Chapter Six
The next three weeks fly by as my homework gets more intense, along with the isolation in Will’s classroom. We haven’t spoken since the day the snowman was murdered. We haven’t had eye contact since then either. He avoids me like the plague.
I haven't been adjusting very well to Michigan. Maybe everything that happened with Will ended up making the move even harder. All I ever feel like doing is sleeping. I guess because it doesn't hurt as bad when you're asleep.
Eddie keeps bringing up possible fillers for the obvious hole in my boyfriend department, but I’ve rejected them all. She has finally resorted to switching places in Will’s class with Nick in the hopes that something will bloom there.
It won’t.
“Hey, Layken,” Nick smiles as he sits in his new spot nearest me. “Got another one for ya. Wanna hear it?”
In the past week alone, I’ve had to endure at least three Chuck Norris jokes a day from Nick. He incorrectly assumes that since I’m from Texas, I must be obsessed with "Walker, Texas Ranger."
“Sure.” I don’t try to deny him this privilege anymore, it doesn’t work.
“Chuck Norris got a g-mail account today. It’s [email protected]."
It takes me a second to process. I’m normally quick with jokes, but my mind has been sluggish lately, and for good reason.
“Funny,” I reply flatly in order to appease him.
“Chuck Norris counted to infinity. Twice.”
As much as I didn’t feel like laughing, I did. Nick did annoy me quite a bit, but his ignorance was endearing.
When Will walks into the classroom, his eyes dart to Nick. Although he still doesn’t look at me, I like to imagine a twinge of jealousy building up inside of him. I’ve been making it a point recently, once Will comes into the room, to become more attentive toward Nick. I hate this new desire that has overcome me; the desire to make Will jealous. I know I need to stop before Nick starts to get the wrong idea, but I can’t. I feel like this is the only aspect of this entire situation that I have any control over.
“Get out your notebooks, we’re making poetry today,” Will says as he takes a seat at his desk. Half the class groans. I hear Eddie clapping.
“Can we have partners?” Nick asks as he starts inching his desk toward mine.
Will glares at him. “No.”
Nick shrugs and scoots his desk back into place.
“Each of you needs to write a short poem which you will perform in front of the class tomorrow.”
I start taking notes on the assignment, not willing to watch him as he speaks. Remaining in his class was a very bad idea. I can't focus on anything he's saying. I'm constantly wondering what's going on inside his head, if he's thinking about us, what he does inside his house at night. Even at home he’s been the only thing I can think about. I find myself stealing glances across the street any chance I get. Honestly, if I would have just switched classes it probably wouldn't have made a difference. I would just rush home and beat him in the driveway so I could watch from the window when he pulls up to the house. This game I'm playing with myself is so exhausting. I wish I could find a way to let go of the hold he has on me. He seems to have done a pretty good job of moving on.
“You just need to start out with about ten sentences for tomorrow's presentation. We can expand over the next couple of weeks, giving you something to prepare for the slam,” Will says. “And don’t think I haven’t forgotten. So far no one in here has shown up at the slam. We made a deal.”
The entire class starts to protest.
“That wasn’t the deal! You said we just had to observe. Now we have to perform?” says Gavin.
“No. Well, technically not. Everyone in here is required to attend one slam. You aren't required to perform, I just want you to observe. However, there’s a chance you could be chosen to be the sacrifice, so it wouldn't hurt to have something prepared.”
Several students ask what the sacrifice is in unison. Will explains the term and how it can be anyone chosen at random. Therefore, he wants everyone to have a piece ready before the night they are to attend, just in case.
“What if we want to perform?” Eddie asks.
“I’ll tell you what. We’ll make one more deal. Whomever willingly slams will be exempt from the final.”
“Sweet, I’m in,” Eddie says.
“What if we don’t go?” Javi asks.
“Then you’re missing out on something amazing. And you get an F for participation,” he replies.
Javi rolls his eyes and groans at Will's response.
“So, what kinds of things can we write about?” Eddie asks.
Will moves to the front of the desk and sits, only inches from me.
“There are no rules, you can write about anything. You can write about love, food, your hobby, something significant that’s happened in your life. You can write about how much you hate your Poetry teacher. Write about anything, as long as it’s something you’re passionate about. If the audience doesn’t feel your passion, they won’t feel you—and that’s never fun, believe me.” He says this as though he speaks from experience.
“What about sex? Can we write about that?” Javi asks. It’s obvious he’s trying to push Will’s buttons. Will remains cool.
