Bound to You

Chapter 19

I left for Yale in August and did my best not to come back. It was getting harder and harder to see you with Marie, and I wasn't sure how much more I could take. The two of you were getting married in May, and I didn't want to be around for any more of the planning.

I decided the one thing I needed from Yale was a quiet semester. No boys, no parties, just studying. My roommate, Rose, who often stumbled into the room with her lips attached to a boy's, hated that she always had to get laid somewhere else because I never left the room.

But by the time I made it back to Stamford, I had straight As.

But not even a 4.0 GPA in my first semester could keep the darkness at bay when I walked inside and there you were, with her.

Part of the problem was how incredible you looked, so English in your fisherman's sweater and your jeans, and all I wanted was to launch myself across the room and into your arms. I wanted to kiss you and tell you that you were the only thing I'd thought about while I was Yale that didn't have to do with Biology and Psychology and American Literature.

So instead, I didn't say a word to you. I went up to my room, shut the door, and only came out over the next week to eat. You were always at the house, always hovering, always your voice in the background.

And then it was Christmas Eve and my parents were throwing a party. I politely asked if I could sit it out but my mom looked at me like I'd grown a second head so I put on a dress and joined the party.

And then immediately regretted it.

"Yes, May 17th," Marie was telling someone I recognized from the hospital. "We wanted a long engagement seeing as how the courtship didn't last very long."

I turned, fully intending to go back to my room, but you were there, a solid wall between me and the stairs.

"Lena," you said, a whisper, and goosebumps sprouted along my arms.

"Hi, John." I couldn't look you in the eye. I knew what would happen if I did. I would beg you again not to marry her, I'd tell you I loved you, I'd ask you to drag me upstairs and make love to me until I had to go back to Yale.

"Your father tells me you had an excellent first semester at Yale. That's impressive. Most people find it hard to adjust."

It wasn't hard to adjust. I craved a different world, something that wasn't the hell I'd left behind.

"It wasn't the same here without you."

I had to look up at you. I couldn't stare at the pattern on your sweater anymore. And when I did I was lost. If it was possible, you were getting more gorgeous every time I saw you, and it was like a physical ache in my limbs to stay away from you.

And above your head.

Mistletoe.

A squeaking noise forced its way out of my mouth, and your eyes traveled up, until they stuck on the mistletoe. You looked down at me, and my heart started trying to hammer its way out of my chest. Because you looked like you wanted to. You looked like you would have kissed me, if we were alone.

"Oh, Richard, you're so bad!" Marie's words were practically in my ear as she walked around me, gluing herself to your side. "Mistletoe! How old are we?" She giggled, and then, like I wasn't standing less than a foot away, she grabbed a handful of your sweater and pulled your face down to hers.

I stared in horror for a whole minute before I had the good sense to look away. I felt sick. I stumbled out of the room, knowing I had to get away.

The only place in the house that was empty was my dad's library. I spilled in, shut the door, and leaned against it, trying not to cry. Why the fuck had I come home? I could have found someone to stay with, I could have gone on a road trip, I could have refused to come down.

I wasn't brave enough for this.

The door behind me opened, and my heart leapt. I spun around, certain it was you, coming to comfort me.

But it was Marie.

My stomach dropped, and I could feel myself on the verge of a meltdown. She stepped into the room and shut the door, and I walked backward until my back was against the windowsill.

"Thought I might find you in here," she said, a smile on her face, but God, it looked ominous. "I didn't have your address at Yale so John suggested I hand deliver this." She followed me across the room and held out an envelope to me. I knew what it was, so I didn't open it. I held it in my hand and watched the way Marie's smile seemed to get sharper.

"You know, we planned for May so you could come. John insisted that you be there. He just adores you so much."

Her words were nice, but they felt toxic. And finally, she said, "and I must admit, I think the little crush you have on him is adorable."

My eyes shot to hers, my blood freezing in my veins. "What?"

She waved me off and turned for the door. "Can't say I blame you. When I was in high school, I had a horribly inappropriate crush on my chemistry teacher. But he was twenty years my senior and his daughter was in the class after mine. I indulged vivid fantasies of our marriage, our children, our house in France. But of course, it was all a fantasy."

She turned my way again, all pretend kindness vanished. "I hope you realize that what you feel for my fiance is nothing but a fantasy."

She stopped, one hand on the doorknob, and looked at me. "Happy Christmas, Lena. I hope you have a nice time at Yale."

The door opened, and she was gone.

I ripped open the envelope as soon as the door shut and looked down at the wedding invitation. Cream and lace and cursive.

I walked over to the fire and threw it in.