruder. When she sees that no one is around, her arms drop to her sides. “Are you all right?” She rubs her eyes and takes a deep breath.

I nod, b
ut it’s shaky. I can’t speak. What am I afraid of? The nightmare sounds so stupid. The ground doesn’t just eat people, but the dream felt real. I can’t shake the feeling. I yank my blankets off and head to my closet. I pull out sweats and put them on.

Millie is watching me. “Where are you going? It’s 4:00am. You can’t go running now.”

“I have to.” It’s all I can manage to huff out.

“Sidney, wait. I’ll go with you.” Millie’s eyelids are about halfway open. She looks like she’s falling asleep.

“It’s fine. I’m okay. Go back to bed.”

“I can’t. Something’s bothering you and I’ve turned into a shitty friend since Brent came along. Give me a second.
I’ll go with you.” She blinks slowly and turns toward her closet. I’m already dressed and pulling on my sneakers.

When I tie the second shoe, I say, “I’d rather go alone. Seriously, go back to bed. I’ll take your pepper spray if you’re worried.”

She yawns. Millie has one leg in her sweats and looks up at me. “Fine, but only if you use the student gym. Don’t run outside. Go use the stair climber or elliptical or something. Promise?”

I nod.
“Yeah. I’ll see you at lunch.”

And I’m gone. I run down the stairs and outside into the cold air. It fills my lungs and reminds me what’s real and what’s not. The dreams aren’t real.
Peter is alive. I know what the nightmares signify, I know what they mean. Peter was ripped away from me and there’s nothing that I could have done about it. He’s gone. It’s as if he’s dead, but I see his ghost haunting the English building every day.

Strictland removed me as his TA the
day after she saw us at dinner. She swapped her TA with his. Now, I work with Strictland. The rumors have stopped. No one is saying anything anymore.

I pound my feet harder and run faster. My lungs burn like I can’t
get enough air. My hair swishes back and forth, tickling my neck. I want to run so hard that my body screams in pain. I want to feel something that I know how to deal with, because I don’t know what to do with this.

It’s not the same as the other nightmares. Those
had me scared to death, because someone was trying to hurt me. These dreams are the opposite. No one is hurting me, but it feels like my guts are being ripped out. It’s like losing Peter all over again, night after night. When will it stop? The man is still alive. Why is my brain mourning him as if he were dead? I can’t stand it. I want to scream.

Digging in, I push off the ground harder and run faster. I lengthen my stride. My arms pump at my sides and I sprint as fast as I can across campus to the far side where the new gym is located. By the time I get there, I can’t breathe and there’s a stich running up both sides of my ribcage and across my hip.

I swipe my ID card and go inside. Holding my hands on my hips, I stop and suck in air. I stay like that for a few moments in the darkened hallway, just trying to catch my breath.

When the cramp subsides, I walk down to the exercise room. I don’t expect anyone to be here. The halls are empty and the lights are off. I swipe my card and go inside. I find a treadmill and turn it on, increasing the speed up to a full run. I pound the crap out of
the thing, sprinting as fast as I can.

A few moments pass and I’m in my own little world. Thoughts float away. The
only thing in my head is the pounding of my heart and the rush of air filling my lungs. That’s why he scares the shit out of me.

“Sidney?” Mark
’s voice comes from somewhere beside me. I yelp, lose my footing, and step on my sneaker. The result is instantaneous. I fall and get launched off the end of the treadmill. My back slams into the wall. “Holy shit!” Mark pulls out the emergency stop key and the treadmill turns off, before my feet get sucked under the thing. Then, he falls on his knees next to me. “Sidney, I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Can you move?”

I start laughing. It’s the crazy kind
of chuckling that makes people really uncomfortable, but I can’t stop. Mark is still kneeling next to me. He glances around. “Awh shit. I broke her.” He runs his hand through his hair and pokes my shoulder. “You okay, there? You sound a little bit nuts.”

I take a deep breath and look over at him. “I am a little bit nuts. Why else would I be h
ere at four in the morning. I assume you’re twisted too, since you were sitting in here in the dark.”

Mark
looks offended. “I was not! I was back in the weight room when I heard someone. I came out to see who it was, said your name, made you fall on your ass, and then get battered by the wall.”

