We Don't Talk Anymore | ✓

24 | Lincoln

Dec 31 - Jan 1

The house was quiet, the soft murmurs from the TV filling the void my family had left behind. Everyone had wanted to go to downtown to see the fireworks. I had a major headache, so I chose to stay home and bring in the new year with Ryan Seacrest. They promised to bring me pizza and that was all the incentive I needed to agree to wait up for them. 

This was the first New Year's I was going to be spending alone. Oddly, it felt nice. I looked an absolute mess with my wild hair and sweats that I'd been wearing all day. I snickered at how ridiculous I appeared when I caught a reflection of myself on the fridge. I was in the kitchen warming up some leftovers from dinner because I was still hungry, even though dinner was only two hours ago. As I took the food out of the microwave, a loud knock sounded off at the front door. Confused, I walked over and looked through the peephole.

Dread filled my thoughts when I saw her standing there with a determined look in her eyes. Nonetheless, I slowly opened the door. "Hailey?"

She gave me a weak smile. "Hey. Can I come in?"

I gulped involuntarily out of shock. "Of course," I muttered, widening the opening in the door. She walked in swiftly, her hair brushing past me. I held my breath as her citrus scent filled my senses. It was all still too familiar. She was as familiar as she was beautiful. 

She walked into the living room and took a seat on the two people couch. I followed suit, sitting next to her in a way where I was as far away from her as possible. I didn't know how much of her I could handle. I couldn't trust myself to not kiss her or to keep my hands to myself. So I had to think of other ways to restrain myself.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked, genuinely curious and slightly worried. We haven't talked for over a year; it was unusual for her to even look at me anymore let alone talk to me. It was odder that she had come to my home. 

She seemed sad as she listened to me speak. "Does there have to be something wrong for me to talk to you?" She whispered, her voice fragile.

My eyebrows furrowed, confused. "That's not what I meant, Hails," I let out a painful sigh when I realized how good it felt to call her that instead of always only typing it out, "we haven't talked in a long time. I was just surprised, that's all."

She looked away from me and bit her lip as if to keep from crying. I could see the tears that were brimming at the edge of her eyes. Her lips quivered and her voice sounded unstable as she said, "and whose fault is that?"

Her words were a firm blow to the gut. I felt the air escaping my lungs as my ability to respond coherently dissipated. I couldn't pull my eyes away from hers, though. I tried to coerce them away but I felt like if I succeeded, I would break down. 

The tears in her eyes welled up fast and she wiped them away before they could fall. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"There's nothing to apologize for," I insisted, admitting to the truth "It is my fault."

"No, it's not," she argued, her voice gaining strength. Her eyes willed me to agree with her and I was too weak to go against her.

So, instead, I just asked, "what are you talking about?"

She exhaled heavily. "I know what happened last year, about the news you found out."

Fear struck and I blinked thrice to keep from saying something I would later regret. She could be talking about something else. She has to be. There's no way she knows. No way. I refrained my eyes from widening the way they do when confronted with news I'd rather ignore and gave her a questioning look. "What news?"