Page 26 of Saving Barrette

Maybe.

When the girls leave, Terrell notices I never gave any the time of day. “What are you doing? Eva wants ya, A.”

Terrell knows about Barrette and what she went through. He also knows my obsession with her. “I’m not interested.”

“Are you still holding out for B?”

I shrug one shoulder, knowing he’s not going to judge me.

“Are you sure?” His lips purse as he runs his dark hand over his face. “I mean, I just… I don’t know, man. I hate seeing you like this.”

Nodding, I bite the inside of my cheek and shake my head, pushing my book away from me. “What do you mean like this? This, me now, this is all you’ve ever known of me.” Turning in my chair, I face him.

He nods and slaps his hand over my shoulder. “I know, ya pathetic fuck.”

Barrette isn’t okay. I see it in the tears she hides and the dark circles under her eyes. She tries so hard to cover it up. Sometimes I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to know how bad it is. How far gone she is. Some might venture to say, why bother?

I bother because I can’t not. I have to. Her parents don’t. Her friends don’t, but me, I fucking bother. I check on her. I make sure she’s eating and has someone to sleep in her bed when she’s sad.

I’m really good at portraying indifferent and never letting her know that it’s fucking torture to lay in her bed with her and not touch her in all the ways I want to.

Love makes people do stupid shit. Makes them look past lies and see a truth they believe is there.

Only it’s not.

I see what I want time and time again with the hope that she might change. That our situation might change. That someday, somehow, she’ll open her eyes and see I’m still there, waiting. She controls me. She takes my fucking breath and she suffocates me with just one look.

Football players have playbooks. We’re expected to memorize them and know when and how to play them. Quarterbacks call the plays based on the offensive coordinator’s call, and then sometimes we look at the defense and we change it when we see how they are positioned.

We call an audible. We change the play on the line of scrimmage.

She’s my audible. I changed the play at the line that night and there was no going back on it.

I FALL ASLEEPat my desk that night, drooling all over my research paper.

When I wake, I sit back in the chair, turn off my lamp and then run my hands over my face. Terrell is asleep, snoring as usual and I notice that redhead he’d been with earlier, her hair is draped over his pillow and tucked in his arms.

Reaching for my phone, I look at the screen to see Barrette sent me a text an hour ago.

Barrette: You up?

Me: I am now, sorry. Fell asleep.

She replies instantly, letting me know the night is still holding her captive.

Barrette: Can you come over?

Me: Be there in 15.

It’s three in the morning, but I shower then head over to her dorm just like I do every other night she needs me. Some might ask why I do this. Wait for it.

I knock lightly, twice, and she opens the door, smiling, but there’s tears in her eyes. But do you see that smile? That relief? That’s why I do this. I get up at the ass crack of dawn even if it’s just to see a little bit of relief in her hopeless eyes. In the blue dawn of the morning hours when the restless night begins to give in, and she’s consumed by despair, she doesn’t want me to help her. She doesn’t want my comfort. She doesn’t want me to tell her everything is going to be okay. She wants me to lie beside her with her head on my chest. She wants to find comfort in my presence with the salt of her tears stinging the wounds I can’t see.

And I do that. For her. Until she’s ready to let me help her heal. Until the shards of her heart are stitched together. I’ll sew them myself. I won’t let her fade into grief.

Setting my backpack on the floor, I reach for her, my hands around her waist. “Rough night?”

She nods. Her face is blank. Still, there’s some emotion there and her heart’s beating against my chest. Letting go of me, she moves back to her bed and motions me forward, lifting up her blanket and waiting.

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