Hello, Goodbye

17: Saxon

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Anthony was right. He repeats it to himself over and over as he stares at Grace from across the room in English. He can’t get rid of the persistent voice in his head. Anthony was right. All you’ll ever do is hurt her. You’re not good for her. He stifles a yell. He’d ruined everything, and yet, he was angry at Anthony and at Grace.

He was right, though, about how it shouldn’t be hurting her, anyway. He can kiss whomever he likes. They’re not dating. And, maybe, that’s why it hurts so much to think about her. Her beautiful smile, her cute laugh, her big brown eyes and thick dark hair. The comfy way she dresses and the way she had leaned against him multiple times, relying on him for support. Not just physically but emotionally.

He stares at her, looking past his other classmates; looking past Andrew, who he’d often throw a dirty look at. He watches as she takes down a note, her cute, chubby hand gripping her pencil the way she’d once gripped his hand. If only for a brief, then awkward moment. “Saxon Fields, pay attention in class and ogle at girls at lunch.” He snaps back to attention, knowing that he looks embarrassed and that Grace is probably shooting daggers at him the way angry girls do.

“Sorry,” he mutters as he slides further into his chair. He glances over and over at Grace during the rest of that lesson. Just hoping and hoping for her to catch his gaze, to look at him and meet his eyes. He wants to see her beautiful brown eyes, even if they are staring at him ferociously.

He knows the pain he’s caused her but he can’t stop hoping he can somehow undo it all by making it up to her. By being a lovely gentlemen and being her friend, even if it killed him. He hates being so far from her, not beside her in the English classroom. Not even close to her; on the other side of the room to her.

He watches the light shine onto her face, the light pouring out from the window beside her. He watches her chew her pencil, her eyes boring into the back of their teacher’s skull. He lets out a dreamy sigh, a very quiet dreamy sigh. She twists her head and her hair shakes around her, light refracting from it and making it shine beautifully. A beautiful brown in the sunlight, as opposed to the usual almost jet black in the light of a bulb.

The admiration is obviously clear in his eyes as he stares at her because out of the corner of his eye he sees Andrew’s cocky, irritating smirk. He’s mouthing something at Saxon. You don’t deserve her…and she finally realised it, didn’t she? He grits his teeth and locks his jaw in place. He sits back up properly, focusing his attention on the teacher. Or, trying to.

Andrew’s words, and his own, and Grace’s, float around his head. He can't stop blaming himself for Grace's pain, even if it was not entirely his own fault.

“Zeya, she hates me.” The girl lets a sigh slip past her thin, pink lips. He doesn’t remember them ever making contact with his own but he can imagine it. She’d told him nearly every detail. How she couldn’t stop him, how she could taste the alcohol on his lips, in his mouth. How she’d wrapped her legs around him and he’d pushed her against the wall.

“Naturally,” she responds, “I mean, I’d hate you too if I hadn’t played a part in this debacle.” She slides a salad onto her tray.

“I know. But it’s weird, you know? I would swear not to drink alcohol again but I don’t know. I did it impulsively, to forget. Who knows if or when I’ll want that again.” They find an empty table and sit at opposite ends. Grace slides beside Zeya after five minutes of awkward silence and poking at food.

“Hi, Grace,” he says, his voice stiffer than he’d anticipated it to be.

“What? Now you want to ogle at me?” she snaps, rage and bitterness evident in her tone.