folklore: the novel

5. my tears ricochet

"Did you hear? She had to be excused from second period too because she was so upset."

James hangs his head, wondering if the gossiping girls are dense or purposely trying to hurt him. If it's the latter, he wouldn't blame them.

He wouldn't blame anyone for wanting to hurt him—he's in full agreement that he deserves all the pain he's brought upon himself in the aftermath of his foolish actions and, even then, it doesn't seem like nearly enough—but he hates that Betty is dealing with the same. Worse, actually, if the stories he's heard thus far are true.

She's been crying because she's so hurt that she can't contain it. Because he hurt her—apparently bad enough that she had to skip first and second period, as he's just learned, and skipping is not something Betty does.

At least, she never had to until James came into her life.

But, luckily for her, she was able to push him out just as fast as she'd welcomed him in. The remainder of the weekend had proven that Betty could excel at shutting him out, if she so wished. He'd got nothing but radio silence from her, even managing to avoid him all morning at school.

Of course, it didn't help matters that he'd smashed his phone to pieces when he'd gotten home that miserable day so if she'd tried to contact him since, James wouldn't have even known.

But they have to talk. Too many words have been left unsaid between them.

James had given her the weekend, had given her time and space. He hadn't been able to properly explain before, letting his anger overtake his shame and sadness because that's the only way he was ever taught to respond to unsatisfactory feelings, but he regrets the way his words shoot to kill when he's mad and he... James has to let her know at least that much. That he hates himself for hurting her the way he did.

He'd been determined he was going to find her by lunch, searching through every nook and cranny of the library if that's what it took, but... The more he hears, the less it seems like a good idea.

He wants Betty to know how sorry he is but not if explaining, not if facing him, is just going to cause her more pain in the long-run.

Haven't I already done enough fucking damage? The thought rings through his head just as shrill as the bell signaling the end of third period.

Forget it all. He should just head home now, save her the trouble of having to worry about accidentally seeing him. It's not like his drunk excuse of a father would ever be aware enough to check anything the school sent in the mail concerning his attendance anyway—

"You!"

Sharp nails dig into James' left bicep, flinging him around with surprising strength... though it's the furious brunette glaring up at him that's the real surprise. He never imagined Augustine would ever wish to speak to him again, another person he'd senselessly hurt in his attempt to numb his own feelings, but when she finishes dragging him into an unlocked custodial closet, it starts to become clear.

"You giant, giant prick, you didn't tell me you had a girlfriend!"

"Well, I don't anymore so I don't see how it matters much now."

The closet is dark, the only light leaking in from the crack running along the bottom of the door, but Augustine's glare is potent enough that he doesn't have to see it to know it's there. He can feel it, so vicious it's like it's burning holes straight into his skin.

"You don't see how it matters?" Not so much a question as a venom-coated slew of words. "You don't see how it matters? Please, tell me you're not actually that obtuse, James."

He doesn't grace her with an answer. If James has learned anything by now, it's that giving a woman a stupid answer is typically worse than no answer at all. At least if he says nothing, his words can't be held against him.

Besides, at this point, she's already mad enough for all three of them and he can only hope that after she flays him alive, the custodians find his lifeless body in here before it starts to rot.

"Of course it matters! Because you did have a girlfriend! You had a girlfriend and I kissed you because I didn't know! I didn't know because you," she jabs one of those sharp nails into his chest, "didn't tell me. I told you I was new here. I don't know anyone or who they're with and you—"

Her voice cracks on the last word, and she instantly clams up. His other senses heightened by the darkness, James hears the shaky breath she takes as she tries to calm herself down.

Maybe he shouldn't have even showed up at all today. If he did, Betty might've still cried her way through her morning. Or she might not have. Same for Augustine, who he most definitely didn't expect to break down in a musty cleaning supply closet and he's almost positive she didn't plan this either.

Maybe it would be better for everyone if he just... wasn't here. Or anywhere. Ever.

"James," she finally continues, interrupting his dark thoughts. "Look, I wouldn't have done that if I'd known. I just... I want to make that clear. I'm not that kind of person. You... you looked so lonely that night and I guess, with the move and everything, I've been lonely too so—"

"We can keep each other company now."

What... is he saying? But before James can attempt to suck the words back in, it's already too late. Too late and too much.

"What, let me guess: now that your girlfriend left you—as she should've—you're just so obliging that you're willing to pick me up as the second option?"

"At least you're an option."

Augustine takes an audible step back, away from him, accidentally knocking into the door. She lets his words linger in the darkness, in the silence that he's come to absolutely loathe the past few days.

Though, when she does speak again, he finds that he also loathes the way her words cleave him in half. As if her obvious disgust isn't his fault for letting his bitterness get the best of him once again.

"You... really are such a prick."

She opens the door, the light spilling in so suddenly and all at once that he has to squint, but he can still make out the way she shakes her head, her long ponytail swaying with the motion. Sparing one last disappointed look his way, Augustine leaves James alone.

Alone with his bitterness and spite and guilt over his own mistakes. Why does he take it out on everyone around him when what he really wants is to punish himself?

He is just a fuckup of epic proportions recently, it seems. And now he can add "prick" to his growing list of said fuckups.

And, with that enticing thought, he too exits the closet and doesn't stop walking until he's in his car, driving away from the school grounds altogether. Away from the two girls he hurt—both unintentional but neither any less severe than the other.

But the silence in his car does little to alleviate the heaviness in his mind. If anything, it only exacerbates it.

So, he drives. And drives. And drives. Until he's unsure where he is and the thoughts blur together in a mix of passing trees and ocean and nightfall. Until the thoughts slow into just one, solid sentence. Repeating again and again in his mind.

Maybe everyone would be better if he just weren't here at all.