The Beautiful Truth

☆☆ 119

Barton had started to wonder if he could run a marathon. All he ever did anymore was run. Well, run and write pissy songs.

Ugh, the new album.

Whatever. It was done. Thank God.

He concentrated on reeling his thoughts in as his feet sprung across the sidewalks of campus. Just run.

In LA, possibly the most wretched city on earth, he ran the streets until he couldn't stand it anymore. Then he ran the beach. And then the beach at night.

That's when the beach had been right out the back door. Going to the beach here required a drive, so he'd stuck to the hills of campus.

That was a flimsy excuse and he knew it. He avoided Half Moon Bay and Ocean Beach because going there would wreck his soul all over again. He'd finally pushed through to the end of the piece-of-shit record, and that was all the self-inflicted torture he could bear.

God, the tour.

Just run, he reminded himself, cutting up Channing back toward the house.

He had to stop short and blink twice to make sure it was her. And it was—she was leaning against the railing of the deck on the front of some frat house, standing on the sidewalk, talking on her phone.

The way the lights were on this street, she'd never see him, and so for a frozen moment, Barton allowed himself to look.

He told Alex he went running so much because he couldn't stand being around him and Micki...and that was true, although his discomfort had more to do with being jealous than disgusted.

Barton stood, breathing heavily and not having realized until then that he'd been practically sprinting, almost behind a tree on the opposite side of the street.

She hung up, and stared at her phone for a second. Frowning, she bit her lower lip and Barton felt another crack inch its way across his heart.

She turned for the house and the party inside, and he took a deep breath, ready to continue. But she hesitated by the door, pulling her phone from her back pocket again.

He watched as the light came on in her eyes. She smiled, reading something, and turned for the door.

She slipped inside, somehow looking even smaller than she had when she was his, and suddenly, she was gone.

And that was why he went running so often. He hated her and loved her, all at the same time, and all he'd wanted since the last time he saw her...and been the worst version of himself in the history of his life...all he'd wanted was to see her again.

A few seconds.

At a distance.

If she was still there, he could press on. So he did—back to the house. Hopefully Alex and Micki would be out someplace already.

Pictures of You—the Cure song, not the Last Goodnight song—started playing on his iPhone, and with a very Sawyer-esque roll of his eyes, he was running again.