Clash (Crash 2)

Jude didn’t move; he just stayed reclined, curled into that position, staring into the space I’d just been asleep in.

Finally, he sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

Moving the seat up, he exited the car. He waited for me as I came around the front, holding the door open and toeing at the ground.

Another goodbye I had to say to Jude, the semi-permanent kind, and I didn’t want to do it again.

“Bye,” I whispered, squeezing past him to crawl into the car. The word stuck in my throat, tasting acrid.

His arms suddenly wrapped around me and pulled me against him, surprising me. He held onto me, refusing to let me go, and I let him. In the past, Jude had always felt like the one holding me up when we were close like this, but now it felt like I was the one holding him up.

Nuzzling into my neck, his body shook once. I was going to start sobbing again if he didn’t let me go.

I was one breath breathed against my neck away from dropping my first tear when his arms lifted away, feeling like he was breaking through concrete to free them.

“Bye, Luce,” he whispered, pressing his lips into my temple before turning around and heading into the house.

He didn’t look back once, but I watched him the whole way until he’d disappeared into the house. Crawling into the car, I adjusted the driver’s seat and right before I pulled away, I glanced up into Jude’s bedroom window. He was taking up the window, watching me with the same eyes I’d just watched him with as he walked away from me.

Why did I do this to myself? Why didn’t I just put foot to pedal, not giving the window a second thought?

Of course I knew the answer to that. I loved him.

But sometimes, as I was learning, love just wasn’t enough.

A few weeks went by. A few weeks had never passed so slowly.

Jude kept his word, giving me the space I needed, not so much as sending a “Hey” text my way. Because I was who I was, one part of me was thankful to him for following my request, and another part was hurt. But because Jude was who he was, nothing or nobody told him what to do and a part of me knew if he really wanted to text me with a “Hey,” he would have.

The Tuesday following our indefinite separation, I’d woken up to a new set of heavy duty studs on the Mazda. There wasn’t a note or anything that would indicate who was the overnight tire fairy, but of course I knew. I didn’t know how he’d done it, but the gesture‌—‌knowing what they’d cost and the time it’d taken him to put them on‌—‌made me shed a fresh set of tears that morning after having a day’s break.

The next week, I awoke to a rose propped up on the windshield. A red rose.

I’d been reduced to one of those emotional girls I rolled my eyes at, leaving puddles of tears everywhere I went. It pissed me off to no end, but I went with it. Going without Jude felt like going through life without a compass, so if my body needed some tears to help it cope, I could handle it. So I tried to lose myself on the dance floor. I threw myself into dance, what had always been my go-to therapy and, for the first time, it fell short in the healing department. No matter how long or how hard I danced, the pain never muted. It never even dulled.

Thomas and I had danced at the winter recital last weekend and people were still talking about it. I’d refused to let myself look at the seat in the front and middle while we performed, because I knew if I found it empty or filled by someone else, I wouldn’t be able to make it through the rest of the performance.

I’d been right. As Thomas and I took our bows, I slipped and my eyes drifted to that one seat that had been overflowed by a beaming face this past year. It wasn’t tonight. A stone faced middle-aged man sat in Jude’s seat.

I had to cut the bowing and applause short because I wasn’t going to cry on stage. I still had some sense of propriety when it came to where and who I’d let see me cry.

In short, I was a mess.

Friday afternoon, a week before school let out for winter break, I was hurrying towards my dorm, hoping the faster I walked, the warmer I’d stay against the not-quite frigid temperatures. It was a nice thought.

“I don’t think you could look more pissed at the weather if you tried,” a familiar voice called out as I walked up the path to the dorm.

Lifting my head, I found Tony propped on the top step in front of the door, burrowed down in a big black down coat and smiling his Tony grin at me.

“Long time no see,” I said, letting myself smile. It felt good, having one piece of Jude close by.

Tony arched a black eyebrow. “Isn’t that the way you wanted it?”

Wrapping my scarf around my neck one more revolution, I walked up to him. “Damned if I know.”

“You women,” he said, shaking his head. “You play this tough game of pretending to know what you want, but as soon as we give it to you, you want the opposite.”

I smirked at him as I climbed the stairs and swiped my card key. No conversation needed to be had in the cold when a heated room was one card swipe away.

“You’re rather observant for a certified player,” I said, holding the door open.

Hoisting himself up, Tony weaved through the door and I followed behind him. He plopped into the first chair he came upon in the commons area. “This is some pretty nice digs,” he said, appraising the room.

Taking the seat next to him, I slid my mittens off. “Why are you here, Tony?” I asked, because he had yet to mention it and Tony and I had only been friends by association of Jude. We didn’t have the relationship that would justify him driving five hours to visit me.

didn’t move; he just stayed reclined, curled into that position, staring into the space I’d just been asleep in.

