Rules of the Game

Chance

When Isabel Herrera walked into my dorm room this afternoon, horns ablaze and words already pouring out of her mouth, I did not expect for those words to be "I'm breaking up with you."
 
Judging from the look on her face, she seemed to have expected me to have expected those words. The way her eyes narrowed at me and her words went from English to Spanish, the way they always did when she was upset, told me she was...well, upset.
 
Now, I don't know much Spanish; I had spent a good portion of that high school class in the back making out with some girl whose name I couldn't remember. I do, however, know quite a few Spanish insults.
 
For instance, puta.

  When my former girlfriend muttered, "Los hijo de puta" under her breath, I knew none of those words before puta were good.

"God! This is where you say something, Chance!" Isabel screeched, her eyes almost bugging out of her head.

  Oh, English; now there are some words I do know.

  I ran a hand across the back of my neck and stared at her. "I'm...sorry?"

  Isabel let out a disgruntled groan and sank into the spare chair across from me, her head in her hands.

  "I'm just a little confused, that's all." I continued rubbing my neck, trying to think of what could possibly have led up to this moment.

  Isabel Herrera and I had been good, great even. We worked well together, we looked good together; everyone loved us together.

  I took her on dates, I bought her flowers, and those stupid stuffed plushies she liked. I liked to think our sex was above average and I always made sure she was satisfied.

  I was a great boyfriend.

Isabel sighed and raked her hands through her dark hair before lifting her head up to look me in the eyes. "You're confused..." She made a sound that sounded like a choking dog trying to laugh.

  Within two seconds she was on her feet and looking down at me, hands on her hips. "I told you I loved you and you said "thanks, Isa, that's awesome" and now you want to say you're confused?"

  The corner of my mouth threatened to pull itself up into a smirk as I thought back to when Isabel had said she was in love with me. Granted, she had said it when we were mid makeout and had drunk at least a third of our body weight in Pink Whitney.

  So instead of laughing, I opted for, "I don't know what you wanted me to say!"

  "Uh, an "I love you too" would have sufficed, DeLuca!" Her gaze narrowed again and her lips were pulled back into a thin line. "Do you know how embarrassing that was? To finally tell the guy you've been dating for almost a year that you love him and for him to essentially give you a pat on the back?"

  Honestly? No.

  "Do you love me, Chance?" These words were just above a whisper and I winced at the pain in her voice.

  I didn't want to lie to her, I had never been in love. Hell, I'm not even sure I believed in it. But I didn't want to lose her.

  "Isa, I...you know how I feel about that. I told you when we first started going out." My brain scrambled, trying to find the right words. I was treading in dangerous territory here, and one wrong word would be the end of it all.

  "I don't know; I'm sorry, Isa, I am." I ran my hands down my legs, the jean fabric rubbing against my sweaty palms. "I don't want to lie to you—"

  "So you don't," she interrupted, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "After everything, you still aren't capable of loving another human being?"

  She turned with a scoff and shouldered her purse. "And here I was thinking you were more than just your looks. You're going to end up sad and alone, Chance, if you can't figure this shit out."