The Night We Said Yes (11 page)

He balls up his fists and covers his face, pushing his glasses up. “If I could go back, I’d change everything,” he says, his voice low.

“You lied,” I yell. “You kept things from me and lied. You say you were happy with me, but how could you have been when it wasn’t a real relationship? You can’t be in a half relationship with someone. You just can’t.”

He removes his hands and nods his head, and he looks hurt, wounded, but I have to keep going.

“I mean, even your moving because of your dad’s job was a lie.”

“It was easier than telling you everything. It was
believable, so I went with it,” he says, resigned.

“So what happened,” I demand, crossing my arms across my chest. I want to know the end of the story.

“With my brother?” he asks, and I nod. He looks uncomfortable, but he continues. “My mom decided we’d move to Houston to be closer to . . . everything. Eventually my dad gave in. When I realized how shitty things were there, I wanted to tell you. I missed you
so
much. But by that point, my parents wouldn’t let me. Seriously. I mean, it was that bad,” he says, and I search his eyes for more.

“I mean, he was looking at a few years in prison, and he had people coming after him. Like, dudes trying to break into our house for money Chris owed them,” he says, shaking. “So I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want you part of that.”

“Seriously?” I ask, seeing this as something out of a movie, not someone’s life. It’s horrible.

“Seriously. Everything sucked. Everything. I was constantly scared or miserable. At home my parents wanted to murder each other when they didn’t want to murder Chris. At school no one talked to me. I was the new kid, and I didn’t care to meet anyone, so I guess that was my fault. I never tried. . . . I was so angry, just so angry at myself for what I did to you, and at my brother, for what he was doing to us, and just . . . everyone. I couldn’t handle it. He’s my brother, you know? I never thought . . . I never imagined this would happen.”

“I really wish you would have told me. I would have been
there for you. Jake would have been, too.”

“I know, I know you would have. It’s my biggest regret, not telling you. Because if I did before I left, I would have still had you. But once there . . .”

“You couldn’t.”

“I couldn’t.” He shakes his head. “My parents didn’t want to get you involved, in case of anything . . . but really I think they were just embarrassed.”

“Wait . . .” I pause, looking back at him. “If you knew all of this was going on, why were you okay with us trying long distance? Why didn’t you just end it then? Not that I wanted you to, but . . . why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to! I thought, or I guess, I hoped, once we got there we’d see it wasn’t as bad as we thought. That things could just return to normal. I mean, part of me even hoped we’d move back . . . I don’t know, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He’s twisting his watch again.

“Didn’t want to hurt me?” I ask, pushing him.

“Yeah . . .” he says, combing his hair back and leaning against the headrest. His eyes are scanning the roof, possibly looking for answers there. “I didn’t know how bad my brother’s situation would be. Like I said, I wanted to tell you once we got there, but . . .”

“But you couldn’t,” I sarcastically finish for him.

“Right.”

I stare at him, waiting for more, more of an explanation, because that’s not good enough. Yes, he had a hard time,
and yes, I feel bad for him, but there has to be more. Why didn’t he just end it once he got there? Why leave me hanging? I don’t know if it’s his story or my pent-up emotions, but I feel my heart start pounding.

“That makes no sense, Matt,” I cry out. “So you just stopped talking to me? Instead of doing anything, once again? It’s such a cheap way out. Did you really think that would work? I
loved
you.” I feel tears falling down my face, mingling with the raindrops, and I’m not sure which is dripping onto my shirt, and I don’t know how I got from sad to angry to sad again so quickly. He drops his head in his hands and I know he feels helpless, but for once I don’t care.

“I know, I know,” he says, turning back to me with fire in his eyes, and I feel how close the car is around us. “Don’t you think it hurt me, too?” He raises his voice. “
I
was the one being the bad guy. I had to live without you, too.”

“Matt. I thought we were still dating,” I yell, letting him hear the words, really hear them. “We never broke up, so I never knew where we stood, and it killed me. I didn’t want to let go because I just
knew
you’d come back into my life. And then I felt so stupid when you didn’t.” He’s silent, listening to what I’m saying. Everything hurts, everything. “So why not break up with me then? End it instead of just . . . disappearing?” I demand, breathing deep and painful in my chest.

“I didn’t want to!” he practically shouts. “I
wanted
us to work, even though I knew we couldn’t. And I just . . . I
didn’t . . . couldn’t break up with you. I don’t know.” He exhales. “I guess I felt that if I just disappeared, you’d go on with your life and forget me. I didn’t want to ruin your senior year of school with a long-distance boyfriend who had to attend court sessions regularly, and pay off debts his brother owed.”

I pause. “What debts?”

He squeezes his eyes shut again. “He was selling drugs. He bought them from this guy, and the guy wanted to be paid. That’s why the guy was coming after us, because Chris never finished selling them.” He opens his eyes and looks at me. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. It’s embarrassing and . . . insane. So, yeah, I tried to disappear from you because I didn’t want to bring all of this up.”

“That’s crazy. People were coming after you?” I ask gently. “I can’t believe . . . I can’t believe you went through all of that.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But I know it’s not an excuse.”

“No,” I say. “But still.” I think about how different our years were. We were both angry and alone. If we had each other, it might have been better. Not perfect—especially not in his case—but better. “And the letter?” I ask, because I have to.

His face loses the intensity and he drifts back into himself. “Was really stupid, I know. I told you, I do stupid things and I can’t communicate like a normal person.”

“It was beyond stupid.”

“Jake sent me a message I had to respond to—”

“And you didn’t feel like you needed to respond to
any
of mine?” I ask. Hearing that he’d talk to Jake and not me wasn’t any easier the second time.

