"He's a breath of fresh air. The happiness to my sadness. The calm to my anxiety. He's an equal and opposite force, blocking me from the course of self-hatred I've been hurdling down my entire life."
◊ ◊ ◊
Mikaela Martin is almost certain quarterbac...
I hate staying home when my friends are all out having fun. Tonight, Sarah is at Annalise's to binge-watch their favorite romantic comedies. I begged Mom to let me go, figuring she might be more open to me hanging out with my friends than my boyfriend, but she said no over and over until she threatened to ground me for the next month if I didn't stop asking. I've been in my room since, sulking because I'm lonely.
Really, really lonely.
It took me two days to convince Peyton that he should go to the woods after today's game. I actually had to team up with Jake to persuade him. Today at lunch, Jake sauntered over to Peyton, Robbie, Annalise, Sarah, and me, asking if Peyton and Robbie were going to the woods. Robbie said yes. Peyton shrugged. I took a deep breath, summoned my courage, and said to Jake, "I've been trying to convince him, but he won't go."
Jake's orange eyebrows nearly shot off his head. When he recovered, he said, "Better listen to your girlfriend, man," and Peyton groaned, "Alright, alright. I'll come."
Now, I'm being selfish and regretting saying anything at all.
I felt a lot better after my heart-to-heart with Peyton Wednesday. But anxiety is an evil, evil disease, and worries infiltrated my brain the moment he kissed me goodbye after school. He texted me after the game wrapped up, sharing that the Panthers won. I said congratulations with a bunch of exclamation points at 9:45. It's 11:05, and I haven't heard back.
I'm home, bored and crying, literally grounded for having anxiety, and Peyton is with his friends. Laughing. Having fun. Drinking.
As horribly selfish as it is, I hate that Peyton is in a different headspace than me. He's buzzed or drunk. I'm sober. He's happy. I'm anxious and sad. Worst of all, Peyton is back in the world he occupied before me, and I'm in the one I occupied before him, the one where I cry alone on Friday nights.
No matter how many times I try to replay his words from Wednesday, the pit in my stomach refuses to go away. I don't think it will until I see Peyton again, and that's not until Monday. Fifty-eight hours until I have the slightest hope of feeling better.
I glance at my phone, lying to myself that this will be the last time tonight. Nothing. No notifications, no texts. The entire world is moving along without me. I stifle a sob into my pillow, shut my eyes, and wait for the mercy of sleep.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I wake up to a text from Peyton and three missed calls from Annalise. At 1:02 a.m., Peyton texted me, "Goodnight Mikaela!!! Miss u". My fingers hover over the keyboard, but I can't bring myself to respond. He's probably sleeping anyway. I wouldn't want to wake him up after a night of drinking.
So, I return Annalise's call, leaving Peyton's text unanswered for now.
"What are you doing right now?" she demands in lieu of a greeting.