Finally, he sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

Moving the seat up, he exited the car. He waited for me as I came around the front, holding the door open and toeing at the ground.

Another goodbye I had to say to Jude, the semi-permanent kind, and I didn’t want to do it again.

“Bye,” I whispered, squeezing past him to crawl into the car. The word stuck in my throat, tasting acrid.

His arms suddenly wrapped around me and pulled me against him, surprising me. He held onto me, refusing to let me go, and I let him. In the past, Jude had always felt like the one holding me up when we were close like this, but now it felt like I was the one holding him up.

Nuzzling into my neck, his body shook once. I was going to start sobbing again if he didn’t let me go.

I was one breath breathed against my neck away from dropping my first tear when his arms lifted away, feeling like he was breaking through concrete to free them.

“Bye, Luce,” he whispered, pressing his lips into my temple before turning around and heading into the house.

He didn’t look back once, but I watched him the whole way until he’d disappeared into the house. Crawling into the car, I adjusted the driver’s seat and right before I pulled away, I glanced up into Jude’s bedroom window. He was taking up the window, watching me with the same eyes I’d just watched him with as he walked away from me.

Why did I do this to myself? Why didn’t I just put foot to pedal, not giving the window a second thought?

Of course I knew the answer to that. I loved him.

But sometimes, as I was learning, love just wasn’t enough.

A few weeks went by. A few weeks had never passed so slowly.

Jude kept his word, giving me the space I needed, not so much as sending a “Hey” text my way. Because I was who I was, one part of me was thankful to him for following my request, and another part was hurt. But because Jude was who he was, nothing or nobody told him what to do and a part of me knew if he really wanted to text me with a “Hey,” he would have.

The Tuesday following our indefinite separation, I’d woken up to a new set of heavy duty studs on the Mazda. There wasn’t a note or anything that would indicate who was the overnight tire fairy, but of course I knew. I didn’t know how he’d done it, but the gesture‌—‌knowing what they’d cost and the time it’d taken him to put them on‌—‌made me shed a fresh set of tears that morning after having a day’s break.

The next week, I awoke to a rose propped up on the windshield. A red rose.

I’d been reduced to one of those emotional girls I rolled my eyes at, leaving puddles of tears everywhere I went. It pissed me off to no end, but I went with it. Going without Jude felt like going through life without a compass, so if my body needed some tears to help it cope, I could handle it. So I tried to lose myself on the dance floor. I threw myself into dance, what had always been my go-to therapy and, for the first time, it fell short in the healing department. No matter how long or how hard I danced, the pain never muted. It never even dulled.

Thomas and I had danced at the winter recital last weekend and people were still talking about it. I’d refused to let myself look at the seat in the front and middle while we performed, because I knew if I found it empty or filled by someone else, I wouldn’t be able to make it through the rest of the performance.

I’d been right. As Thomas and I took our bows, I slipped and my eyes drifted to that one seat that had been overflowed by a beaming face this past year. It wasn’t tonight. A stone faced middle-aged man sat in Jude’s seat.

I had to cut the bowing and applause short because I wasn’t going to cry on stage. I still had some sense of propriety when it came to where and who I’d let see me cry.

In short, I was a mess.

Friday afternoon, a week before school let out for winter break, I was hurrying towards my dorm, hoping the faster I walked, the warmer I’d stay against the not-quite frigid temperatures. It was a nice thought.

“I don’t think you could look more pissed at the weather if you tried,” a familiar voice called out as I walked up the path to the dorm.

Lifting my head, I found Tony propped on the top step in front of the door, burrowed down in a big black down coat and smiling his Tony grin at me.

“Long time no see,” I said, letting myself smile. It felt good, having one piece of Jude close by.

Tony arched a black eyebrow. “Isn’t that the way you wanted it?”

Wrapping my scarf around my neck one more revolution, I walked up to him. “Damned if I know.”

“You women,” he said, shaking his head. “You play this tough game of pretending to know what you want, but as soon as we give it to you, you want the opposite.”

I smirked at him as I climbed the stairs and swiped my card key. No conversation needed to be had in the cold when a heated room was one card swipe away.

“You’re rather observant for a certified player,” I said, holding the door open.

Hoisting himself up, Tony weaved through the door and I followed behind him. He plopped into the first chair he came upon in the commons area. “This is some pretty nice digs,” he said, appraising the room.

Taking the seat next to him, I slid my mittens off. “Why are you here, Tony?” I asked, because he had yet to mention it and Tony and I had only been friends by association of Jude. We didn’t have the relationship that would justify him driving five hours to visit me.