i love you, i'm sorry

chapter three

The ride back was silent. I stared resolutely out the window, heels perched in my lap. I assumed, and hoped Gavin was doing the same. Though the sound of his breath was more than enough to keep my mind spinning and my heart thumping loudly in my ears until we exited the car and I was back in my beloved Honda Civic with Avril Lavigne bumping through the speakers. I couldn't help but peek behind me as Gavin disappeared from my view.

I wondered if his truck was still the same inside.

If he still had the absurd pink fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror, and it still smelled vaguely of peppermint from the copious amounts of gum he chewed. Wrigley's DOUBLEMINT. He kept a never-ending supply in the glove box. At least, he used to.

I wondered if he still refused to let anyone touch the speakers. Except for me, of course. I would not have survived solely listening to Ed Sheeran, the White Stripes, and the Smashing Pumpkins. I called it his 'sad man music'. Which he pretended to hate. Just like he pretended to hate it when I assumed control of the aux cord and played my music. Which included but was not limited to: Avril Lavigne, Gracie Abrams, Noah Kahan, and Lorde.

He drove me everywhere. Got his license first, because of the whole being born three months before me thing, but even after I got mine I preferred to sit in the passenger seat, queuing up music to make him groan. I spent so much time in his car that I had a blanket in the back in case I got cold, since he pumped the AC like a maniac. Gavin got it for me. It was purple and soft and perfect.

I wondered if he'd taken it out.

I wondered if he'd listened to any music but his own since I'd gone.

My stomach turned over at the thought of someone else in his car. Had he let them play their music? But then I remembered I wasn't supposed to be thinking about that, nor was I allowed to have any sort of feelings about Gavin one way or the other. I turned into my driveway reminding myself of this important rule. I removed my key from the ignition, a sudden weight settling over me.

The task of getting out of this car and entering my home felt insurmountable. I just wanted to lay down in my room, and pull the covers over my head, and not come out until it was time for our flight home. I didn't want to sit at the table while my mom put me through the Spanish Inquisition about the passing of the crowns and I pretended not to notice her psychoanalyzing my facial expressions when I said Gavin's name, and she pretended like it was normal that I had a new boyfriend. I didn't want to explain anything to Axel. I didn't want to awkwardly introduce him to anyone. I didn't want to skulk around town actively avoiding Gavin. I didn't want to keep thinking about him. And most of all, I didn't want to miss him.

Because I did. But I couldn't. I couldn't.

It was easier to forget when I wasn't here.

I was just tired.

I let out a large sigh, and set my blistered feet on the driveway. The pavement was cool and vaguely dirty, and I made sure to wipe my feet before I crossed over my threshold. My mother was sitting in the breakfast nook, pointedly turning a page of her book as if she hadn't been peering through the curtains waiting for me to get home.

I flopped down on the couch with a huff, staring at the ceiling. My stomach growled.

"Is that you Jujubee?" she sang innocently. As if she didn't know. "Are you back?"

I rolled my eyes, "I'm in here, Mom."

"Goodness," she exclaimed, "I didn't even hear you get home, I was so invested in my book."

"Uh huh," I muttered, hearing her footsteps. I mentally prepared myself for the conversation that was about to ensue. I felt the urge to smother myself with a couch cushion.