Racing Down Sunset Boulevard

Chapter 9

"Are you sure you don't want me to come along?" I rolled my eyes, although I knew she couldn't possibly see it, as I assured her this was something I had to do on my own, talking in the general direction of the phone as I focused my attention back on finishing curling my hair. Although the match was to start in two hours' time, I had figured I'd rather be much too early than late for even five minutes, considering how guilty I felt for acting so distant.

Despite having resumed conversation with Gage as if nothing had happened, I couldn't shake the feeling of strange detachment I felt towards him. "Promise to at least text me afterwards and tell me what conclusion you've come to, okay?" although I wanted to reprimand her tone etched with hopefulness, my mind was racing too fast, my attention was too diverted. And of course, there was the jab of agreement that jolted me upright whenever her decision on the subject became evident. Annoyed with my own jumble of thoughts and half formed decision, I gave her a dismissive excuse about how I wanted to finish doing my hair in peace, hint which she willingly took with no fight and hung up, leaving me dwell on the crossroads going g forward.

  With every pet name, every love declaration and sweet nothing he texted me, I couldn't help but pull away, recoil. Because nothing had truly changed between us. His outburst wasn't singular, nor his gentleness foreign. The change rested solely in my perception; a shift in my subjective reality caused by some guy on a random afternoon, with eyes as blue as bottle glass and a laugh rich enough to shake me out of my delusion. So now I didn't hold the same ardent hope that the bruises he gave me would be the last he ever did give me, or that he'd realised how much his words and actions stung. Because I couldn't trick myself into thinking this was the best I could ask for, when I'd felt, seen otherwise.

Yet declaring I bore him no more love, that I had no more hope for us, would be a lie I wasn't willing to accept as my truth and move on. That's why I felt like seeing him today was something I had to do alone. No matter how many times I heard Kaylah go on and on listing everything that was decidedly wrong with the way he treated me, and how many times I felt myself agreeing with her, I couldn't help but feel like I was inadvertently betraying him. Despite the foreboding sense of impending doom, there was an inkling of love and genuine care in each and every one of his words.

Eventually, Nate had texted back. But his answers all seemed to follow the same monosyllabic pattern, and he seemed far away, as if debating whether to tell me something and then backspacing at the very last moment. Despite it, the warmth I had felt that night lingered, and his lack of need to define our relationship only solidified my determination to see Gage one more time and make up my mind. Because strangely, Nate's apparent lack of initiative made me feel like living on borrowed time. "No men will take second place. And judging by what you've told me about Nate by now, he has no reason to." Kay concluded only just last night. Having known him for barely two weeks didn't diminish my nausea at the thought of him becoming a stranger again.

In fact, it seemed to amplify it, making my mind run through the many things I didn't know about him, and the so very few tangible memories I had with him. If he walked away, I'd be left with nothing but a bittersweet what if and false memories. I couldn't even clearly recall his last name, or the exact shade of blue of his eyes. So I drove towards the stadium, radio turned off and windows rolled down, trying to drown my thoughts of an overdue good bye in the din of the late afternoon traffic. I'm giving this one more shot. Gage, don't mess this up for the both of us.

Kaylah's POV

After reading the same page twice, I decided it to put my book aside. A frustrated sigh left my lips as I tore my headphones out and laid back, staring at my ceiling and replaying the last couple days' conversations with Ari in mind, running through every one of her hesitations, every deflected question and every half truth she's given me to work with. Ever since she had first told me about Nate, I felt my hopes soar. Just like a writer with a book script, a change of font could change your whole perspective. And it seemed to be working. Yet of course, not as well as I had expected it to, which I can fault no one for but myself for not accounting for the major discrepancies between our views of the world.

While my volcanic attitude has always made me self-sufficient and has given me an astoundingly low tolerance for people's bullshit, Ariana has always been one to feel everything much more deeply, starved for any kind of attention she could get. So it is indeed bizarre, yet albeit justifiable by her social anxiety and her predominant bitch face, that while I had found myself exploring my sexuality with failed flings and embarrassing encounters which often became laughing matters, she remained single, wallowing in her own despair while I was bound to watch.

Thus, I can't resent her for her inability to come to a clear decision about the first boy that had ever made her feel loved and valued, despite his means of expression. But that doesn't stop me from hoping tonight can be the start of something fresh. Although I've never met this Nate character, if her depictions have the slightest inkling of truth to them, he already is a much more viable option than Gage ever was.

I could never quite comprehend her ability to gloss over his blatant emotional abuse, and even more foolishly, over the physical proof of it. I thought I had felt rage and sorrow before, but nothing compared with watching her cover up bruises under long sleeves and foundation, all while calling it tough love. But looking forward towards what she could become alongside Nate, I have come to accept it as a natural part of her growth. As she subtly (but not really) asked me to hang up, I could sense a determination in her voice I rarely had heard, which had made my heart fill with pride. I can only hope her conviction lasts.

Ianie: Are you up for a bike ride? And before you say no, it'll do you god to take your mind off this whole thing.

I let loose a small chuckle. She knows me well. But that chuckle seemed to die on my lips as I read her next text.

Ianie: You can invite your friends along if it helps.

I started at those two words for more than probably socially acceptable, but I couldn't find it in myself to care. My friends. If people who only look out for their own wellbeing and discard you like a used rag the second you stop being the convenient option can be called friends, then yes, I have a whole bunch of them.  The pettiness of not cutting ties directly and curtly, but slowly pulling away, decimating your emotional and mental health little by little by leading you to believe this distance to be your own fault, is disgusting. And although I would enjoy it tremendously to blame dear Zariah, I knew that this wasn't the work of manipulation of a single individual. Especially not Zariah, who encountered great difficulties in understanding the idea of sarcasm, resulting in her batting her eyelashes until someone comes in and heroically saves the day by presenting the more simple-minded version.

No, Zariah wasn't the acid to the base, but a mere catalyst. I'd always viewed our little group as a Lego tower built by a four-year-old. Something ephemeral and laughable, uncontestably entertaining, but shoddy. Yet Ari failed to see, or rather refused to see how rotten they all actually were. The discrepancy between their words and actions. Their personalities ultimately shaped by greed and a deep-rooted desire to be generally seen as likeable, no matter who they had to step over. The red flags to which I've allowed myself to turn a blind eye to, if only for her sake.

The earlier chuckle returned, this time morphing into a chortle, as I realised how much thought I'd come to give this. Seems like Ari's anxiety has been rubbing off on me. But I couldn't help myself from wondering if any of them could still be saved. My mind went to Mateo and lingered. The doe eyed boy who loved Ari but had managed to completely blow his chance of being more than her friend through his own foolishness, lack of tact, and immaturity.

Frankly, I am not even certain he fully comprehends the situation. He's always been much more naïve, willing to comply to anyone's wishes. But could I open his eyes and truly understand what is going on? Probably not. Do I owe it to Ari to try and save the first boy she had ever truly cared for? I don't think I really need to answer that. Calling his number and setting my phone on my vanity on speaker, I commenced putting on my war paint for the day. This time, I didn't forgo the burgundy lipstick.