I laugh and realize that I do soun
d way past crazy—and way past tired.  I rub my hands over my face and sigh. “It’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened.” When I pull my hand away, there’s a streak of blood. “Damn it. I cut my face?”

Mark stands and offers his hand. I put my clean hand in his palm and he pulls me up. “Nah, it’s just a little scrape on your cheek.”

I dab it again with my fingers and walk over the mirrors. It’s not that bad, but I look like hell. My hair is a rat’s nest pulled into a ponytail. It’s all bushy. I didn’t bother brushing it before I left. I just pulled it back and snapped the elastic ring around my hair. There are dark circles under my eyes and I look beat.

Mark hands me a hanky. I look over at him
, surprised. “It’s not used, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I take it and say, “Thanks, and that wasn’t what I was thinking at all.” I take the white cotton and run it under the water
fountain, getting it damp, and then blot my cheek. “I don’t even know what did this.”

He points to my wrist.
“Your watch. Your hands tried to cover your face when you fell. The watch probably scratched you.” I look at my wrist and then back up at him.

“So, what’s your story?
” I ask. I don’t want him staring at me, but he is. I glance at him. “Are you always in here at four in the morning?”

Mark
puts his hands behind his back and shakes his head. “Nah, it’s usually five by the time I get here. I was early today. As to the reason why, well, I’m a bit of a freak. I only need four hours of sleep.”

I’m dabbing my cheek as he’s talking. When says that, I look up at him, envious. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, it’s some kind of genetic thing. My mom’s like that. They thought it was ADHD for a long time, but that’s not it. I just don’t need to sleep eight hours to feel good. Four or five, max, and I’m good to go. I can stay out all night and then wake up at the butt crack of dawn.

“
Since there’s nothing to do at the dorm, and my roommate kills me if I wake him up, I usually head over here.” He’s leaning against the wall, watching me. Mark’s closer to my age than Peter. This is the kind of guy I should be with. He’s normal, nice, and my peer. He’s not my teacher.

I watch
Mark for too long, staring at his face, wondering what he would have done if I threw myself at him at the beginning of the semester—if it was Mark at the table and not Peter. Would he have done as much? Would he have stopped? What would that have done to me? Sometimes I think sex will fix everything. It ruined everything, so it makes sense, sort of.

I don’t realize how much time has passed.

Mark gets a nervous smile on his face and looks around, like I must be watching something else. “Uhm, Sidney? Did I accidentally put you to sleep with my overly boring story?”

I
smirk and blink. I hurt so much and he’s so sweet. “No. You’re anything but boring.”

He grins. “You really think so?”

I nod. “I would have followed you around like a puppy if some other guy hadn’t caught my attention first.”

“Story of my life.”
Mark’s eyes search my face before he lifts his hand and lightly touches my arm. It’s a reassuring touch. “I’m guessing said guy is the reason you’re here at this ungodly hour?”

I nod slowly. My thoughts are jumbled. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know how to make the agony inside of me stop. I’m staring at
Mark’s lips. I’m reverting. I can feel my old pre-Peter plan jumping around my ankles, nipping at me.

Mark is shirtless. His body is covered in a thin layer of sweat. His hair is damp and messy. I’m aware of my breathing, aware of his mouth, and aware that I’m standing too close to him. Mark’s hand slips up my bare arm, over my shoulder, and touches my cheek.

He tucks a piece of my crazy hair behind my ear and smiles sadly at me. “I’m not a rebound guy, Sidney. I’m a love-her-with-my-whole-heart kind of guy, and since I really like you, it’s so damn hard not to kiss you right now. But, I can’t…” He breaks our gaze by looking down. Mark takes my hands and rubs his thumbs over my skin slowly. Breathing deeply, he adds, “Forgive me?”

Normally, I would have turned beat red, but today I ju
st nod and look at our hands. “Then, how do you get over a broken heart? Everyone says sex, but I just don’t…” I sigh deeply and look up at him.

“Since I’ve had
mine stomped on a few times, I can tell you the truth.” He tilts his head to the side and smiles at me. His eyes don’t meet mine again, not while he’s talking. “You don’t get over it. Nothing immediately heals the pain. It doesn’t vanish because you’re ready to get over him. It takes time. One day, things won’t hurt so much. One day you’ll notice someone else and not think about the last guy at all. You’ll be ready to start over, and so will your heart. Give it time, Sidney.”

