The rest of the week was as agonising as Wednesday. Particularly in art class, when Lloyd was sitting so close that I could hear him breathing.
I think our thighs touched on Thursday.
I think I may have stopped existing.
It was as if I simply wasn't allowed to be apart from him. Which was totally whack and I call absolute BS on, by the way. The tugging was too insistent, it controlled me like a puppet on a string.
I had sleepwalked to the monastery.
Regaining consciousness in the middle of the night, stranded on the dark, empty streets of Ninjago City while wearing my adventure time pyjamas wasn't exactly welcome, but at least I knew the way like the back of my hand.
Too bad it was late autumn and late autumn was fucking cold. And raining.
If I wasn't sick before, I definitely was now.
And my bare feet ached.
I didn't tell anyone when I stumbled into school on Friday morning, afraid that the information would somehow find its way to Lloyd and he would, subsequently, freak the hell out. As is, he didn't like me walking by myself at night (and to be fair, neither did my parents). He knew best about the bad sort that could be lurking in the shadows, and if somebody attacked me while I was unconsciously shuffling through the desolate streets...
I've heard stories.
It had been a swift jog home.
So, I kept quiet while I suffered through the cold I had accumulated after my stroll through the city in the middle of a storm. The tugging had only gotten worse. I wondered if Lloyd had noticed its rise in activity, too.
At least it calmed down when I took my seat beside him in class, sniffling away while the storm continued to batter against the glass of the windows.
Lloyd gave me tissues wordlessly, a gesture so simple. I tried my hardest not to cry despite the domesticity of it as I quietly thanked him.
It didn't really work out all that well.
Basically, I was a hot mess.
And not the good kind. The emotionally unstable kind. The kind that really wanted to talk to Lloyd but also the kind that was convinced the world would end if I decided to look at him again.
And just the thought of talking to him?
That would be something I couldn't handle without losing what was left of my slowly dwindling sanity.
The tugging begged me to talk to him but the pain was still fresh from the revelation on Saturday. The revelation that 'hm, maybe Lloyd isn't such a great boyfriend.' The 'mm. He lied to me.' The 'oh. He really doesn't trust me, does he?'
And damn, that stings. It was like a slap to the face right after being punched in the same spot. It was like being tossed through a wood chipper right into a pool of lemon juice. The pain was sharp, it soaked right through. It stabbed me through the chest and hoisted my limp body up like a trophy.
I was so head over heels for him that I was blinded by my own infatuation. I should've seen the signs, I should've noticed them sooner. I should've pressed harder into making him communicate rather than giving him more and more space. It was a building bomb just waiting to explode, and now that it had and-
And I still really miss him.
That pain was worse.
I miss his stupid smile and his dumb laugh. I miss his Christmas-coloured eyes and his blond hair. I miss his voice. I miss his touch. I miss his words and his warmth and-
It was agonising. It was torture.
But our trust had been shattered, so what could I do? Blindly forgive him? Forget it ever happened? That would only enable a toxicity that I could never get rid of.
I didn't want to destroy us simply because I was weak.
So I kept my distance while I sorted through my emotions. I ignored the way we silently walked from class to the cafeteria for lunch together, ignored the way his arm brushed my shoulder as we walked through the surging crowd. Ignored it even though my heart was in full crisis mode.
I ignored his sad stare when I reluctantly hurried to Claire and Aaliyah's table and quietly sat on the outside of the group. Recently, it felt as if I'd been growing apart from them but it could be just my mopey attitude making me imagine things.
I was content to pretend to listen, but then the conversation turned to me.
