Finding the Pure Note

That First Tear Stain

The only person I was deceiving here was myself if I thought Fletcher would just... Catch his breath, organise his thoughts and overcome this shit on the drive here. I mean... Is it ever that easy for anyone? I know Fletcher better than this. I know he has anxiety problems, but I've never seen him go this quiet. It scares me.

It's too damn early for this. The windows are still fogged with condensation, which the heater has valiantly fought to erase, but the early morning stillness is a place for contemplation and a chill so painful it hurts to breathe. We sit in the car for a full minute before anyone moves, Fletcher swinging his door open without a word, not looking back as he climbs out. I'm paralysed, tongue-tied, and I reach for him too late. The door slams, almost crushing my fingers, and I clench them tight, feeling queasy and... Strange.

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I throw open my door, Hunter's hand ripping me back into my seat before I can throw myself after Fletcher.

"You really fucked up, didn't you?"

I scoff. "Language, dickhead."

Hunter wrinkles his nose, his face a familiar picture of stoic apathy, and he clambers out the car, his tennis racket thumping into the roof, the tail end scraping the door. 

"You little fuc—" I trail off when I remember Fletcher. "Shit."

I slam my door, start running, curse when I realise I forgot to lock my car, run back and do that, and then I go full-on mad bolt, feet scraping the gravel to catch up with the boy I may have just lost for good if I don't fix this quick.

"Fletch," I plead as I reach him, grabbing his arm. I half-expect him to wrench himself free, and when he doesn't, I don't know whether to feel relief or concern. I shouldn't have to feel bad about holding my boyfriend's arm. "Come on, Fletch. How long are we gonna be like this?"

He fixes me with an empty stare and then gives a suggestion of a shrug.

I let him go, but I know this isn't over. I knew it was only a matter of time before I said something that would send us hurtling back a few steps, but love isn't always easy. It's freaking tough, and you've gotta work at it. Dad always said that and I recall how his infatuation with mum turned into something more, and it was only his persistent dogging of her—nothing creepy or OTT—that he finally snagged her. It boggled me then, as it does now. Mum, stern and a stickler for order, married to a free spirit, but perhaps it's like they say about opposites attracting. She needs his easygoing nature to allow her to let loose, and he needs her to make sure he doesn't fly too close to the sun.

"I'll see you at recess," I mutter as he begins to walk off. When he's out of earshot, I add, "hopefully."

I watch him go, but I'm not alone. Hunter is waiting in the shadow of a tree, watching me with a pitying expression. He emerges from his stalker spot, approaching me slowly. I'm waiting for more taunts about how useless and idiotic I am, but when he reaches me, he just stares. After a while, he sighs, pats me on the back and strolls off, the pitying angel come to... What? Judge me? Tell me he knew this was gonna happen because I'm such a colossal fuck-up? But you know what? Fuck it. I don't need to let this ruin everything.

Sighing, I veer left, away from the school, towards one of my favourite haunts, retrieving a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it for that sweet relief.

And I thought Fletcher was my cure.

*****

No. Fletcher is my cure. And I can't lose him. I'll give him his space, but this is my second cigarette today and I can't avoid Chelsea for too long. She'll find me, no matter where I hide, and then... then things won't be so pretty.