I nod and he pulls his hands away. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I shake my head.  “You’re hot, like amazingly bodacious. I have a little crush on you.” Mark looks sheepish when he says the last one.

I smile at him. My face feels funny and I realize that I haven’t smiled in a while. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well, I tend to keep things low key.” He gives me a lop-sided grin and bumps me with his shoulder. “Want to race or something? I’m guessing you came in here to run and I bet I can totally beat you.”

I glance out the windows at the track and nod.
“Sounds good.”

I spend the next hour running with Mark. We race until my muscles are twitching like I’ve been
electrocuted. I fall onto the mats and lay on my back. Mark sits next to me in a comfortable silence. It seems that I’ve found another friend.

CHAPTER
22

I still have to see Peter once a week. I didn’t get transferred out of his night class, although I wish I did. My only option would have been to drop it, and if I did that, I wouldn’t be able to retake it because of my scholarship. It was too far into the semester by the time Strictland separated us. I’m just glad she didn’t force me to drop it.

Peter’s at the front of the room.
I don’t look at him. Instead, I hear his voice and stare down at my notepad. I’ve been up for a really long time. It seems like yesterday that I was sitting with Mark, but that was only this morning. I touch my face and feel the cut on my cheek. Yup, that was today. I can’t believe I fell off a treadmill. Who does that?

“Miss
Colleli?” Peter says. I get the feeling that it’s not the first time he’s called on me.

I look up. Everyone is watching me. “Sorry, what was that?”
             

Peter’s eyes drift to the cut on my cheek. His brows pinch together. “The poem at the beginning of the book…”
When I don’t answer, he adds, “
The Man Who Was Thursday
had a poem at the beginning. What did you think it was about? Did it fit the literature?” Peter is standing in front of me for a moment. Then he crosses the room, leans back on his desk, and folds his arms across his perfect chest.

Why is he calling on me? I want to crawl into a hole and die. That’s the one questi
on that I can’t answer at all. “It made me want buy a top hat,” I say, and shrug. A few students giggle. One says
freak
. I turn and give that guy a thumbs-up. I’m a proud freak. Deal with it.

Peter stares at me with a hopeless look on his face. He doesn’t ask me to elaborate. Instead he calls on
the smartass who says he’s not gay enough to think the poem is about hats. Peter pinches the bridge of his nose and looks at the clock. It’s almost nine.

“Since no one knows what the hell the poem is about, you guys are going to hand
in a research paper next week. I want three sources, four pages, double-spaced, and include your own understanding of the poem. If you agree with the research, state why. Class dismissed.” They all groan and exit quickly.

I’m moving at slug speed. I feel so tired. I can’t remember if I ate today. I don’t think I did. I consider getting some food as I gather my books. By the time I head for the door, the classroom is empty, save Peter
, who’s at his desk.

“What happened to your face,
Colleli?”

I raise my eyebrow and look back at him.
“That’s hardly complimentary, Dr. Granz.” I do the shame, shame, thing with my fingers, too, but it’s sloppy.

He gets up and walks toward
me. “What’s with you? You realize that your grades are so borderline that you might fail, right? And, with Strictland breathing down my neck, I can’t pass you if you don’t earn it.”

I didn’t realize that. My spine stiffens. “I don’t want you to pass me through.”

“Then, what the hell are you doing? I don’t understand you. You wanted to take this class, didn’t you?”

“I wanted to take it when Tadwick was teaching it.” Peter flinches. Maybe I said that a little too harshly. “I didn’t mean—”

Peter puts up his hands, palms toward me, and backs away. “I know what you meant. It’s fine.” He grips the back of his neck and sighs.

I’ve avoided looking at
Peter’s face, but when he’s turned to the side—away from me—I chance it. His lashes are lowered, and his shoulders slumped like he’s beaten, as if the weight was too much and it broke him. There are dark rings under his eyes that match mine. His lips no longer smile. Peter looks exhausted, with a sadness that penetrates every ounce of his being. He’s drowning in melancholy.

