Clever Girl

Chapter 40: like pain has a conscience

I was never really good at finding inner peace. Even when I was younger, and the world hadn't yet expanded into a never-ending field of chaos, my mind would always race at a thousand kilometers per hour, overanalyzing and forever tired.  When I turned thirteen, I had finally figured out how to read each tumultuous thought, to trace them back to their roots. But tracing roots is one thing - understanding how to create separate, stable islands for those roots is a whole other challenge, one I'm still trying to master. 

Standing here in front of Jay, having him say these words, I can't help but feel more chaotic. Another island that won't remain stable.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

I cross my arms across my chest, making sure he understands just how annoyed I am. "I don't know what to say. You promised me you'd never bring this up again, and yet here we are." 

"Well I lied, okay? I tried to pretend like it doesn't bother me, but it's like you're always there. Your face, the way you are, all of it. . . you frustrate me, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it," he says, equally annoyed, then takes a step closer, "Tell me what to do. Tell me you hate me, that you were never into me, and maybe that'll knock some sense into me."

His relentlessness might be sweet if I wasn't so angry over this stupid ultimatum he's set. I'm mad at him for asking me to choose right now. I'm mad at myself for allowing it to go this far, for letting him fall in love with me, for not being strong enough to end it months ago. Most of all, I'm mad that I can't be with him, that I can't have a normal relationship and devote myself to someone the way people are supposed to. It's like I've separated myself from such realities so far that I can no longer recognize them. I can't process them the way others might. 

"You frustrate me too, all the time. And I don't hate you - I can't tell you that I was never into you, or even that I'm not into right now. But Jesus Christ, I've said it a million times and I'll say it a million more - I can't give you want you want. I wish I could, and that everything was normal and easy and I didn't have a thousand things to worry about every Goddamn second of my life." There's a dreary, uncomfortable ache that creeps its way up my stomach and into my throat. My face feels warm, and I can sense the tears welling up. It's not for Jay. It's for the realization that my life is a sad disappointment, one that I created. I have to leave this scene before I start bawling. The last thing I want is Jay's pity. "And you're not in love with me. Whatever it is you're feeling, it's a trick - chemicals or some expectation of what you should have, that you've projected onto me. If you really knew me, like really really, you wouldn't be here right now."

"Wow, okay, so is this what you do anytime anyone tries to get close to you? Totally shut down what they're trying to tell you? It's not like I'm enjoying this either, princess. I'm stuck on you, and for some reason I can't walk away," he says, stepping closer, but suddenly I'm not sure if he's whispering or screaming. It's like I've somehow removed myself from this moment, and I'm overlooking it with both confusion and slight dread.

A dull, aching numbness starts to spread in my heart, outwards into my arms, through my body and into my mind. Then all at once there's intense pressure, like someone is sitting on my chest with such force that I can't breathe. I reach up and place one hand on my heart, trying to steady my nerves, to understand what's happening to me. Breathe, Veronica. Breathe.

"You need to go," I say, though I'm unsure if I even said it. It's like my words are struggling to get through, like pain has a conscience and an awful motive to suppress everything else. It's so severe that it's spilled into my eyes and made it so everything around me appears faded. I don't know if Jay is calling my name, or even still standing in front of me. What I do know is that I need to lie down before I fall. I need to leave this moment. 

"Veronica, are you okay? Let me help you inside."

"No! Please just leave. We can talk about this later."

"But you look like you're going to faint. I can help you."

"I said no. Leave!" I rush away from him and to the front door. I don't know if he's following me. I can hear steps echoing nearby, but maybe that's just my mind manifesting the pain into sounds. I swing the door open, run inside, shut it behind me quickly, and run up to my room. I don't stop for a second to see if he's managed to slide inside the house, or if he's still outside, possibly perplexed by my odd behaviour. 

In the quiet and comfort of my bedroom, I find solace. I lie on bed, my hand still on my heart. Still breathing. 

My eyes closed and my mind reeling with confusion, I try to think of something. Anything. I visualize my parents. I see them happy and healthy, and able to take care of themselves. I picture myself at a university. Any university. Studying anything I like. I see fields of fresh grass and other students sitting against trees, reading or engaged in conversation with one another, and I see myself with them. Has it been a minute? Or five? Or an hour with me lost in reverie, desperate to contain the strain. 

As I lay there reeling, I reach for my phone and call Will. 

"Ronnie! I was just thinking about you - have like six more papers to give you."

"Will, can you distract me? Tell me a story or something. Not about school or papers. Tell me anything else," I say, shaky and breathless.

"Hey, what's going on? You don't sound okay. Is it your parents? Did something happen?"

"No, nothing happened. I . . . I just need you to distract me." I'm not sure what prompted me to call him. Maybe it's just to hear the voice of someone I trust. Maybe I need that voice to walk me back to some sanity. 

"Hmm," he starts, but then there's silence.

I don't want him to worry. But I do want him to help. "My heart feels tight. Please just talk to me."

"Okay, well . . . the stuff we've been making, and the formula you gave me, it's really taking off. I managed to find a place with no windows, so no chance some asshole can take photos from the outside. I'll take you there, show you how I'm gonna set up everything. It's not definite yet, but maybe this could turn into a legit business, like we hire more people, get a storefront. You and me. We'll be the owners, the CEO's, and we can run this shit. Wouldn't that be awesome? And then in five years, we'll run the whole damn town."

"I thought you wanted to go to Florida, go to college." 

"I still might. I can have more than one goal."

The pain has subsided slightly, but it's not enough for me to sit up. "Tell me something else. Tell me about a book you really liked or a movie you saw recently."

"I used to be really into comic books and graphic novels. Moore's Watchmen was my favourite, and there's this one part from it that I really liked. It goes like - In an era of stress and anxiety, when the present seems unstable and the future unlikely, the natural response is to retreat and withdraw from reality, taking recourse either in fantasies of the future or in modified visions of a half-imagined past. Or something like that. I just want you to know that I'm here, in whatever way you need me to be, and you don't need to hide or withdraw."

A small smile appears on my lips, and though the ache persists, there some lightness that has made its way into my soul. "That's amazing."

"You're amazing."

"Stop, you're making me blush."