“His was about you. He said I needed to give you closure. It was the first text he sent me that didn’t threaten me, or say I was a horrible friend. He said I owed it to you.”

“Oh,” I say, because it’s all I can. His face is open and honest, and despite being fully clothed, I feel exposed. I pull myself together closer, tighter.

“I wanted to give you closure.”

I want to believe him, I want to think he meant it sincerely. But I see the letter again, not in his handwriting, but in some stranger’s, and I can’t help but get angry. Because it was so far from an apology, because it never gave me any sort of the closure he hoped for. “So you sent me a note you found on the ground that said some guy was sorry to some girl.”

“Yes . . .”

“And you thought that would make everything better.”

“It was a stupid decision.”

“You could have done
anything at all
and you decided to do that,” I repeat.

“I didn’t know what to say!” he protests, facing me again. “What do you say after so much time? I realized how much of a mess I made. I realized how wrong I was, but I didn’t want to . . . involve you anymore. And I still wasn’t allowed
to tell you the truth. So I thought you’d rather hear something, but not necessarily something from me. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“This is just like the notes before you left. You could have told me. You could have talked to me. Why can’t you talk to me?” I practically cry. “Why can’t you
trust
me?”

He turns to me and his eyes are soft and he’s holding his emotions back. “I’m so sorry. I should have trusted you, I really should have. While I was gone, I realized that it would have been better having someone I loved in my life, as broken as it was, than no one at all.”

“You just realized that?” I explode. It’s all been trapped in my chest, begging to be released, and now it’s avalanching out. “I knew that from the start, but not anymore. I can’t
trust
you. You took that away from me when you left, when you lied to me. You took everything away. I mean, look at me, I can’t even take off my shirt without freaking out.” I point to my wet shirt to emphasize the point. “You were the good one, the one who showed me not all guys were jerks. And then you completely changed,” I cry. “You have no idea how much you meant to me, and how I felt when you left. I used to stay awake at night going over everything—over and over again—trying to figure out what went wrong. Why you weren’t calling me.” I pause, then face him. “I didn’t even know if you were alive. Did that ever cross your mind?”

He’s silent, shaking his head no. “Ella, no one has ever cared about me the way you did. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” I state, because it isn’t and it never will be. I want him to know how I felt then, how he left me feeling rejected and confused and just . . . completely alone. That was the worst, how alone it left me feeling. How I didn’t feel like trusting anyone after him, after Nick. How I lost the enthusiasm and strength he helped build up.

“How’s your brother?” I ask simply, because despite my anger at Matt, I’m not a monster, and I want to know. I still care. “And be honest.”

“Turns out he wasn’t the mastermind in the drug ring, just a participant,” he says bitterly. “They caught the main guy that was harassing us . . . and my brother is out on probation for now. He’s being closely monitored, obviously. . . .”

“That sucks,” I say, because it does. Because, our problems aside, that whole situation is terrible, and not something I’d want anyone to go through.

“Yeah . . . My parents are still there, and they’re . . . okay. My mom convinced me to come back here.”

“She
convinced
you?” I ask, looking at him.

“Kind of,” he admits, softly meeting my eyes. “I wanted to, but I also felt bad leaving them. And I didn’t want to hurt you again. But she said it might make me happy.” He looks out the window into the night.

“I would have been there for you,” I say, one last time.

“I know.”

“But do you?”

“Yes.” He says it solidly, turning to me. I shake my head
and look away, holding the tears back. I’ve shed too many on him. He reaches over and tries to take my hand, but I pull it back quickly. He should know to never touch lit dynamite, and this time I’m the dynamite. He looks at my hand, and then pulls his back slowly. “I know I screwed up, and I know you owe me nothing, but I’m here now and I’ll do anything to make this better. I don’t want this to be the end.”

“But how can I trust you?” I ask gently.

“I’m talking to you now. No notes, no hidden messages, it’s just me. I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I want to tell you everything. I want you and everything you come with.”

“It’s not enough,” I say again, because it’s not. They’re just words. I feel trapped, claustrophobic, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the car. I want to roll down the windows and let air in, but the rain will come, too. There’s always rain after.

“Ella, please. Just give me another chance.”

“I can’t.”

“El—”

“I’m really glad things at home are getting better, I really am,” I say, breathing in and pushing back my tears. “But I’m leaving, Matt. It’s my turn to leave. In three months I’ll be gone and you’ll know what it’s like to be left behind.”

“Where are you going?” he asks, confused, as if the thought of me leaving never crossed his mind.

“Tallahassee. I’m going to Florida State.”

“Oh,” he says, and the single syllable contains so much more than two letters. “I just thought, I mean, I guessed . . . never mind.”

“Yeah,” I say. “You didn’t think about that, did you?” Though I’ve been looking at him this entire time, I never really
looked
at him, never met his eyes. It was too hard. But for this—for this I have to, and it breaks my heart. “Please just let me leave.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. Because he knows I’m right.

“I’ll take you back to Meg, I guess,” he says, turning slowly toward the steering wheel.

I nod, looking ahead out into the night. When at one time I thought the night held endless possibilities, now all I see is darkness and dead ends. The magic and mystery are gone.

Our conversation ends with a bang, and I almost expect the neighbors to wake up, turn on their lights, and wonder about the explosion that just occurred in the shadowed car behind the school. But no, no one feels the crumbling but us. The moments stretch on between our words and the engine starting, and we’re left with the hollow voice of the night. The cicadas are out, but they sound more like noise than music.

And it seems only right that the same place our relationship started is also the place where it once again ends.