“Anything. As long as it doesn’t get you in hot water with your parents. I’ll be sending permission slips home for the slam at the end of the week.”
“What if they don’t let us go? I mean, it is a club,” A student asks from the back of the room.
“I understand if they have hesitations. If there are any parents that don’t feel comfortable, I’ll talk to them about it. I also don’t want transportation to be an issue. This club is somewhat of a drive, so if it’s an issue, I’ll take a school vehicle. Whatever the obstacle, we’ll work through it. I’m very passionate about Slam Poetry and don’t feel I’ll be doing justice as your teacher if I don’t allow you the opportunity to experience this in person.
“I’ll answer questions throughout the week regarding the semester requirement. But for now, let's get back to today's assignment. You have the entire class period to complete the poem. We’ll start presenting them tomorrow. Get to it.”
I open my notebook and lay it flat on my desk. I stare at it, not having the first clue as to what to write about. The only thing that’s been on my mind lately is Will and there’s no way I’m doing a poem about him.
By the end of the class period, the only thing that’s written on my paper is my name. I glance up to Will who is seated at his desk, biting the corner of his bottom lip. His eyes are focused on my desk, down on the poem that I’ve yet to write. He glances up and sees me watching him. It’s the first eye contact we’ve had in three weeks. Surprisingly, he doesn’t immediately look away. If he had any idea how this lip biting quirk affected me, he'd stop. The intensity in his eyes causes me to flush as the room suddenly becomes warm. His stare is impenetrable by nothing but the final class dismissal bell. He stands and walks to the door, holding it open for the students exiting. I immediately put away my notebook and throw my bag over my shoulder. I don’t make eye contact when I leave the classroom, but I can feel him watching me.
Just when I think he’s forgotten about me, he goes and does something like this. The entire rest of the day I’m extremely quiet as I attempt to analyze his actions. I eventually come up with just one conclusion: He’s just as confused as I am.
***
I’m relieved to feel the warm sun beating down on my face as I walk toward my jeep. The weather has been insanely cold going into October. The predictions are that the next two weeks will be a nice respite from the snow before the full winter season begins. I insert the key into the ignition and turn it.
Nothing happens.
Great, my jeep is shot. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I pop the hood on the jeep and take a look. There's a bunch of wires and metal, that's about all I can comprehend from a mechanical standpoint. I do know what the battery looks like so I grab a crowbar from the trunk and tap it against the battery. After a failed attempt at getting the ignition to turn over again, I resort to pounding a little harder until I'm pretty much bludgeoning the battery out of sheer frustration.
"That's not a good idea."
Will walks up beside me, satchel across his chest, looking very much like a teacher and less like Will.
"You've made it clear that you don't think a lot of what I do is a very good idea," I say as I return my focus back under the hood.
"What's wrong, it won't crank?" He bends forward under the hood and starts to mess with wires.
I don't understand what he's doing. One day he tells me he doesn't want to speak to me, the next minute he’s staring me down in class and now he's under my hood trying to help me. I'm not a fan of inconsistency.
"What are you doing, Will?"
He rises out from under the hood and cocks his head at me. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm trying to figure out what's wrong with your jeep." He walks around to the driver's side and gets in, attempting to turn the ignition.
I follow him to the door. "I mean, why are you doing this? You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want me to speak to you."
"Layken, you're a student stranded in the parking lot. I'm not going to get in my car and just drive away."
His comparison, although accurate, hurts. He realizes his poor choice of words and sighs as he gets out of the car and looks back under the hood.
"Look, that's not how I meant it," he says as he fidgets with more wires.
I lean under the hood next to him in an attempt to look natural as I continue my point.
"It's just really hard, Will. It was so easy for you to accept this and move past it. It hasn't been that easy for me. It's all I think about."
Will grips the edge of the hood with his hands as he turns his head toward me.
"You think this is easy for me?" he whispers.
"Well, that's how you make it seem."
"Lake, nothing about this has been easy. It's a daily struggle for me to come to work, knowing this very job is what's keeping us apart." He turns away from the car and leans against it. "If it weren't for Caulder, I would have quit that first day I saw you in the hallway. I could have taken the year off…waited until you graduated to go back." He turns toward me, his voice lower than before. "Believe me, I’ve ran every possible scenario through my mind. How do you think it makes me feel to know that I'm the reason you're hurting? That I'm the reason you're so sad?"
The sincerity in his voice is surprising. I had no idea. Over the last couple of weeks, I'd convinced myself he must have never even cared to begin with.
