Page 75 of Bloom

I want to be someone other than who I am in this moment. Someone calm and mature. But instead bitterness spews from my mouth like I’m possessed. “Yeah? A friend you fuck? Oh wait, we don’t do that. I guess we really are just friends.”

“Stop,” he says. “If you want to talk about this we can, but don’t sit here where I can’t really discuss it and accuse me of shit. You have no idea how I feel.”

My shoulders sag. “Okay.”

“Give me your hand,” he says, holding his between our chairs. Reluctantly I meet his but mine lays limp in his grasp.

The officer comes back out, taking a quick look at our joined hands and smirking a little. “I’m turning the transcripts over to counsel,” he says. “They’ll make the final call, but I’ve got no doubt there’s enough there for a restraining order. Probably an investigation too.”

I nod, but my stomach falls. The truth is that I was hoping he’d say there was nothing to worry about. I’ve been in the spotlight enough this summer to last me the rest of my life. And I know better than either of them that if this gets out, it won’t just be Edward’s life that gets worse.

**

He drives us home, my stomach twisting as I think about what lies ahead. I’m going to be in the papers again. Everything about me will be dissected. They will find every photo known to man and portray me as some kind of wild nymphomaniac, never mentioning that the bathing suit shot is from a family trip or that I’m posing in pajamas next a roommate cut out of the photo.

And James. That’s the part that actually hurts, as opposed to making me sick with worry, although it does that too. After all these weeks he’s still referring to me as his friend? How stupid do I need to be to not read the writing there? We have a little more than three weeks left of summer, and then he’s going back to school, and probably to Allison, and that’ll be it. And he won’t owe me a thing, because he never took anything, or promised it.

He pulls into the driveway and I begin to open the door but he stops me with a hand on my arm. “Elle,” he says. “Wait.”

“We have to get ready for work.”

“I know. I just want you to know that … back there … wasn’t what it seemed,” he says haltingly. “I know you’re upset. I just didn’t know what to say.”

Does he really think that explanation helps his case? “Yeah, it’s pretty clear that you didn’t know what to say,” I reply, my voice slightly hoarse with the need to cry, which I won’t do in front of him. “And it seems pretty clear to me that by now, you probably should.”

I get out of the car and go inside alone. He doesn’t even try to argue with me.

We don’t say another word to each other. I bike to work rather than wait for him. I know I’m being childish even as I do it, but I can’t listen to his excuses and his rationalizations, the endless stream of words he will use to avoid saying what I already know: he just doesn’t care enough. He glares at me when he walks in, and I ignore him. I spend the rest of the night acting like he’s invisible, which is for the best because I think I’d probably burst into tears if I allowed myself to act like he wasn’t.

“What’s up with you two?” asks Kristy.

“We’re having a little disagreement.”

“About what?”

“James … ” I begin, and then shake my head, suddenly choked up. “Just doesn’t see things with us the way I do.”

She frowns. “I don’t know what he said, Elle, but it’s been obvious since your first day here that he’s crazy about you.”

“If that were true he wouldn’t be so hell-bent on making sure nothing happens between us. I can’t believe … ” I’m unable to continue, and she lets it go.

This is what I would have said:

I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.

Chapter 42

The cop we met earlier in the day leaves a message during my shift. He says that he spoke with counsel, and they won’t have an answer on the restraining order for a few days. Since James and I aren’t speaking, I have no one to tell.

I go to my room after work, and I stay there. There’s something piercing my chest as I lay in bed, waiting for a text from him that never comes. I avoid him in the morning, seeing him for the first time only as I head to the beach with Ginny, whose temp job has finally ended. He glances up from the table, his jaw set hard, his eyes still angry.

I glare right back. Fuck you, James. You’re the one who wants it to be a secret. You’re the one who’s ashamed. You don’t get to be angry on top of that.

**

I don’t ride with James to Ryan’s show, but he’s there. Probably so he can break my legs if he sees me going somewhere with Ryan. And that pisses me off. If he doesn’t care about me enough to really be with me, what right does he have to stand in the way of someone else?

Ryan’s band already has a huge following, and the bar is packed an hour before the show’s even begun. I may have my own opinions about him as a boyfriend, but as a musician he’s unbelievable. He certainly deserves a recording contract way more than some loser like my mother’s fiance.