Peter must feel my eyes on the side of his face
, because he looks up. Our eyes meet and I wish they hadn’t. My stomach drops to my feet. I’m dying. There was air and now there is none. Weeks have passed, but I’m not over him.

Peter breaks our gaze and looks down. “I better get going.” His voice is f
aint, weak.

Before I know what I’m saying, the words are out of my mouth. “Do you regret it?” Peter looks up at me. His eyes slip over my face until he finds my eyes.
“Because I do. I regret it so badly. If I could go back and undo everything, I would. I can’t stand seeing you like this, and I can’t stand being like this. If I never sat at your table—”

Peter talks over me. “If you never sat at my table, I would have never known that I could be happy again. No, I don’t regret it. I don’t regret any of it.”
He works his jaw, as if he wants to say more, but decides against it.

I nod slowly and pick up my books, not planning on saying anything else. A letter falls out of the pages and lands at Peter’s feet. He bends over and picks it up. His eyes lift to mine. “Is this from your brother?” I nod. “I thought you were going to throw it out?”

“I did. He sent another and then another.”

“You haven’t opened any of them?”

I shake my head. “No,” my voice is barely there. “He’s dead to me. Take it. Toss it. I don’t want to see it again.”

I head toward the door. I feel Peter’s eyes on my back. I know he wants to say something, but I don’t give him the chance. I walk out of the room and down the hall. I exit at the front staircase. No one uses th
e stairs. There are over a hundred steps to the lawn below. I press my back to a pillar and slip down to the floor.

For a long time, I sit there in darkness. The lights around me illum
inate the steps, but I’m in shadow. The people below can’t see me.

I’m worried that Sam keeps sending me letters. When we were children, he and I were best friends. He looked out for me, took care of me.
Sam let me play with his friends. He punched anyone that messed with me. I was his little sister even though we’re twins.
You were born after me,
he’d say.
That’s why you’re my little sister
. I think he liked being the older brother. It made Sam feel important.

But all that changed when I cried to him about
Dean. I expected him to defend me. He didn’t. Sam said I was a tease, and that he’d seen what I did, the way I acted around his friend. The memories bubble up one by one. Once they start, they don’t stop.

Dean
didn’t hurt you, they said. Dean is a good young man.
I swear, it’s as though my parents and Sam are standing in front of me, saying the same things over and over again. I want to cry out,
What about me?
He held me down, he overpowered me. Dean wouldn’t do that, they said. God, I’d never felt so betrayed in my life.

But it was worse, so much worse when I told Sam.

I never let these memories out their box. They’re like demons and will strip away every ounce of joy I have until there’s nothing left. But I let the memories out. I hear their voices. The old words reopen scars that never healed. My mind is reeling. I need to force the demons back, and make it stop. I pull my knees into my chest and lower my head. Wrapping my arms around my ankles, I pull myself into a ball. I close my eyes, hoping that it’ll pass or swallow me whole.

The door behind me opens. I hear it
, but I don’t look up. Whoever it is will just go down the staircase without even seeing me. The sound of footfalls comes nearer and then stops. I glance around my arm and see leather saddle shoes. I glance up at Peter.

He sits next to me. I tuck my face into my knees again. I don’t want to talk to him.

“You look miserable.”

“I am miserable.” I talk into my knees.

“So am I.” Peter takes a deep breath and puts his hand on my back. Peter pulls me to him and I wrap my hands around his waist. I hold onto him tightly, knowing that I’ll have to let go. When he pulls away it feels like someone is ripping off my skin, layer by layer.

I push up and turn toward the stairs. “I can’t do this, Peter. I can’t be around you
like this. It’s killing me. I have no idea how to get over you. I just can’t…” I step away, but he grabs my arm. I stiffen. I love it and I hate it. I want his arms around me. I want my friend back.

“I need to tell you something.” He pulls me closer and takes my books away. He drops them on the ground next to his feet. His hand
s cup my cheeks. I feel Peter’s breath on my face. It makes my head feel so light, dizzy almost. I want Peter’s lips on mine. I miss him so badly that tears prick my eyes.

I take
Peter’s hands in mine and try to pull his hands down. “Don’t, Peter… I can’t do this.” I’m barely in one piece. I feel the wave of regret growing bigger and bigger. It’s going to crush me. His touch is going to destroy me. I panic. I pull at him but he doesn’t let go. I’m crying. I didn’t realize it, but tears are streaking my cheeks.