"I-I’m sorry. I just thought-"
Will cuts me off mid-sentence and turns back toward the car. "Your battery is fine, looks like it might be your alternator."
"Car won't start?" Nick asks as he walks up beside us, explaining the reason behind Will's sudden guarded behavior.
"No, Mr. Cooper thinks I need a new alternator."
"That sucks," Nick says as he glances under the hood. "I'll give you a ride home if you need one."
I start to decline when Will interrupts.
"That would be great, Nick," Will says as he closes the hood of the jeep.
I shoot Will a glance and he ignores my silent protest. Will walks away and leaves me with Nick and no other option for a ride home.
"I'm parked over here," Nick says as he leads the way to his car.
"Let me grab my stuff first." I reach for my bag and my hand goes up to find the ignition empty. Will must have accidentally taken my keys. I leave the door unlocked just in case he doesn't have them. I don't want to add a locksmith charge on top of our already mounting debt.
“Wow. Nice car,” I say as we reach Nicks vehicle. It’s a small black sports car. Not sure what kind but there isn’t a spec of dirt on it.
“It’s not mine,” he says as we climb inside. “It’s my dads. He lets me drive it when he’s off work.”
“Still, it’s nice. Do you mind if we swing by Chapman Elementary? I’m supposed to pick up my little brother.”
“No problem,” he says as he turns left out of the parking lot.
“So, New Girl. You miss Texas yet?” Although it’s been a month, he still calls me new girl.
“Yep,” I reply shortly.
He attempts to make more small talk but I treat his questions as if they are rhetorical, even if they aren't. I can't stop thinking about the things Will said to me before Nick interrupted us. Nick finally grasps the idea that I'm not in a chatty mood so he turns on the radio.
We pull up to Kel’s school and I get out of the car so Kel can spot me, since I’m not in my jeep. When Kel notices me, he comes running up to me, followed by Caulder. “Hey, where's your jeep?”
“Won’t start. Hop in, Nick is giving us a ride home.”
“Oh. Well Caulder is supposed to go with us today."
I open the back door as the two climb in the small backseats. They immediately start oohing and aahing. The remainder of the short drive consists of transformer comparisons and Nick's car.
When we arrive at the house, Kel and Caulder jump out of the car and run inside. I thank Nick and follow the boys toward the house when I hear Nick open his door.
“Layken, wait,” Nick calls after me.
Ugh. Almost in the clear. I turn to see him standing in my driveway, looking nervous.
“Later this week, Eddie and Gavin and I are going to Getty’s. You wanna come?”
I definitely should have laid off on the obvious flirtation with Nick. I feel guilty, knowing good and well I’ve sent him the wrong signals.
“I don’t know. I'd have to run it by my mom. I’ll let you know tomorrow, okay?” I see the hope fill his eyes and wish I would have went ahead and turned him down. I don't want to give him any more false hope than I already have.
“Yeah. Tomorrow. See ya.” Nick gets back in his car and drives away.
When I walk in the house, Kel and Caulder are both at the bar with their homework out. "Caulder, do you live with us now or what?"
He looks at me with his big, green, Will-looking eyes. "I can go home if you want me to."
"No. I was just kidding. I like you being here, it keeps this little creeper away from me." I squeeze Kel's shoulders then walk into the kitchen and grab a drink.
"So is that Nick guy your boyfriend? I thought my brother was going to be your boyfriend."
Juice spews from my mouth as Caulder catches me off guard with his observation. "No, neither of them are my boyfriend. Your brother and I are just friends, Caulder."
"But Layken," Kel gives Caulder a mischievous grin. "I saw you kissing him that night y'all came home. In the driveway. I was watching from my bedroom window."
My heart jumps to my throat. I walk over to them and place my hands firmly on the bar in front of them.
"Kel, don't ever repeat what you just said do you hear me?"
His eyes get big and he and Caulder both lean back in their chairs as I lean forward across the bar.
"I'm serious. You did not see what you thought you saw. Will can get in a lot of trouble if you repeat what you said. I mean it."
They both nod as I leave the room. I pull my notebook out of my bag and throw it on the bed, plopping down next to it to start on my homework, but I can’t. The thought of anything getting out about Will and I distracts me. As much as I hate the fact that we can't be together, I hate the thought of him getting fired even more. He needs this job. Will was only one year older than me when his parents died, and he essentially became a parent himself. The more thought I give it, the guiltier I feel for being so hard on Will and the decision he's made. The pain I'm feeling as a result of us not being together pales in comparison to what Will must be going through. I feel less and less like Will's peer every day and more like his student.
