Ocean Blue | gxg ✓

chapter twenty

alyssa

I can't catch my breath. Elliot gives me this big apologetic look when she leaves, but she doesn't get it. She can't. How could I expect her to? She doesn't know about Max.

Man, dammit.

When we broke apart, some of my posters scattered about the floor. It's only when I kneel down to pick them up do I even realize that I'm crying.

I desperately swipe at my eyes, trying to stop the flow before it starts. Just, fuck. I need to get over this. As my toes begin to twitch of their own accord, though, I suck in a sharp breath. Okay. Shit. Okay. Get dressed, go grab some water, then just stay in here and maybe die. Yes. That's a good idea.

My legs are sensitive as I slip into my sweatpants, gingerly manoeuvring the fabric around my skin. The scabs are practically gone already, but the legs themselves are still sore as anything. At least my shirt is easy.

I wobble as I head into the living room, doing my best to hide that I was using walls for support. Neema and Duncan are the first to look up from the couch, closely followed by Elliot, whose face is still burning with shame.

"Hey, guys," I mutter softly to these people I don't actually know. Why did we invite them over? I can't remember. My head is swimming. I might vomit. I take a deep breath, then try again. "Hey, guys. Um, I'm not feeling too well, so I'm gonna go to bed. But, thanks for coming over and hanging out. Have fun. Night!"

"Night," Neema says, her hand on Duncan's knee. He echoes her.

"Goodnight," Elliot says so quietly I might have imagined it if I weren't certain I saw her lips move.

Tanner steps out of the kitchen, two steaming mugs in his hands. He raises his brows. "You good?"

"Nah," I try to say with a laugh, but it comes out more like a pant, and I wince. Wall. I need my wall. Gingerly, I shuffle my way back to the hallway. "I'm gonna head to bed. Night."

His eyes are narrowed, but he doesn't say anything—just heads back into the kitchen.

I shut my bedroom door behind me right as a sob rips out from my chest. Bed. I need the bed. Cuddled under blankets that I could swear still smell like my ex, I take out my phone and scroll through photos upon photos of us together—me and Max at the skating rink, me and Max at the lake, me and Max in the cafeteria with matching Woodchuck spirit gear.

Max. Max. Max.

I couldn't escape them even if I wanted to, it seems. Why did they react like that? So scared. They were so scared. My whole body shakes as I cry, even though it doesn't feel like I'm crying. The shaking is painful, though, and my head is the wrong kind of fuzzy.

It's just, I want them. Not in the way they say they want me. No. I want them here with me, holding me and stroking my hair and whispering in my ear. I never even had to ask them for that kind of attention—they just knew. Knew how to touch me, in a romantic sense of the word. Hell, they would carry me sometimes, then deposit me gently into whoever's bed and just lay with me. Perfect. It was perfect. We were perfect.

They had to panic. I had to panic.

Ugh, why?

There's a gentle knock on my door. I try to get back to a place where I'm at least somewhat controlling my breathing, although it's hard.

Elliot steps in, one of the cheap mugs we found at a Goodwill when I was younger in hand. "Hey, Tanner said I should bring you this," she says meekly, holding up the mug like I hadn't noticed it. "Do you want me to set this on your table? Or...."