Jade|
I don't feel like I've taken a proper breath since Friday morning.
I press a hand against my sternum and take a slow, deep, conscious breath. My lungs fill and expand. I let it out slowly through my nose. For good measure, I do it again, but even then I feel like I'm just scrabbling at the edges of breathing – living, really.
My fist smacks against the arm of the couch. This is stupid. This is so fucking dumb. If I want to go on a date, I can go on a date. With a boy. With a boy I literally just met. That's my prerogative. I can do that if I damn well want to and I shouldn't feel guilty about it just because my best friend – I swallow hard – has a problem with it. Big deal. I never lived my life before becoming friends with Tori, even when I was with Beck, according to someone else's feelings. It's not Tori's concern.
Chest deflating, my fist uncurls. Except it is. And it's really fucking frustrating that I can't even convince myself otherwise. I like Tori. She makes me happy. We have a good time together. She cares about me so much it's ridiculous and I can't even be grateful for that.
My mom's voice slithers through my ear and into my throat, making it constrict. Think of your career.
She's right. Of course she's right. The chances of an actress with a known history for questionable – I give a mental scoff – behavior such as running around dating girls are significantly lower than that of a pure sample. The bad girl look I have going on? Yes. The skills I've developed since I could talk? Yes. A girlfriend? Maybe not, and that is enough to stop me in my tracks and think.
All I have ever wanted was to be an actress. I want to shine. I don't care how unoriginal or cheesy or even desperate that sounds. It's what I'm good at. It's what I want.
My resolve loses more air when I realize that I'm good at Tori. With Tori. And I want her, too.
It's Sunday. By now, on a normal, happy week, I'd be with Tori. Even thinking her name makes me wince, arms crossing defensively as I sink against my couch. I'd be with Tori and we would be having fun somewhere – maybe taking a walk through a cemetery if it was my week to pick, or going bowling if it was hers. It wouldn't matter to me, honestly. It was never the event Tori and I embarked on when we had our Sundays together that I looked forward to. It was the company.
I look at my phone. Nothing. I hate to say that I kind of expected something from her by now – a text, at least – but I haven't gotten any interaction from anyone since Friday afternoon. Cat wouldn't even look at me, having adopted a weird, skittish kind of behavior in the classes we had proceeding that disaster of a lunch. I don't blame her, not with the way I was acting back there. I wince as I recall Tori's face, completely crumpled with pain she didn't know how to vocalize or express. It was like her body wasn't big enough for everything she was feeling and it was trying to burst from her eyes, her torn mouth. I rub the heel of my hand between my eyes and take a deep breath through my teeth.
Standing, I leave my rain cloud in the living room and march downstairs to my bathroom. I busy myself with curling my hair and reapplying my make-up in front of my mirror. I have a date to attend. Who knows? Maybe this Kyle Banks will turn into a great guy, someone I can get along with and tell my secrets too. Then, I'll have a normal, safe history and I won't have to worry about my future stopping before it even begins.
Beck is no longer an option. Tori shouldn't be. Kyle Banks – or a guy like him – could be.
I don't notice the burning in my eyes until I'm walking up the stairs. I stop, hovering in the doorway that leads to my room and take another deep breath, but I still feel like I'm drowning. No, drowning is too peaceful – strangling, maybe.