I decide to work on the poem I’ve yet to start, but after half an hour I’m still staring at a blank page when my mother walks in.
"Where's your jeep?"
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. It won't crank, alternator or something. It's parked at school."
"How can you forget to mention that?" she says, obviously frustrated.
"I'm sorry. You were sleeping when I got home. I know you’ve been sick this week so I didn’t want to wake you up."
She sighs as she sits on my bed. "I don’t know when I'll be able to get it fixed. I work the next few days. Do you mind just keeping it at the school for a couple days until I can work it out?"
"I'll ask tomorrow. I doubt they would even notice it’s there."
"Okay. Well, I've got to get to work.” She stands up to leave.
“Wait. Your shift doesn’t start for a few more hours."
"I need to run errands." She shuts the door, leaving me to question the validity of her response.
***
I'm drying my hair after my shower when I think I hear the doorbell. I turn the dryer off and listen for a moment and it eventually rings again.
"Kel, get the door!" I yell as I pull on my sweats. I pile my still-wet hair into a band and double it up on top of my head as I throw on a tank top. The doorbell rings again.
"Kel!" I yell as I make my way to the front door. I check the peep hole and see Will standing outside, his arms crossed as he trembles. My heart skips a beat at the sight of him and I turn to check my reflection in the entryway mirror. Sure enough, I look like I just got out of the shower. At least I'm not wearing Kel's house shoes. Ugh. Why do I even care?
I open the door and motion for him to come inside. He steps in far enough for me to shut the door behind him but doesn't come any further inside.
“I just need Caulder. Bath time.”
His arms are still crossed and his speech is curt. I take this as a sign that I'm not going to get any confessions out of him right now, so I tell him to give me a sec as I go fetch Caulder.
I check Kel's room, my mother's room and eventually my room when I run out of rooms to check.
"They aren't here, Will." I say as I walk back into the living room.
"Well, they have to be. They aren't at my house." He makes his way down the hallway and checks the rooms as he calls for them. I open the patio door, flick on the outdoor switch and make a quick scan of the small backyard.
"They aren't out back," I say as we meet back in the living room.
"I'll check my house again," he says.
Will makes his way across the street as I follow behind him. It's dark outside and the temperature has dropped since earlier in the day. I become increasingly concerned as we make our way to Will's house. I know Kel and Caulder wouldn't be outside this time of night. If they aren’t in one of the houses, I don't know where they could be.
Will makes a quick run of his house. I don't feel comfortable walking through it since I’ve never really been further than the kitchen, so I stand in the doorway and wait.
"They aren't here," he says, unable to hide the uncertainty in his voice. My hands go to my mouth as I gasp, fully realizing the seriousness of the situation. Will can see the fear in my eyes and he puts his arms around me.
"We'll find them. They’re just off playing somewhere." His reassurance is brief as he lets go and heads back out the front door. "Check the backyard; I'll meet you out front," he says.
We are both calling the boys’ names when the panic rises up in my chest. It reminds me of the time I was babysitting Kel when he was four, and I thought I had lost him. I searched the entire house for twenty minutes before finally breaking down and calling my mother. She immediately called the police who arrived within minutes. They were still searching when she finally made it home-the panic in her eyes when she walked through the door cut through me and we both started to cry. After searching for over fifteen minutes, an officer found Kel passed out on the folded towels in the bathroom cabinet. Apparently he had been hiding from me when he fell asleep.
I’m hoping to find the same sense of relief when I look through Will’s backyard, but they aren’t here. I make my way around the side of his house and see Will standing in the driveway, staring inside his car. When he sees me running toward him, his finger goes up to his mouth, instructing me to be quiet. I peer into the backseat where Kel and Caulder are both crouched in the floorboard, their fingers and hands clamped together in the shape of guns; they're both passed out.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“They would make horrible guards,” he whispers.
“Yeah, they sure would.”
We both stand there, staring at our little brothers. Will's arm goes around me and he gives my shoulders a quick squeeze. His hug doesn't linger at all though, so I know it's nothing more than a gesture expressing relief that our brothers are safe.
"Hey, before you wake them up, I've got something of yours inside." He walks toward his house so I follow him inside and into the kitchen.
My heart is still pounding against my chest, although I can't distinguish if it's the aftermath of the search for our brothers, or if it's just being in Will's presence.
