Love Her

Part 30

I felt like someone had kicked my legs out from under me. The weeks of stress, of worry . . . somehow in the middle of all my obsessing over the time, my time had disappeared. My space for sorting through it all, for making plans, had vanished.

And I wasn't ready.

Words failed me the moment I saw her.

She was waiting for me outside of my class as i would walk to lunch.

Something we used to do together.

There was something bothering me, and I couldn't put my finger on it. I was numb, horrified, terribly worried. And yet, under that, I could feel that I was missing something important. Something that would make some sense out of the chaos. That would explain it. My stomach suddenly felt like it was full of sharp little splinters of ice.

Why was she here? Why was she waiting for me? Didn't she hate me?

I just stared at her, trying to understand what she wanted, and trying to put out of my mind the yearning I felt to go run into her arms so that I wouldn't be swayed by my own wishes. To hold her, tell her that I wanted her back.

Of course, that was exactly why I wanted to go. I did want to hold her again. We were so good together. I wanted to be the less-mature, more-reckless Rachel who could laugh it off with her best friend, if only briefly. But that didn't matter.

I realised what I was missing.

She didn't want me anymore.

So what did she want?

The icy splinters twisted uncomfortably in my stomach. I was suddenly nauseated.

"So how was school?" She asked on the wayto the cafeteria, making small talk.

"History was easy, but I don't know about the Calculus. It seemed like it was making sense, so that probably means I failed."

Melissa put her hand under my chin and pulled my face around so that she could see it straight on. Well, as straight as she could from her wheelchair. With one finger, she tried to push the corner of my mouth up. The words poured out with precision, as if she meant them by heart, but also with feeling and a subtle rhythm. Like poetry performed by its author.

Her voice was too soft and musical to be sharp, but that seemed to be the way she intended it. "Don't be sad, Rachel. It...doesn't become you."

"Who cares if it becomes me?" I said a little too loudly.

She sighed, then took my face in her hands.

"There are things between my hands right now that I can't live without. You could take care of them."