We left the restaurant together, and I got quickly in my car without speaking another word to Alyssa. We drove off quickly, and I knew I would make it to campus fast, ready for bed so this day would end. We pulled into the parking lot, and I said, “See you tomorrow, Britt.”
“Wait.” She leaned over to kiss me. I jumped as she pressed her hand onto my crotch. “Want to come up to my room?” she crooned.
I put my hands on her shoulders to hold her back and said, “Brittney, you know I’m not ready yet.”
She frowned. “I don’t get it. Any other guy would have slept with me by now.”
I sighed. “You know I like to take things slow.”
She nodded and got out of the car, bending to tell me, “I know, Blake. See you Friday.”
I trudged to my dorm, trying to think of a few good excuses to get out of the date on Friday. I was grateful to finally climb into bed, and I tried to fall asleep quickly. After a long hour filled with painful, angry thoughts, I was finally able to drift off to sleep, knowing my body would be exhausted the next day.
By the time Friday rolled around, I was miserable. I sat across from Matt and Alyssa with Brittney draped obnoxiously over me. We had gone to see an action movie and after to a fancy sushi restaurant. I clenched my jaw as I watched Matt feed Alyssa another piece of sushi, a familiar soft giggle escaping her throat.
“So, you ready for the game next week?” Matt asked me with a friendly smile, his arm draped around the girl I loved.
“Yeah, man,” I commented, shoving another piece of sushi in my mouth. “It’s going to be killer.”
Alyssa looked up from her food and asked me, “So how are classes going?”
“Fine,” I said bitterly without looking at her.
The rest of the meal was filled with pointless small talk, and time crawled by. Matt finally went to pay the check, and Brittney stood a few seconds after that, rushing off to the bathroom to fix her makeup for the fourth time since we had arrived. Alyssa and I were alone at the table.
“What is your problem?” she hissed at me, her voice angry and low.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, feigning puzzlement
“You’re not even trying,” she commented. “You’re acting miserable.”
I banged my fist on the table and whisper-roared, “I am miserable.”
Alyssa was quiet for a moment, guilt in her eyes. I was breathing heavily and felt angry adrenaline coursing viciously through my veins.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered finally, looking down at the table sullenly.
I stood up, and before I stormed out of the restaurant, I snapped, “You should be. It’s your fault.”
I hurried outside, my body shaking with anger. I got in the car and drove home without a thought. Once I reached my dorm room, I locked the door and grabbed my phone, throwing it against the wall with all my strength. I watched it shatter into pieces and crawled into my bed, hot tears threatening to pour down my face. I spent the next few hours lying in bed. I ignored all calls and knocks at my door.
After my breakdown, I sat up. It was time to sort through my feelings and make a decision. I had let myself be angry long enough. It was time to stop throwing tantrums. I loved Alyssa, but my irrational, angry responses just made us more miserable. I had been over it a thousand times in my head, but I just didn’t see a reality where Alyssa and I could be together. We couldn’t spend our whole lives sneaking around our parents and pretending to be siblings.
My final decision was that I would be kind to Alyssa, but we didn’t have to see each other more than necessary. I would keep my distance and behave platonically, and eventually, I should be able to get over her. The thought of never getting to kiss or hold Alyssa made me ache, but this was the best decision for everyone involved.
The next morning, I finally got out of bed, hollow and empty. I opened my door to go to the cafeteria but almost tripped over Alyssa sitting in my doorway.
“Blake!” she cried, standing up.
“Alyssa? What are you doing in front of my door?” I asked her, confused.
“I was worried about you,” she said, crossing her arms defensively. “I called you after I got back to my dorm last night, but you weren’t answering your phone. You just left the restaurant.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that,” I said, my voice genuine. During my time alone, I had worked through my emotions, analyzing my actions and their consequences. I felt guilty for treating Alyssa the way I had. It wasn’t her fault our parents were married, and I had to stop taking my frustrations out on her.
Alyssa seemed surprised by my apology and clearly held back words that had most likely originated in an angry place. Instead, she let out an exhausted sigh and asked, “So you’re okay, then?”
“I’m fine.” I threw my arm around her and said, “Let’s go get some breakfast, kid.”