Falling for You

The moment she rounds the corner of B-hall, the dam of tears I was holding together with scotch tape and band-aids cracks. The world around me blurs into starbursts of light as liquid pain trails down my cheeks.

I run into the nearest bathroom and press my back against the wall. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to take slow, steady breaths—a tactic my therapist taught me back in middle school when my social phobia controlled my life. Deep breath in. And let it out. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. It takes a few cycles for the pressure in my chest to decrease and the waterworks to dry up, but eventually I start to feel better.

A toilet flushes in a nearby stall and the nervous needles under my skin spring back to life. I can’t bring myself to look at who is here and see either a smug smile or a look of pity from someone who thinks they know what has happened. I keep my eyes closed, using eight-year-old logic of, if I can’t see you, you can’t see me. I know that’s not how the world works, but it makes me feel better.

The lock on the stall door slides open, metal scraping inside itself. Heavy footfalls take one step, and then two, and then stop. Silence eats away at my resolve to stay strong and keep my eyes closed. After the slowest five seconds of my life, I hear, “You look like shit.”

You’ve got to be kidding me!

My eyes snap open at the deep rumble that is uniquely Asher Anderson’s. He’s got this smoked-a pack-a-day rasp, paired with knee-knocking baritone pitch. If Snow White and the Prince ever had a son, it would be him. With hair as dark as a starless sky and moon kissed skin, the contrast is striking. But then you add in his eyes, a unique shade of amethyst that looks too perfect to be real. The girls around here all but melt at the sight of him. Liam may be the shining king of the school, but Asher is the prince wearing a crown of thorns.

Asher crosses the bathroom to wash his hands in the sink, shaking loose water droplets into the porcelain bowl when he’s done, never breaking eye contact. Not even when he reaches for a paper towel from the dispenser.

“Get out!” I scream, unable to take his patronizing stare any longer. This is the girl's bathroom for Christ’s sake. Is this man so heartless as to beat me here just to inflict more pain on my already bleeding heart?

Wouldn’t put it past him.

I’ve known Asher all my life. Our parents—mine, Liam’s, and Asher’s mom—used to be friends. I still remember the stories my mother would tell about how excited she was for all of them to be pregnant around the same time. We were a heartbeat away from being a B-rated version of the sitcom Friends if they’d all had kids.

Until one day when everything imploded.

As for Asher and I, we drifted apart in the sixth grade after he ridiculed me for getting my first period. As if I wasn’t embarrassed enough to find a puddle of red when I stood to jump into the pool, Asher let everyone at that birthday party know what happened. He even went as far as calling me shark bait the rest of the year. Liam thought it was hilarious. I wanted to die.

“Perhaps I should say the same to you.” Asher chuckles and leans his ass against the sink, crossing his long, muscular arms.

My jaw drops. This is my bathroom. He… My train of thought is lost as I take in my surroundings. The girl’s bathroom has more than two stalls and it doesn’t have urinals.

No. No. No! I cover my face with my hands, mortified. Could today get any worse?

“It’s cool,” Asher guffaws. “No one will walk in on us if that’s what you're worried about. Besides, it looks like you need a moment.”

I let my hands fall to my sides, shoulders rolling forward. I know Asher’s sympathy will come with a price, but I do need a minute’s peace. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through lunch and my next three classes. Everyone is talking about prom and now all I’ll be able to think about is Liam and his stupid promposal. “It’s girl shit. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” Asher steps closer, crossing the tiny bathroom in only three strides.

I turn my head and stare at a phone number someone scribed onto one of the stalls. I hate looking at Asher. He makes my stomach jump and my heart flutter at the same time. One a feeling of irritation. The other… not going there.

Asher tucks his knuckle under my chin and lifts, forcing my gaze back to him. “You look like Liam stomped all over your heart. Again.”

I jerk my chin free of his grasp and lean back against the wall. I’d rather touch the cream-colored tiles with all its grimy germs than him. I hate him. I don’t hate him. I don’t know how I feel about Asher. Things between us are… complicated. Always have been.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I though?” Asher chuckles again. The dude laughs a lot, only it never sounds happy. There’s always a hidden layer of darkness or sorrow or something straight up evil in it.

Asher steps back and grabs the door’s handle. He tugs it open and steps out, leaving me alone in the boy's bathroom. I take a second to gather my thoughts, grateful to finally be alone.

I shake my head, irritated that he thinks he knows me. Knows what I’m feeling. Asher doesn’t know jack shit about having a broken heart. He’s the heartbreaker, just like Liam, leaving a trail of tears wherever he goes.