BASELINE ✸ Art Donaldson

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Eighteen. Lord, I'm Tired

            ONCE TATUM HAD FINALLY GOTTEN PATRICK TO GO AWAY FOR A MINUTE, she slipped back inside her bedroom and began changing into a new set of clothes, ones that prepared her for her match today.

Art comes out of the closet, his smile fading with the look of anger on Tatum's face. "Where are you going?"

"Can you go?" Her voice is cold and uncontrolled, her mind and body swarmed with unforeign feelings and she was so tired of feeling them. Yet, here she stood in a mind-blurring anger. "I have to get ready."

He falters, her opposing disarray of emotions confusing him. "I don't understand."

She walks past him, careful not to even bother hitting his shoulder as she storms in the closet for her bag.

It's like the day Art Donaldson lost the love of his life all over again.

"Tate." He reaches for her hand but she doesn't react, just slings the white bag over her shoulder as she walks away from him. "Talk to me."

"You're married." she couldn't even believe her own words... she couldn't believe that even after all these years, her heart beat for only Art and his only for Tashi. His wife.

"She left me—"

"You're married." She says, tears threatening her big brown eyes as she looks up at him, her hand lingering over the door handle.

He stands there mouth agape and eyes pools of emotion.

"You have a daughter." Her voice breaks and anger fuels her body once more because it isn't even 9 in the morning and she's already ridiculed herself with feeling so heavily for her high school boyfriend.

"She left me." He repeats, taking another step closer to her.

"I'm not a homewrecker."

It's a funny, sad thing, actually. All those years ago Tashi was the one to tell the boys that — Art especially. It feels different on Tatum's tongue. Foreign.

And now, even thirteen years later, Tashi still carries the same effect over Tatum and she hates it.

Tashi is always in the back of her mind like some cruel voice shouting at her with every waking action.

"Please," Art looks like a man that lays at her feet — at her mercy. Like a lost puppy or a follower of religion. "Tatum, you're the oxygen that I breathe."

Tatum gives him a sad smile, her thumb caressing the small of his cheek as he looks up at her. "You've lived without me for thirteen years, Art."

They both know what she means.

But neither of them like it.

A tear of Tatum's own falls upon Art's face and she wipes it carefully, looking into his blue eyes one final time before walking out of that room.

         "WHAT'S UP WITH YOU?" Aaron asks for a second time. Tatum didn't hear the first.

She shakes her head but doesn't reply.