The Cascading Waves of Caden Lee

21

SCARLETT PARKER

"Rough morning?" I grimace, eyeing Cadens unwashed hair, rumpled clothing and deep-set eye bags. I could've sworn he didn't look like this two days ago, is something wrong with him?

"You could say that," he grunts, pulling his blue binder out of our locker and shoving it in his worn-down book bag. Glancing over, his brown eyes lock onto me, "Look, are you free this afternoon? We could just hang out, maybe I'll even teach you how to cook a thing or two."

Im shocked, that's not what I was expecting him to say, but the erratic beating of my heart says that I'm not exactly unhappy of this outcome. Trying not to grin as widely as I'm tempted to, I nod enthusiastically, "yeah, for sure! Your house or mine?"

His eyes rip away from mine, jaw clenching and shoving his pencil case into his bags pocket. "Uhm, whatever's fine with me." He says, voice all weird. I shrug, not thinking anything of it, "Well, we could just do it at mine? My moms not supposed to be home, anyways."

He almost looks relieved; voice breathy as he nods and tells me he'll text me when he's coming over later. And he shuts the locker door and walks away with a wave, and I try to stop myself from jumping up and down in excitement. It feels like just yesterday when I sat down next to a stranger with tousled brown hair and tan skin, and the thought that he's no longer a stranger but a friend makes my heart warm in ways that I can't explain.

All I know is that I haven't felt this alive since my world came crashing down.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Scarlett, he says. And I listen with utmost concentration, eyes hastily studying every detail of his face. The slope of his nose, the droop of his eyes, the subtle downturn of his lips and the way his pale skin seems almost lifeless.

What? I snap, but I can't control it. I'm sorry, I want to say, I wish I would have listened. But I don't. I'm helpless, trapped inside a memory I won't ever be able to change again. Studying the face of a boy I'll only ever have in stories of had, not have.

I had an older brother.

Not have, not anymore.

I'll do anything to be able to say have again.

I'm sorry. His voice is weak, nearly incomprehensible, but I can understand it just fine. I brace myself for what I know will happen next, because before I know it my bodies lunging forward and my palm meets skin. It stings, but not as much as his words did.

I remember thinking, no you aren't, if you were 'sorry' than you wouldn't have fucking ruined everything. Would I still say that given the chance? I don't think I'll ever know. Do i even want to know?

He says nothing, only stares, and I know he probably didn't feel it. Trapped in a momentary state of bliss until he awakes with an ache in his cheek and a yellowing bruise.

I still don't know why exactly I did that. He didn't do anything wrong, and yet I still felt as if he had ripped my world in two.

I remember the harrowing guilt I felt the next day, when I came home from Vicky's to find Nate hunched over the bathroom sink icing his cheek, lips set in what I only know as overwhelming disappointment in yourself. And when his eyes met mine, the ever growing wall between us was sturdier than ever. Tense silence was what seemed like our favorite sound, it was what we seemed to only communicate in those days.

I handed him the bruise cream stashed in our bathroom cabinet, and I walked away.

I never did accept his apology.