I missed a week of school thanks to Dylan. It was at her insistence that I not go to school until the bruising around my neck was less visible. I told her it wouldn’t work, but she forged a note from my mom saying I was ill.
Mr. and Mrs. Ross didn’t like that, so things changed quickly. I don’t know what happened the night Mr. Ross left me sitting at the table and I didn’t ask. My parents haven’t called and asked me to come home though and I’m not sure how I should feel about that. I hope that my mom can at least call and check on me. I’ll have to visit her at work if that doesn’t happen soon.
Returning to school is not high on my priority list, but I can’t say that it is for any teenager. I’m trying not to count the days since I last spoke to Hadley. I’m trying not to remember what we were about to do before everything changed. If I had kept my mouth shut, maybe things would be different now. I carry around my phone – the phone she bought for me – hoping that it will spring to life at any moment. It’s the only piece of her that I have and I can’t let go. Each time I think about her, the anger starts. At night, when I’m alone, I lie in bed and cry, waiting for that stupid phone to ring, or vibrate, or beep or something that signifies my connection to her is not a figment of my imagination. Maybe this is why my parents sheltered me so much, so I wouldn’t feel the pain of heartache.
I can only hide a few of the bruises and they aren’t as dark, but I’m keeping my head down, tucking myself into the new hoodie that Mrs. Ross bought for me, one of my new pieces of clothing. Dylan told a few kids that I was thinking about taking up wrestling and the marks were from working out. That earned me a few pats on the back and a requested meeting with the wrestling coach. The nice thing is I’m not being stared at. No one knows about what happened and they definitely don’t know about my dad. I want to keep it that way.
The only problem living with Dylan is that I have no freedom. Everywhere I turn she’s there making sure I’m okay. But being at Dylan’s gives me things I’ve never had before like a radio, TV and computer. I’m allowed to watch TV, even though I haven’t a clue as to what we watch at night, but I do know it’s all done as a family and I like that. And I have laughter. They're always laughing. I wish I could join in, but I can’t. Each time they laugh, I think of Hadley and wonder if she’d think the same thing was funny. When that happens, I excuse myself and retreat to the guest bedroom.
I know I can stay here as long as I want. It’s nice to be wanted by someone, even if it’s not Hadley or my parents.
I left this morning before Dylan woke up. I needed to walk in the crisp air and work out some aggression. I’ve thought about asking the wrestling coach if I could use the punching bag in the weight room. I figured if I can picture Hadley’s face, the way she looked leaving the police station, I could take my anger out on the bag. I also wanted to come in and use the computer in the library where Dylan isn’t looming in the hallway or looking over my shoulder. If I had told her this, she’d make sure it didn’t happen. Dylan is doing everything she can to help me forget these past few months, even if I don’t want to forget them. Now I sit in front of the library computer, which is the same computer that showed me pictures of her and her ex, which resulted in her showing up here, and us being arrested. I type in her name and pause, my finger hovering over the enter key. There’s a side of me that wants to know what she’s been doing these past few days, but I’m also afraid.
I keep asking myself “what if I meant nothing to her? What if I was just something to pass her time?” I want to say that I know the answers, but if someone asked me today, I wouldn’t know what to say because nothing seems real. How do you just disappear from someone’s life like that? How do you almost give yourself to them one minute and in the next want nothing to do with them?
I need to stop thinking about her, but I can’t help it. Everywhere I turn, she’s there. I want to believe that when I turn eighteen, she’ll be standing outside waiting for me. We’ll run off together and this will all be a stupid nightmare.
I hit the enter key and shut my eyes, waiting for the images to load. I’ve learned from Dylan that the newest items always show first. I’m going to believe that she’s coming back to me. When I open my eyes, I bite my lip to keep from screaming out, but it’s not enough to contain the rage building inside of me.