He pulls something out of his satchel and hands it to me. "Your keys" he says as he drops them into my hand.
"Oh, thanks," I say, somewhat disappointed. I don’t know what I expected him to have but I was fantasizing that maybe it was his resignation letter.
"It's running fine now. You should be able to drive it home tomorrow." He makes his way to his couch and sits.
"What? You fixed it?" I say.
"Well, I didn't fix it. I know a guy who was able to put an alternator on it this afternoon."
His comparison in the parking lot comes back to mind. Somehow I doubt he would have an alternator put on any other student's vehicle.
"Will, you didn't have to do that," I say as I sit beside him on the couch. "Thanks though. I'll pay you back."
"Don't worry about it. You guys have helped me a lot with Caulder lately, it's the least I can do."
And yet again, I'm at a loss for what to say next. It feels like that first day I was standing in his kitchen, contemplating my next move after he helped me with my bandage. I know I should get up and leave, but I like being here next to him. Even if I am finding myself in his debt again. I finally find the confidence to speak again.
"So, can we finish our conversation from earlier?"
He adjusts himself in the couch and props his feet on the coffee table in front of us. "That depends," he says. "Did you come up with a solution?"
"Well, no," I reply, just as a possible solution comes to mind. I lean my head against the back of the couch and meekly suggest my idea.
"Suppose these feelings we have just get more… complex." I pause for a moment. I'm not sure how he's going to take this new suggestion of mine, so I tread lightly.
"I wouldn't be opposed to the idea of getting a G.E.D."
"That's ridiculous," he says, eyeing me sharply. "Don't even think like that. There's no way you’re quitting school, Lake."
I'm Lake again.
"It was just an idea," I say.
"Well, it was a dumb one.”
We both think silently, neither of us coming up with any other solutions. My head is still resting against the back of the couch as I watch him. His arms are crossed behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. His jaw is clenched tight and he's absentmindedly popping his knuckles.
He's no longer wearing the clothes he wears as a teacher. Instead, he has a plain white fitted t-shirt on and grey jogging pants that are almost identical to the ones I'm wearing. For the first time tonight, I notice his hair is wet. I haven't been this close to him in weeks; I was beginning to forget what he smells like. I inhale as I take in the scent of his aftershave. It smells like the air in Texas right before it starts to rain. If thunder had a smell, I imagine Will would smell just like it.
There's a small dab of shaving cream right below his left ear. My hand instinctively moves up to his neck as I wipe it away. He flinches and turns toward me and I defensively hold up my finger as if to prove my reason for touching him. He pulls my hand toward him as he rubs my finger across his shirt, wiping off the excess shaving cream.
Our hands come to rest on his chest as we continue to look at each other in silence. My palm is flat against his heart and I can feel it rapidly beating against my hand. I know this exchange between us is wrong, but it feels incredibly right.
He allows my hand to remain on his chest as it moves up and down to the rhythm of his breath. The look in his eyes is the exact look he had when he was watching me in class today. Although this time, my physical response is more intense and I struggle to control the powerful urge to lean in and kiss him. I’ve wanted to talk to him like this for over a month now. I still had so much to say before he started pretending I didn’t exist. I’m afraid as soon as I walk out of his house tonight, the isolation will return. I decide to tell him what I’ve wanted to say to him for weeks.
"Will?" I whisper. "I'll wait for you-until I graduate."
He exhales and closes his eyes as he strokes his thumb across the back of my hand. "That's a long wait, Lake. A lot can happen in a year." His pulse increases against my palm.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I lean closer and turn his face toward mine. I just need him to look at me.
He doesn't meet my gaze. Instead, his eyes focus on his hand as he slowly moves it up my arm. All the same sensations that flowed through me the first night we kissed come flooding back. I've missed his touch so much.
I watch him as he moves his hand to my shoulder. He slides his fingers underneath the strap of my shirt as he traces along the edges. His movements are slow and methodical as he pulls his legs off of the table in front of him and turns his body toward me. His expression seems full of conflict as he slowly leans in and presses his lips against my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him as I inhale. His breath becomes heavier as his lips move across my shoulder and onto my neck. The room starts to spin, so I close my eyes. His lips make their way to my jaw and closer to my mouth. When I feel him pull away I open my eyes again and he's watching me. There's a slight moment of hesitation in his eyes just before his lips close over mine.