Peter’s thumbs swipe through the tears on my cheeks
, wiping them away. “Don’t cry.” He leans in and brushes his lips to my face, kissing away a tear. I still. My fingers are still clutching his hands, but I stop pulling. I take a ragged breath when he does it again, and again. Peter kisses my face lightly, brushing away every tear.

Then
, he tilts my head back so that I can see his eyes. “I hope you can forgive me, but I did something incredibly stupid.” The corner of his mouth lifts. Uncertainty lines his gaze. “I wrote a letter of resignation and put it on Strictland’s desk.

“
I can’t do this anymore. Every time I see you, it’s like I’ve had my heart ripped out of my chest. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. It’s not a crush. It was never a crush. I love you, Sidney. I took too long to say it. I took too long to fix this, but I choose you.”

My jaw drops. “You quit?” He nods. My eyebrows creep up my face. Shocked
silence encases me. When I finally try to speak, a loud sobbish-sounding laugh comes out of my mouth. I throw my arms around his neck and hold on tight. Peter presses his body against mine and lifts me off my feet. He swings me around once. I shriek and laugh. “But, you can’t do that!”

When
Peter puts me down, he’s smiling. “I already did. I wrote a letter of resignation and slipped it under her door.” I turn to go inside. I have to get that letter back. I’m so happy he chose me, but I can’t let him do this.

When I try to go inside, Peter reaches for me. His
fingers wrap around my arm. Ice shoots into my stomach. This is unreal. My pulse pounds harder. I can’t let him do this. “Sidney, her office door is locked. I can’t take it back and I don’t want to.”

He’s qui
et for a moment and his hands release me. I can still feel his palm against my arm. I can’t swallow. The moment passes slowly, as if time isn’t real. Peter opens his mouth to say something. I do the same. Neither of us speaks. My skin is covered in chills that won’t go away. I rub my hands over my arms, trying to chase the panicked feeling away, but it won’t abate.

I’m scared out of my mind, and it’s not the normal someone-is-
hiding-under-the-bed scared, it’s different. There are no hands strangling me, but I can’t swallow. There is no tape over my mouth, but I can’t breathe. There is no bullet in my heart, but I swear to God that it stops pounding. The weight of my gaze is pulled toward the ground. I can’t lift my face. I can’t look at him. Terror, fear, and joy all collide. I can’t make my mouth form words. I’m twisting my hands so hard that they burn.

Peter’s head hangs forward. Instead of giving his hand
s rope burn, his are shoved into his pockets. He inhales deeply, but his breaths are shaky. I wonder if he’s as nervous as I am. This feels like one of those moments when everything matters. It’s a crossroads where taking the wrong path will be devastating. I chose the wrong path once. It nearly destroyed me.

I glance back at the doors behind Peter. I can’t let him do this. There’s an ache that grows larger and larger in the center of my chest
, as I think about what he’s done and what it means. He gave up everything for me. My lips part and I’m about to speak, but he cuts me off.

His voice is so soft.
“It’s too late to take back your ‘I love you.’” When he lifts his blue gaze, my hands start to shake. I hold them tighter, twisting them harder.

Looking straight into those haunted eyes, I say,
“I’ll never take that back. I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you
, too. I’m sorry that I was so stupid. It took me way too long to do something.”

I shake my head.
“You shouldn’t have.”

Peter places his hands on my shoulders and steps toward me. Looking down into my face, pressing his forehead against mine, he says, “I had to.
I couldn’t lose you. Please tell me that I didn’t lose you.” Peter’s eyes are lowered to my lips. He watches me for a second and I feel it.

This is the moment that matters. What I say now will change everything. He quit so he could be with me. He resigned. I feel so guilty and so glad. I’m an emotional train wreck. My engine
is derailed and there’s baggage everywhere—nightmares, worries, and regrets litter my mind. I’ve not felt like this about anyone. I never thought I’d have this chance. It was taken from me by someone I trusted. I wonder if I can really do it, if I can move on. I want to. I want to take the chance so badly I can feel it burning inside of me. Flames lick from my toes to my fingertips, urging me to move, to throw my arms around Peter and tell him how much he means to me.