3:30pm

44: gone wrong

           <Suicidal. Your love is suicidal. I thought that we were meant to be. You took my heart and made it bleed. I gave you all my ecstasy. I know you'll be the death of me>

•°•°•°•
Stephen 

A day. A whole day and two nights had gone by and I hadn't heard from Cleo. Hadn't talked to her. Hadn't seen her. She didn't call me. Not that I expected her to. Calling would be like a sign, right? A sign that maybe she'd changed her mind and would like to tell me about it. Apologize or something, because with the way she spoke to me two nights ago, I was pretty sure I deserved one. But she didn't call me. And I wasn't about to call her either.

My back leaning against the bedrest of my bed, I stared blankly at the pillow sitting on my lap. Fixated on the creases it's white pillowcase had. Smoothed them out in my head before placing my folded hands on the pillow. 

The next day after Cleo told me she was pregnant—yesterday—I'd woken up in the morning at a little after nine and the first thought that'd been in my head was her. Not the pregnancy and her decision to abort the baby. Just Cleo, as she was—unpregnant, beautiful, happy, sensitive. And I actually smiled, thinking of her. Until the memories from last night and the steely resolve in her tone came back to me, flashing in my mind, every word she said, as if mocking me.

I've already made up my mind. 

Cleo knew. She knew that if she acted on her decision, we would never remain the same. There would be no us anymore. We would be done. For good this time. She was aware of this, and yet, she was willing. Yet, she didn't mind. Because she never really did care about me. 

The other day, while we were on our way to Gregory's party, she'd asked me about our relationship. About where it'd be when we eventually got into college. And I had to admit, I'd actually been taken aback by the question—I'd never really thought about it. But then, when I did think about it, right then in the car, for the briefest of moments, I realized it would be difficult, seeing as we'd be going off to different colleges, but we could work something together. I mean, I knew I could. Two years, I waited and now four? Four years would be like opening a cookie jar, difficult but eventually you did. 

And I had thought, maybe I was the problem. She was probably doubting me. 

Now I understood why she had asked the question. She was doubting herself, her capabilities, and needed to voice it out.

"That's obviously the reason," I muttered, my hands fumbling with each other. 

How could Cleo even think I'd support her decision? Of course, I never wanted her pregnant, but now she was. And I might have done some pretty messed up stuff, sometimes, but I could never agree to an abortion, regardless of who it was. And it wasn't just anybody! It was Cleo. The one girl I was really looking forward to being with till we're grey and frail or . . . whatever. 

Apparently, the feelings were too much on my side. I gave too much of myself. Heck, I gave all of myself. Everything about me, with an exception to my business with Johnny, Cleo knew. I mean, I took her to the freakin HighPoint. The HighPoint was a special place for me. A last link to Malone. I wouldn't take just anybody there.

"It really is pointless if it's one-sided," I voiced, absently stroking the hem of the pillowcase. "Clearly."

"Now, you're talking to yourself too?"

At the voice, I raised my eyes from the pillow and settled them at the doorway where mom stood, arms crossed and resting her weight against the door. For a second, I held her soft but worried gaze before looking away.