In the past, his kisses have been very delicate and smooth. There is a different hunger behind him now as he slides his hands under my shirt and grasps at my waist. I return his kisses with the same feverish passion. I run my hands through his hair and pull him to me as I lay back on the couch. As soon as he begins to ease his body on top of mine, his lips break away and he sits back up.
"We've got to stop," he says. "We can't do this." He squeezes his eyes shut and rests his head against the couch.
I sit back up and ignore his protest as I slide my hands up his neck and through his hair. I press my lips to his and pull myself onto his lap. His hands wrap around my waist and he pulls me into him as he returns my kiss with even more intensity than before. He’s right; they do get better every time.
My hands find the bottom edge of his shirt and I slide it up. Our lips separate for a brief moment as his shirt passes between us. I place my hands on his chest and run them over the contours of his muscles as we continue to kiss. His hands grip my arms and he pushes me down onto the couch. I'm waiting for him to find his way back to my mouth, but instead he pushes away from me and stands up.
"Layken, get up!" He demands as he grabs my hand and pulls me up from the couch.
I stand up, still caught up in the moment and unable to catch my breath.
"This—this can't happen!" He’s attempting to catch his breath too. "I'm your teacher now. Everything has changed, we can't do this.”
His timing sucks. My knees are weak so I sit back down on the couch for support. "Will, I won’t say anything. I swear." I don't want him to regret what just happened between us. For a moment, it felt like we were back where we belonged. Now, seconds later I'm confused again.
"I'm sorry, Layken but it's not right,” he says as he paces the floor. “This isn't good for either of us. This isn't good for you."
"You don't know what's good for me," I snap. I'm getting defensive again.
He stops pacing and turns toward me. "You won't wait for me. I won't let you give up what should be the best year of your life. I had to grow up way too fast, I'm not taking that away from you, too. It's not fair. I don’t want you to wait for me, Layken."
The shift in his demeanor and the way my entire first name is flowing from his mouth is causing the oxygen to deplete from the room. I’m dizzy.
"I won't be giving anything up," I reply weakly. I would have screamed it if I could muster enough energy.
He grabs his shirt and pulls it on over his head as he moves further away from me. He walks to the opposite side of the living room and grips the back of the couch, his head falling between his shoulders.
"My life is nothing but responsibilities. I'm raising a child for Christ’s sake. I wouldn't be able to put your needs first. Hell, I wouldn't even be able to put them second. You deserve better than third."
I stand up and walk over to him, kneeling on the couch in front of him. I place my hands on top of his. "Your responsibilities should come before me, which is why I want to wait for you, Will. You're a good person. This thing about you that you think is your flaw-it's the reason I'm falling in love with you."
My last few words trickle out as though I've lost what little control over myself I had left. I don't regret saying it, though.
He pulls his hands out from under mine and places them firmly on either side of my face. He looks me directly in the eyes. "You are not falling in love with me." He says this as if it's a command. “You cannot fall in love with me.” His face is hard as he clenches his jaw again. I feel the tears begin to well in my eyes as he releases me and walks toward the front door.
"What happened tonight-" He's pointing to the couch as he speaks. "That can't happen again. That won't happen again." He says this as though he's trying to convince more than just me.
After he walks outside, he slams the door behind him and I'm left alone in his living room. My hands clutch at my stomach as the nausea intensifies. I'm afraid if I don't regain my composure soon, I won't be able to stand long enough to make it out of the house. I inhale through my nose and exhale from my mouth as I count backwards from ten.
It's a coping technique I learned when I was younger from my father. I used to have what my parent’s referred to as "emotional overloads." My dad would wrap his arms around me and squeeze me as tight as he could as we counted down. Sometimes I would fake the tantrums just so he would have to squeeze me. What I wouldn't give for my dad's embrace right now.
The front door opens and Will re-enters carrying a sleeping Caulder in his arms. "Kel woke up, he's walking home now. You should go too," he says quietly.
I feel completely embarrassed. Embarrassed of what just happened between us and the fact that he is making me feel desperate; weaker than him. I snatch my keys off the coffee table and turn toward the door, stopping in front of him.
“You're an a*shole,” I say. I turn and leave, slamming the door behind me.
As soon as I get to my bedroom, I collapse on the bed and cry. Although it's negative, I finally have inspiration for my poem. I grab a pen and simultaneously start writing as I wipe away smudged tears off of the paper.
7.
"You can’t be like me
But be happy that you can’t
I see pain but I don’t feel it
I am like the old Tin Man.”
-The Avett Brothers, Tin Man