chapter thirty-three
Knox
Two Weeks Post Break-Up
“Hi, what can I get you?”
The cashier is much too fucking chipper for my liking. Makes me want to fucking slap the grin right off her face.
“Can I please get a large meat lover’s pizza and a pitcher of Bud Light?”
“Of course! Do you have your ID?”
“No.”
“Oh, well, then I won’t be able to serve you the beer.”
“Are you fucking kid—”
“Sorry about him,” Katie says, coming up behind me in a hurry. “Here’s mine. He left his at home.”
Looking between us, the chipper cashier must believe Katie because she says, “Sure thing! That’ll be eighteen dollars and sixty-three cents.”
Handing her my card, we make our way to an open table. I didn’t even want to come here, but Katie practically forced me, saying if I didn’t get my ass out of the house, she’d be forced to go to the guys for help in kicking my ass.
Katie is the only one who knows what went down with Aston and I a few weeks back, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. Well, the only one that I’ve told. I’m sure he’s told at least his brother. I didn’t even want to tell her, but she could tell something was up with me when I got home.
“What’s up your ass?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” I grumble, sounding very not fine.
“How are your new classes?”
“Fine, I guess. They’re all pretty boring. You?”
The chipper cashier comes to give us our pitcher of beer. Pouring us each a cup, I take a big gulp, waiting for Katie to speak.
“They’re good. You know I have an English class with both Weston and Cash?”
“Yeah, Weston told me. Professor Philips, right?”
“Yup,” she pops the P. “It’s a fun class so far. It’s creative writing.”
“That’s cool, Katie. Happy for ya.”
Sighing heavily, she puts her beer down and pins me with a look of concern. “I wish you’d talk to me already about what’s going on with you, Knox. You can say nothing is wrong until you’re blue in the face, but it’s clear you’re not at all okay. Please, fucking talk to me.”
Leaning over the table and speaking low so other people can’t hear, I say, “What do you fucking want me to say, Katie? Want me to tell you that I fucking miss him? That I hate myself for fucking it up? Or that I wish I wasn’t such a coward and could admit how much he fucking means to me?”
Laughing self-deprecatingly, I continue, “Or would you like me to admit that I see his face every fucking time I close my eyes, that I feel the ghost of his touch when I lie in bed every night? How about how I can’t even fucking jack off anymore because it makes me think of him and I end up fucking breaking down instead? Because it’s all true. All of it, and I fucking hate myself for it.”
I’ve never seen Katie look as uncomfortable as she looks right now. Clearly not expecting any of that from me, she is stunned silent. Picking up her beer, she eyes me while drinking it down. Our pizza arrives at that exact time, and we dish up in silence. I regret everything I just admitted to her. I thought it may help getting it off my chest, but it doesn’t. It cuts me open even more.
“Knox,” she finally says, barely above a whisper.
“Don’t. Just don’t, Katie. I’m fucking fine. Forget I said anything.”
“Before I drop it, I would like to say, for what it’s worth, I think if you were to tell him that, it may make a difference.”
“Not happening.”
“Okay. Well, you know I’m here for you if you need it.”
“I know, and I appreciate it, but I’m—”
“Fine,” she finishes for me. “Yes, I heard.”
The rest of lunch passes quietly. The air between us is tense, and I know it’s my fault, but I don’t know how to stop it. Talking about it hurts. Not talking about it hurts. Thinking about him hurts. Seeing him… fuck. We don’t have any classes together this semester, so I haven’t seen him that much, but the times I have just about killed me.
It’s ridiculous how much I started to care about him and not even realize it. He became such a constant in my life, and without him in it, I feel empty.
Walking home from the restaurant, I light up a cigarette and take a deep drag. My shoulders relax slightly as the smoke fills my lungs. Thinking back to what Katie said, maybe she’s right… I should try to talk to him. We haven’t spoken since he told me he wasn’t riding back to campus with me, and I haven’t tried either.
Unlocking my phone, I pull up our text thread and type out a message before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: Hey.
Me: Can we talk, please?
Taking another drag from my cigarette, I walk a little faster, wanting to get home. The weather is warming up, and summer’s right around the corner. If only that would be enough to lift my mood.
Walking through the front door, the living room is full. Anderson is over, and seeing his face makes my throat drop to my stomach. It’s annoying how much he looks like Aston, except he has brown hair, whereas Aston has blond. He has a chick sitting on his lap—Katie’s roommate’s sister, but I can’t remember her name. I remember Katie telling me that they’ve been seeing each other.
Cash is also here, with Weston, Branson, and Luca. I’m so not in the mood to socialize.
“What’s up, guys,” I mumble, heading to the kitchen to grab some water.
“Where you been?” Weston asks.
“Went to lunch with Katie.”
“We’re about to watch the game. Want to join us?”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, though.”
“What’s going on with you lately, man?” The question comes from Branson, and it’s not the first time he’s asked me.
My eyes find Anderson’s for some reason, and a look passes over his face that confirms he knows what happened between his brother and me. I wonder why he hasn’t told anyone anything.
“Nothing, bro. I’m fine, just tired. I’ll catch you guys later.”
Once in my room, I undress down to my boxers and climb under the covers. Grabbing my phone, I check to see if he responded, knowing full well he hasn’t. He’s read it, though.
Fuck.
Texting him was fucking stupid.
It’s been two damn weeks. I want to be able to function without obsessing over where he’s at or what he’s doing, without wondering if he’s thinking about me too or if he’s distraught over this, like I am.
I’m acting like a high school girl who just broke up with her first boyfriend.
Fuck me.