Snapshots | ✓

Twenty Five: Hayes

Sunday, September 6th, 2015

Hayes watched Micah over the top of her laptop. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was pursing his lips, which meant that he was deep in concentration and she could watch him without being noticed. She had avoided him for all of Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and even now she was taking a risk by sitting in the same room as him. After Wednesday night, after watching movies curled under his arm with his fingers absently tracing patterns on her hip, her brain had started going all scrambly in his presence.

That taste of could-have-been was the final touch that had finally stripped away her illusions. She had acknowledged that she had been lying to herself and was having trouble burying her head back into the blissful denial she'd been enjoying.

During her dramatic breakdown, Holly had made her see that she'd been using Jude as a shield. She hadn't had to think about her relationship with Micah outside of their friendship as long as she'd been dating someone else. It was an excuse made of glass that had shattered to dust when Mara had casually dropped that she'd slept with Micah.

She dropped her eyes back to her screen as the unexpected pain ripped through her all over again. It was like being punched in the stomach while a million tiny knives tore into her heart and a fist closed around her windpipe. Nothing had ever felt this visceral before, no break-up or disappointment. The closest was when she'd been passed over for the Olympic gymnastics team, and even that had been tinged with relief because it meant she could finally move on and do something else with her life. This was just... pain. Pain she had no right to feel, because she had no claim to Micah. They were roommates, friends, nothing more.

And god did that sting.

The worst part was that she had no idea how to act around him anymore. Had it been anyone else, it would have been easy to flirt outrageously and drop obvious hints. But this was Micah. He would see right through her and laugh quietly so as not to hurt her feelings. Her usual tactic of wearing less and smiling more around the object of her attention wouldn't work on someone who had already seen her laying on the floor because she was too sick to function properly.

So she sat at the opposite end of the couch from him, her laptop acting as a barrier between them, stealing glances whenever she could. She would relearn how to ignore her feelings, would remember how to be just-friends with someone who made her breath catch in her throat, would figure out what to do with her hands when he was around.

She would pretend like nothing had changed.