Another week flies by. Another seven days since I last saw her. Seven days since I left her sound asleep on her bed after crying in my arms.
I wanted to talk to her so badly after she saw me and Rebecca in the cafeteria last week but Brody stopped me. I felt the need to explain myself, like I owed it to her to explain. That need in itself messed with my head because I couldn’t understand it. I was at war with myself the last time I saw her, knowing my selfish actions had a lot to do with the mess we found her in.
Since then I’ve tried to keep myself occupied with my classes and an arduous training schedule, but at the beginning of every day and at the end of every night, she’s my first and last thought.
It’s ridiculous.
Crazy.
Foolish.
Irrational.
Illogical.
To be so completely consumed by someone else, someone who you’ve only known for almost three weeks and sworn to stay away from. I should’ve known physically staying away from her would be the easy part. I didn’t anticipate that she’d end up taking residence in every space and every piece of brain matter in my head. It’s driving me crazy but what I don’t know is whether it’s a good crazy or a bad crazy.
I roll out of bed and rub my hand over my face. Thinking about all this has me mentally exhausted, just like last nights' football game left me physically exhausted. I thank God that it’s a Saturday and that I have nothing planned for today. My body is stiff and sore, evidence that I played hard last night despite my current distracted frame of mind.
I get up to take a shower when there’s a knock at the door. “Come in!”
The door opens and Brody’s large frame fills the space. We’re the same height and the same build, the only exception being that he has sandy blonde hair and I have dark, almost black, hair. Anyone could easily mistake us for brothers if it weren’t for the obvious differences in hair color.
“Hey bro,” he says, “How’s the shoulder?”
I shrug and try not to wince. I took a pretty hard hit last night and ended up with a bruised shoulder. It’s all part of the game, no big deal. “It’s good, just a little sensitive but it’ll be fine.”
He nods and looks down, something he always does when he has something to tell me that I won’t like.
“You got plans today?” I start pulling my shirt off and check my right shoulder in the mirror. Yep, definitely bruised.
“Uh..yeah…about that,” he hesitates.
“Spit it out Brody.”
“Demi is moving in with Huntley today and Huntley asked me to help out.”
Not what I was expecting.
So much for not thinking about her today.
“Ok. I can mess around here for a few hours while you help them.”
“Why don’t you come with?” he suggests, watching me carefully now.
Is he crazy? It’s a terrible idea. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“So you’re just going to avoid her forever?”
I sigh. This is not a conversation I’m in the mood to have, even if Brody is my best friend.
“I’m not avoiding her.” Even I can hear the lack of conviction in my own words. I’ve always been a terrible liar.
Brody shakes his head. “Since when have you decided to start lying to me? You’ll have to see her eventually. I’m sure the poor girl is going nuts after the stunts you pulled last week.”
“Why? Has she said anything to you?”
“No, but someone close to her is keeping an eye on her and giving me inside info.”
“You make it sound like a special ops mission or something,” I chuckle. Admittedly I feel relieved to know she’s ok, even if I’m too much of a coward to find out for myself.
“Between the two of you and your silly little games, going under cover might be our only option,” he laughs. “Look, you will have to get used to seeing her, being around her. You can’t avoid each other so why try? Just get your ass ready and meet me downstairs in thirty minutes. You’re helping me move Demi into Huntley’s apartment, it’s not negotiable.”
“Hey Brody?” He’s about to leave but then turns to face me. “What’s the deal with you and Demi?” I ask.
“She’s with Tommy.” His response is short and clipped. Automatic. Like he’s trained himself to say it if someone ever asks him about Demi.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
His eyes look sad and for the first time in only God knows how long, I feel sorry for him. He looks nothing like the confident guy I grew up with. Instead, he looks like a lost little boy, a sentiment I understand all too well. I’ve been where he is and in many ways I feel like I still am.