Halfway Girl (Girl 2.5)

Not once did I think about how my own desires were selfish.

Weren’t they, though?

This afternoon with Jerimiah was the longest I’ve gone without thinking of Natalie. Or considering what she would want. I let her go for so, so long.

I pull in a deep breath and hold it, closing my eyes and conjuring her image. It’s alarming to be disconnected from her for an extended length of time. I don’t think I’ve gone longer than a matter of minutes since she died and I’m immediately relieved when I can visualize her. Tension follows, though. Rapidly. The calm I fell asleep and woke with is gone and all I can do is let the strain overtake me. The strain of keeping both of us alive, fighting to do it. If I hadn’t been so thoroughly robbed of the tension, I might never have noticed its severity.

“It’s not good,” I whisper, glancing over at her picture frame. “She wouldn’t want this, would she?”

No, she wouldn’t. Natalie was a tension reliever by nature. Always dancing, always forcing everyone to join in family game nights and impromptu plays she made up in her head.

Those memories of her are how I should keep her alive. Not by denying myself happiness on her behalf. I’m tarnishing the person she was by only reaching halfway for what I want. What I need.

Who I need.

“Jerimiah.”

With a hiccup, I throw my legs over the side of the bed, searching the dim room for something wearable. Realizing I’m sticky from sex, I make a frustrated sound, grab my shower caddy and truck it to the bathroom. It’s empty for once, which is weird. The dorm bathroom is usually Grand Central Station. Where is everyone?

Football game.

They’re at the football game.

I should be there, too. This man who’s come to mean so much to me in a short space of time is on the field and I’m not there to support him. Even worse, he doesn’t know that I’m all in on this relationship. For chrissakes, I told him I wanted to be friends.

“Idiot,” I mutter, washing the shampoo out of my hair. My heart remains in my throat the whole time I dry off and throw on something from my roommate’s closet, because I have nothing clean and desperate times call for desperate measures. Which is how I come to be running across campus in a denim romper and combat boots. God help me if I have to pee.

My wet hair whips out behind me as I traverse the quad, sprinting in the direction of the stadium and my path takes me past the mural. I don’t plan on stopping at first, but something catches my eye and I slow to stop, my heart galloping in my ears.

My section of the mural has been repainted. Terribly. That’s how I know it’s Jerimiah’s work. He has painted the two tree branches that represent me and Natalie, but there’s a difference. Instead of climbing alongside one another, never joining, they’ve merged into one stronger branch and a pink flower has blossomed at the top.

A small sound leaves my mouth and I brace a hand against my chest.

I can honor Natalie’s memory by being stronger, like two branches joined. Taking the bond we shared and making it something new and beautiful. Something uniquely mine. Maybe I’ll join the sorority, maybe I won’t. But it will have to be my decision. Every decision I make will be mine, starting now.

I put a hand on the wall, right on top of the blossom, and I finally, finally, let my sister go in peace. She’ll never leave me, but I’m giving myself permission to grow into something of my own making.

A cheer livens the evening air and I glance ahead to where the stadium sits, glowing like a beacon. I’ve never been to a college football game and I have no idea what to expect. Definitely not shirtless men in red body paint chanting on their way through the security line, the scent of beer and barbeque clinging to their skin. Impatience claws at me while waiting for the people in front of me to purchase tickets. The sounds coming from the other side of the enormous curved wall tell me the game is already well underway. I don’t even have a plan once I get inside. I can’t exactly rush the field, but this urgency to see Jerimiah is fierce. Without even telling him very much about Natalie, he saw right inside me. He knew exactly what I needed to feel liberated without the guilt and I can’t wait to tell him. To hold him and be seen by him.

Because I see him, too.

As soon as I get inside and clear the tunnel, there he is on the sideline, towering several inches above everyone. His shoulder pads transform him from a giant to a freaking Transformer. Where his teammates never seem to stop moving with nervous energy, he remains completely still, his hands hanging from the neckline of his jersey, waiting for his turn on the field. And damn, those pants make his butt look amazing. Good enough to bite.