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Thankfully, Atticus didn't press charges. We offered him money to repair the back of his car, but he refused profusely and instead smiled, telling us he was glad to see us again.
Glad to see us again? I couldn't say the same. It has been only three days since the unfortunate accident, but in those three days alone I had already seen Atticus dozens of times. He appeared out of nowhere, offering to help me unpack or asking me to explore campus with him. It happened so frequently, I was afraid he was stalking me.
I made it my mission to never show acknowledgement when I was around him, only talking when spoken to and finding excuses to end the conversation. Even though I was a mess inside, I didn't need him knowing that it hurt me to no end seeing him cheerful and not at all distraught when he saw me. Was I the only one who struggled after the breakup? Obviously, I was. Honestly, I was more surprised that he even wanted to associate himself with me. It had been years since we talked and he probably had close, guy friends he wanted to hang out with.
Five years ago, I would've jumped at the chance to hang out with him. I would've been glowing in all the attention he was giving me now and I would always be looking for more. But after all these years, it was clear I've changed. He didn't change, though. He was still the boy I had thought I loved. He still had the unconscious habit of rubbing his neck when there was a pause in the conversation. He still talked too fast to understand when he was excited. His electric blue eyes would spark when someone insulted him. Those things made it all the more difficult to talk to him.
Another thing that bothered me was how much he remembered. Whenever he noticed my silence, he would mention something we used to do and my breath would hitch, pain flowing into my lungs. That was the only time he would ever get a reaction from me. I would fake a smile and tell him I remembered too, because I did. I remembered everything we use to do, and that's what hurt the most.
It was around 2:30, three days after we arrived on campus. Trent was unpacking his boxes into his small, shared dorm room and I was helping. I hadn't seen Atticus all day, and it almost seemed like a breath of fresh air without him and only Trent to keep me company.
"You seem quiet, Paige. Is it really bothering you that much?"
I shrugged, keeping my eyes cast on the box I was unpacking below me. "Sort of. I just keep mentally ridiculing myself because I was so sure he wouldn't chose a college instate. I mean, we never talked about it, but he never seemed to be a city boy."
To this, he shrugs. Curiosity crossed his face as he thought. "Maybe he likes being surrounded by people 24/7?"
I laugh lightly, saying, "That's ridiculous. Atticus self diagnosed himself with claustrophobia, remember? We got locked into a closet freshman year and he started hyperventilating."
I hear a mumble from across the room and I look up to see Trent staring at me already. "What'd you say?" I ask.
"I said I don't remember that." A small frown tugged at his lips, and I saw an unknown emotion flicker across his face.
