Clever Girl

Chapter 32: the worst idea in the world.

Why does my neck ache? And my back, and my entire left arm? My lips are parched, almost breaking, and the stale air presses against the rest of my skin and hits my conscience. Did I sleep in Jay's car? I open my eyes and take in the cloudless sky outside, a misty blue that's calling for morning. My head feels like it weighs a ton, but I lift it off Jay's shoulder and swear quietly at myself. I was supposed to let him down gently. I was supposed to tell him that he should forget about me. Instead I hesitated, and fell asleep in his car.

I take out my phone, and sit up straight when I see that it's almost six in the morning. "Shit, shit, shit!"

"What time is it?" Jay's voice is groggy, and his eyes are still closed. 

"It's time for you to go home. I don't want my parents knowing you've been parked out here all night." I push his shoulder gently, and his eyes flutter open. 

"What, you're not going to invite me inside for some breakfast?"

"Of course not. You need to leave."

He sits up as well and stares at me. "Why are you still so mean to me? I thought we made some headway last night. If you don't stop, it'll just make me fall in love with you."

"Come on, I'm being serious right now," I say, trying hard not to roll my eyes. I then lean back and, with sleep still in my eyes, I let out a frustrated sigh.

"So am I."

I don't look at him. I don't want to know if he's actually telling the truth, if he's really falling in love, or if this is an attempt to get a rise out of me. Instead, I close my eyes and recall last night's conversation. He's right about one thing. We did make some headway.

It had been a strange experience, almost lethargic, to have it all poured out for someone I haven't known long. It felt a bit different than telling Will, who never has any fear of making comments or giving advice. Jay had seemed intent on staying quiet, for the most part, sometimes allowing his expression to change, pursing his lips, occasionally averting his eyes. 

Now as we're awake again, there is no sign of recollecting my confessions. Is he not saying anything because he's afraid I won't like his responses? I want to make him understand my reasons. My convictions. My every choice and the convoluted logic behind it. I'm not sure if it had been enough to ease his anger, if any of it matters to him at all.

"So. . .  you do get it, right?" I say after a minute or so of awkward quiet, opening my eyes again, sounding almost desperate. "Can you stop getting mad at me every two seconds, ignoring me, then showing up at my house asking if we can talk?"

"Yeah, I get it. Is that the reason you're closed off all the time, and why you act like us being together is the worst idea in the world?"

"I never said it was the worst idea. But yes, it's hard for me to focus on anything else. This attention I'm getting at school now, I don't want it. I can't waste my time on it. And you. . . you get why I'll probably never be able to. . . to express to you how I. . ." My mind suddenly chooses this moment to numb itself to my intentions. "Goddammit, what's wrong with me?"

His grip on my hand tightens a little, "Nothing's wrong with you. I'm sorry for everything you've been through. I'm sorry I was such a fucking asshole, and that I convinced myself you were faking your way through tutoring just to spite me. I was so far up my own ass that I didn't stop to consider there might be something else to it."

"Yeah, well, we're all self-obsessed assholes sometimes."

After that, he dives right into stories about his own life. His brother. His parents. His own convictions and fears. Maybe he felt obligated to tell me these things. How his father resents him, often tells him his brother was better. Smarter. More deserving. How his mother self-medicates so much so that when Jay looks into her eyes it's like an empty void.