Page 36 of Personal Foul
Chapter Thirteen
Sydney
We sit in silence for most of the drive. When we hit the highway, Colson reaches over and turns the radio on. When he settles back into his seat, I can’t ignore the ache I feel at the loss of his touch, not having his hand resting on my thigh like he had the entire drive there.
The silence between us is deafening. I don’t know how to feel about this shift between us. Of course, I’m worried about how our jobs will change and how the people around us will feel when they find out we’ve been together.
The part I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell him, but haven’t found the words for, is what happens when things go south, and this doesn’t work out? All I’m going to have left is my job. Sooner or later, the newness of us together will wear off, and he’ll find something new to catch his attention.
It’s what has happened to me all my life. Bouncing around from foster home to foster home, always hoping it would be the last time. Praying each would be the family to welcome me into their family.
I was fourteen years old when I met my mom and dad. By then, I’d been in countless foster homes. The shit I’ve seen is enough to build walls so high, nothing or no one could ever get through.
Shivers rack through my body from the air conditioner blowing full blast against me. Colson is so lost in his own world, he doesn’t even pay attention or notice, but we’re only a few minutes away from our apartment building, so I’m not going to speak up now.
I’m ready to get home, shed this dress, put on my oversized sweatpants, and binge eat ice cream while catching up onGrey’s Anatomyon Netflix.
When the light turns green, Colson veers onto our street and pulls his car into the underground parking garage. Adjusting the strap of my purse, I don’t bother talking to him now. We’ve gone this entire drive without speaking to each other, and I’m not sure what more there is to say.
“Do you mind if I grab the last of my things? I left my phone charger at your place and the clothes I wore home from the game.”
My body flinches, feeling the whiplash and the stark contrast in the tone of his voice compared to the way the man I know has spoken to me all those times before. I wince as if I’m trying to adjust to make sure I’m seeing him right.
Is this Colson? The same Colson I’ve gotten to know over the past few weeks?
“Yeah, sure,” I respond in utter disbelief.
Not bothering to sit and continue this conversation, I reach for the lever to open the door. The heavy exhale of his breath from behind hits me, and I grit my teeth.
I understand he thinks I’m being unreasonable right now. I could put so much to rest by simply coming clean and telling him how I feel, but why? So, he can use it to make more assumptions on what I’m thinking and feeling since he claims he knows me so well?
My heels click on the cement beneath my feet with every step, reaching the door leading us to the elevator. We ride the entire way in silence, but what was once attraction and desire hanging between us is now a cloud of frustration.
We’re both waiting for the other to cut to the chase and say what’s on their mind, except where Colson always has an idea of what I’m thinking, I can’t even begin to decipher the change in his tone. He knew where I stood from the beginning. How could he be upset with me now?
When we reach our floor, he doesn’t bother to move from where he’s leaning against the wall. Reaching into my purse in search of my key, I unlock the door and push it open.
He walks right past me, down the hallway to my room, leaving me to stare after him. His heavy footsteps as he collects his things sound like seconds ticking by on the clock, each one counting down until he finishes grabbing his belongings and walks right out the door.
Once he’s gone, I’m not sure what would lead him to come back here or even want to talk to me. Everyone ends up leaving eventually, right?
“Well, I guess this is it. Isn’t it?” he sighs, clenching his clothes in his arm with his charger in his hand.
“I guess so.”
“I don’t know what it is with you constantly wanting to push me away. Listen, I know you’re used to growing up living this extravagant life, getting everything you damn well please handed to you. Not all of us have been so lucky. If you want to keep pushing me away, eventually you’re going to push me so far I’m going to walk away.”
“Extravagant life? Is that what you think it’s been like for me growing up?”
My mind shuts down; every word he says after goes unheard, floating through one ear and out the other.
He thinks I had everything handed to me? Nothing could be further from the truth. Growing up in foster homes, I wore the same clothes and shoes for three years straight. Kids teased and made fun of my “high waters.” My shoestrings were frayed and broken, so knotted from trying to keep them together. I learned quickly not to ask for anything; even something as small as an extra pair of laces was frowned upon. I was made to feel unworthy; you’d think I was asking for the sun and the moon to be served on a silver platter.
“Listen, I think your parents are amazing people, and it’s clear they’ve given you a wonderful life. I don’t know what it is or why you constantly want to push me away, but someone can only take so much.”
“A wonderful life,” I scoff, throwing my head back, laughing maniacally. Pressing my hand against my stomach, trying to ease the pain as the knot in my stomach twists further.
“I don’t know where you get the idea I grew up living this life with everything I’ve ever wanted. I hate to break it to you, but you don’t know everything about me as you think, and you sure as hell don’t have my life all figured out.”
