Ophelia Study No. 1

Chapter Eight

  I figured she was done with me. After how I'd treated her, I would be lying if I said I expected her to ever come back. To this day, I still can't think of a logical reason as to how she ended up back under my thumb. But sure enough, there she went, pressed there tightly, but somehow still comfortably, at least enough to not object.

It was less than a week later than I heard muffled pings against my window. Gazing out from bed, I had been able to make out nothing but night sky. The moment I had rolled over, the taps persisted, carrying on for minutes and annoying me to the point that I got out of bed. Stumbling in the darkness to my window, I opened it loudly, squinting out before me.

"Down here."

Peering below me, I saw no one else but Emily Kimura, shivering in the cold. Her coat was pulled tightly around her as she shivered, her glasses reflecting the falling snow. "Can I come in?"

We sat down at my dinner table. Neither of us cared what would happen if my mother woke up, and I knew for a fact that she slept like a brick. It'd take a lot more than two teenagers talking to wake her up.

I'd asked, "What are you doing here?"

She seemed hurt; she almost flinched at my cold regard. What can I say, I could've worded it better, but at that point in time, Emily's feelings were at the bottom of my concerns. "I... I needed to talk to you."

I leaned forward. "So talk."

She'd chuckled uneasily, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. I stonewalled her, barely even blinking as I stared her down, only strengthening her apparent discomfort. "I'm sorry about the other night..."

"You mean when you walked out on me?" Of course, it was totally like me to paint her as the bad guy.

"Yeah, about that," she'd proceeded, her voice small. "I'm really sorry. I'd like for us to stay together."

"Why?"

The question came out as harsh as everything else I'd said to her, but this time, it didn't really bother her, no; she didn't even blink. She sat there, wordlessly, not even looking at me; her eyes cast low to the ground, lashes full and dark. She was utterly disgusted.

I never got an answer. She returned to my arms the following day as though nothing had happened, pretending that everything was fine. But everything wasn't; I hadn't merely broken her heart, no, I'd ripped it to bloody pieces with my bare hands and was then manipulating the ribbons left of it, tying them and twisting them however I liked. And she let me. She was unarguably the biggest doormat I had ever met. If she would've had the slightest of a backbone, it might've saved her. There would still be harm done, but there would no longer be a casualty in the war that was our relationship.

We spent our afternoons lounging around in vacant lots, listening to whatever was on the radio, and smoking. I wish I could say that we had deep discussions of our hopes and fears like we used to at the coffee shop, but we didn't. Really all we did was silently lie there until it was time to go home, which was whenever Emily got all weepy and sad for no apparent reason. That was my signal to drop her off at her driveway with only a pat on the back.

It was one night that she told me she hated me. I can't remember hardly anything about it; I had been smoking marijuana that night along with a bit of beer, which ran through my bloodstream as I drove her home. I had the audacity to be behind the wheel of a car not only high but buzzed, and with not only myself in danger but her. She didn't complain, at least I don't think she did.

All I can clearly recall her telling me is, "I hate you. I tried to tell myself I didn't, tried to make nice. But I really do hate you."

I think I kicked her out of the car without a word. When I unlocked the door, she had looked at me with her big copper eyes, pleading for some understanding. I opened the car door, letting the flurries blow into the interior. She refused to move, holding her gaze with me.

I had grabbed her by the upper arm, pulling her from the backseat. She screamed, screamed and started to cry. I managed to bring her to the front of the car, despite the fact that she was literally kicking and screaming. She clung to me like crazy, but I was able to shove her out into the snow.

In the haziness of that night, the one thing I will never forget is what happened next. She had been staring at me, her eyes watery and swollen and tears freezing to her cheeks. She looked right at me and said, "You used to mean so much to me."

I drove off, kicking up sleet as I sped towards home.