All That and a Bag of Chips

Chapter 20

As their eyes collided, Collin felt the wind knock out of him from the impact.

"Oh, I didn't know you were here," Avery said sheepishly, dropping her eyes to her feet and tucking a loose strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

"It's my room," he deadpanned. Why was she there? Right outside his doorway?

"I really need to... Do you mind if I use your bathroom?" Her voice was tentative and her eyes glanced back at him, pleading.

He hesitated, but she looked so pathetic. "Be my guest." He stepped back to let her walk by, then he quickly closed the door behind her. It was one thing for the masses to crowd into the common areas of the house, but he wasn't inviting them into his private quarters. He guessed the bathroom off the hallway was occupied, and if more people knew about his en suite, his room would quickly be overflowing with strangers.

He stayed in his room and waited for Avery to be done. Heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on, then off. The bathroom door opened and then they were alone in his room.

They'd been alone in this room more times than he could count. Did homework together while Trading Spaces aired on the TV in the background. Binge-watched his DVDs of Star Wars while eating popcorn with truffle oil and rosemary. Had fucked on the bed that was now just feet away from them.

But then she went and fucked Gina and fucked him over and fucked it all to seven hells.

It was so surreal having her in front of him, in the flesh, and not in his memory. The hastily healed wounds of his grief split open inside his chest. Fresh blood filled his lungs, drowning him in sorrow.

Not that he would let her see that. He forced himself to keep calm. Forced his features to remain as placid as the surface of a lake on a windless day.

"I–I hope you're doing okay." Avery said, the words ringing hollow in his ears.

"Never better." He molded his lips into a smile as his eyes scanned her, this person who he so recently loved. She was wearing her usual converse, jeans, and a black v-neck t-shirt, but something was different. Just peeking out from the edge of her shirt, right under her left collarbone, was a black mark that he didn't know. 

He must have been staring, because her hand flew to the spot. "I got a tattoo."

"You–you got a tattoo?" When they were together, she'd never mentioned wanting a tattoo. Not once. Not even in passing. Who was this person standing in front of him?

She hooked her index finger to the collar of her shirt and brought it down, revealing the silhouette of three birds taking flight. "It's to show that my heart will always soar."

A wave of nausea threatened to unanchor his dinner from his stomach.

He had known her body for six years. Had mapped all of her intimacies. He knew she had a freckle on her right breast, a birthmark on her left hip, and a scar on her elbow from falling off her bike in fourth grade. His hands knew the spot behind her knee where she was most ticklish and his tongue could always find the sensitive place behind her ear that caused her to moan. But now there was a monument etched into her flesh that he had no knowledge of.

It was like the first time he had gone back home after college and discovered that his favorite restaurant had been shut down and replaced by a chain burger joint. Only this was a thousand times worse.

He swallowed hard. "Interesting," he remarked, and then changed the subject. "Were you in the show?"

She let go of her shirt collar, her hand swinging limply back down to her side. "No, but Gina was."