Well...Not Anymore.

Well...Not Anymore: Chapter 9

Lucas gets to the book store an hour and a half after I do, strolling in through the front door with his hands shoved into his front pockets, his hair just a bit damp from the shower I know he took after practice.  

I make sure not to stare though, choosing instead to busy myself with counting the cash in the register that I know I've already counted about three times today. It gives me something to do, makes me look like a good worker, and is so mindless that it calms me down.  

Counting the money only gets me so far, though, because it takes just two seconds for Lucas to talk up to the front counter and lean on his elbows, much like Zara did earlier. I don't look at him, I pretend that I can't even see him, because I'd rather go naked through a blizzard than discuss the events of Saturday night or this morning by my locker. 

Lucas, unfortunately, doesn't seem to have the same outlook on things because he breaks through the silence and says, "You said we'd talk later, Naomi. It's later." 

"I meant, like, end of the world later," I murmur absentmindedly to myself. He has to know that I was just trying to get him to go away. The boy is not stupid. He's one of the smartest people I know.  

At first I think I've spoken so quietly that he can't hear me, but he of course, does hear me and sighs in response. He says, "Come on. We can't just act like Saturday didn't happen." 

"What if we can?" I ask vividly, finally looking up from the stack of money and into his eyes. I have to fight so that the clear blue of his eyes don't completely melt me inside, but I somehow or another manage to and look unwavering while doing so. "I've done it so far and I feel fine." 

"Well I don't," he argues back strongly. When I give him a death glare he realizes that he isn't exactly going along my route of forgiveness with talking loudly like that to me, so he clears his throat and then starts again. This time when he speaks, he makes sure to talk softly because he knows I'll leave if he doesn't. "Look, Nay," he starts while I mentally curse him for bringing back my old nick name, "I'm sorry for bringing your dad into things Saturday. I didn't say it to hurt you." 

"Oh really?" I ask disbelievingly, "Then why else would you say it?" 

"It slipped out, alright? I know it hurt you and I'm really sorry." He looks sincere as he says this, so trusting and truthful, but I honestly can't even think about forgiving him for anything right now. Forgiveness is just one step closer to me liking him and I'm not willing to go through that kind of hurt again. 

So instead of giving him my forgiveness, I just look him straight in the eye and say, "Okay." 

He narrows his eyes a bit at my vague answer. To clarify it for himself he asks me, "Okay you forgive me or okay you heard me?" 

Even though I know this is just going to start something else, I say, "Okay I heard you." I'm not going to lie and say I forgive him because he might try to start being my friend again. I don't know if I'll be able to handle that. 

His tone going tighter than I'd like, he asks, "So you don't forgive me then?" 

I sigh. This conversation is already doomed; it's not going to take us anywhere other than to yet another tear fest. There is honestly no point in continuing on with it. So with one last shred of hope, I ask him, "Can we just...talk about something else right now?" 

"Fine," he says all too quickly. I don't even get the chance to be happy that we're not going to discuss our relationship, though, because he asks me a split-second later, "What's going on with you and Drew?" 

"We're just..." I start, but it's when I look into his eyes that I realize that he's basically demanding information from me like he deserves to hear it. It's almost like he feels he has the right to hear it from me. Well, honey, you lost that right years ago. My tone hitching up a pitch in anger, I demand, "Why does it matter to you? We're not friends anymore, Lucas."