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glad about the flowers, especially when I’m on
campus, because they are so beautiful. They feel
like new life, new beginnings. I like walking from
building to building to go to class, the sun warm on
my back. I wear Henry’s jacket, which I kept,
deciding that this little piece of self-torture is worth it
to feel closer to him.
When I hear my name being called one spring
afternoon by a voice more familiar than my own, I
decide that it’s the power of wishful thinking, since
I’m wearing his jacket. I turn anyway, schooling my
smile to not show how much I wish the voice really
does belong to him, expecting to see one of my
classmates there.
My smile falls, arms going limp as my books
scatter across the ground when my eyes light on him.
He’s here, really here, standing ten feet away. He
walks closer, a wry smile crossing his face as he
takes in the strewn books. My heart twists painfully at
the familiar expression, my hands curling into fists,
nails digging in to keep me from crying out in pain.
“Still not big on carrying a back pack, huh?” he
asks, gaze coming to my face. I’m nearly knocked
over by the pain I see reflected in his eyes. I squat
down, scooping my books up to give myself a
chance to regroup. Any chance of that is lost as he
walks closer, his shoes right next to me now. Slowly I
stand up, taking a breath, wanting to run away, but
facing him anyway.
“Why are you here?” I intend it to come out
sounding careless, remote. Instead the words are
nearly breathless, hurt underlying each syllable.
“I don’t really know,” he says, his words a repeat
of his answer the first time I talked to him, when I
asked him why he wanted to be my friend.
“You should go.” I order my feet to turn and walk
away, but they disobey, fixed in place.
“I can’t, Kate.” The sound of my name on his lips
is like a physical blow. I rock back a little from the
impact. “Not until I tell you what I came to say.”
“Say it then,” I mumble, wanting this moment over
now because I don’t think I can take it for much
longer, but also wanting to draw it out so that I can
drink in the sight of him, so much better in reality than
in my dreams.
“I think it’s time for you to stop being such a
martyr,” his words come out harshly, his jaw
clenching. He runs his fingers roughly through his
hair, the gesture so endearingly familiar that I ache
with it. He takes another step closer. “How much
longer do we have to suffer apart until your sense of
justice is fulfilled?”
“What?” I gasp. “You think this is some kind of
masochism, or self punishment?”
“If not that, then what?” his voice is rising, and a
few students nearby look our way.
“It can’t work, Henry. I told you—”
“You told me a load of crap! I’ve thought over
everything you said, a hundred times a day, every
day, and it makes no sense. The only thing that
makes sense is that you think you’re not good
enough for me, you think you don’t deserve me. You
think you have to self-sacrifice in order to make
everyone happy.”
This hits so close to home that hurt washes over
me. I turn that pain into anger.
“Pretty arrogant, Henry. Sounds like it’s you that
thinks you’re too good for me.”
“Don’t try to turn my words around, Kate.”
“You were only with me because you pitied me. I
was just some poor creature for you to rescue.”
“No!” His denial is vehement. “Not at first. And
then, okay, maybe a little.” I’m stunned by his
admitting it. “But not after that. You, Kate, I fell in love
with you! With your strength and courage, with your
naiveté and innocence, your unschooled sense of
humor. With your loyalty and how willingly you gave
your love and trust.”
“Not exactly flattering, Henry,” I flounder around,
trying to find a part of his speech that isn’t singing
through my heart, trying to maintain my anger. I finally
find a word. “Loyal! Like a good dog.”
“You’re turning my words around again,” he
growls.
His face is only inches from mine as we yell at
one another, so close that if I just lean in just a few
more inches, our lips will be touching.
I see the moment when Henry realizes the same,
when his face changes from anger to intensity, when
he starts to make the move forward. I channel every
ounce of self-control and will-power I have in me to
jerk back and take a step away. His jaw tightens.
“This is stupid, Kate. I love you. I want to be with
you. Today, tomorrow, always. And I know you love
me. Tell me I’m wrong about you, about why you left
me. Tell me you don’t love me.”
I know I should open my mouth and say the words,
say the lie, and then he can move on. I open my
mouth. Nothing comes out, so I snap it shut.
“You’re wearing my jacket,” the accusation is
soaked with misery. I pull it tighter around me in
response, my throat clogged with tears.
“So here’s the deal,” he says when I remain silent,
clearing his throat and drawing himself up. He
reaches out toward me, then stops himself, his hand
falling uselessly to his side. “I’m living at home, going
to school here, at the university, which I will be doing
for the next three years. And after that I don’t know
where I will be, but wherever it is I want to be there
with you. I don’t want to go without you, but I will. And
then I’ll come back for you. If I have to wait one day or
twenty years, I’ll wait for you. So when you decide
you’re done with this…” he trails off searching for the
he starts to make the move forward. I channel every
right word. Apparently not finding it, he continues.
“When you’ve punished us enough, you come to me.
Because that’s what you’ve reduced me to—a man
who will live a pathetically empty life, just waiting for
you.”
He stares at me a few eternal seconds longer
while a thousand thoughts swirl in my head, each
fighting to get out, none succeeding. Finally he turns
and begins walking away, ignoring the tears running
down my cheeks. He pauses, with a murmured, “I’m
tortured, Kate,” before continuing away from me.
“Henry,” his name is out before I can stop it,
before I even know I intend to say it. He stops,
frozen, and then slowly turns back toward me. His
face is creased with misery, hurt shining from his
eyes, every line of his body reflecting despair. And I
realized that that’s because of me.
I love him more than I ever thought it possible to
love someone, and here I am, causing him so much
pain when all I ever wanted was for him to be happy.
With that my decision is made. I wipe my tears away,
squaring my shoulders.
“I want to tell you a story,” I say. “It’s about a girl,
who fell in love with a boy. But she didn’t think she
was worthy of this boys love, or anyone’s love. She
thought she had to push him away so he could be
happy.” I watch as slow understanding crosses his
features, though still tempered by the idea that I
might not be saying what he wants. I begin to walk
slowly toward him. “She was a foolish girl, miserable
and lonely, crying herself to sleep every night
because she missed him so much. But that didn’t
matter, what mattered was that he was better off
without her.” He shakes his head, opening his mouth
to protest, but I’m in front of him now, and I place my [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]