Because You're Different ✔

62. Stolen [Part 2]

With a grunt, I dumped the last box on top of the growing pile. Done. Seven boxes, stacked up against the wall, all sealed shut with duct-tape and labeled with the familiar Palo Alto address. They'd soon be shipped back to the house I'd lived at for most of my life, the house I'd never cared for as a kid and now never wanted to leave again. At least, there was something I'd learned from this whole situation: moving across the ocean was not for me. Despite that the US was far from the greatest country in the world, it would always be home.

I glanced at my watch, grandpa's watch. Eight pm. Charlotte could walk in any second, right through the door, and the first thing she'd see would be the boxes. All traces of a second person ever having been here were either erased or packed up — there was no sign of me, and it was simultaneously relieving as depressing. What had we been doing? And for what? Strikingly enough, the idea of having to face her, having to end whatever it was we had, didn't scare me at all. I was ready. This was what we both needed.

The image of Lena appeared in my mind, with that self-satisfied smirk on her face and a joint between her fingers as she leaned back in the cushions of the couch, exposing her long, slender neck. "See?" she said to me, in that mocking tone. "All that trouble for something crappy that failed anyway... You should've listened to me, Nate." And here I was, running towards another girl, trying to prove her wrong again — maybe I was a fool. Well, fool or not, I was taking this chance, like I'd always longed to do with Lena. First, I was going to get home and apologize, and then I'd see from there. If only June would've called me back by now. I'd been trying to reach her every ten minutes, always getting directed to her voicemail. Was she still at work, or was she punishing me for my behavior? Or both?

It didn't matter right now, because the lock clicked, meaning I was going to have to end my first attempt at a serious relationship, and that deserved all of my attention.

She was lost in thought when she came in. Her appearance was perfect, like always, although behind her make-up and jewelry, she was still just a girl, only twenty. Both of us had a lifetime left ahead of us. Tonight, this would hurt. In time, I hoped she'd forget about it; she'd remember me as the asshole who cheated, and then picked the other girl over her. A blip on the radar. A two-year blip.

She hung up her coat and stepped out of her shoes, black ones that added three inches to her height. Her step was upbeat, a sigh leaving her as she massaged her left shoulder. As soon as she spotted my packed-up belongings, the peaceful look on her face disappeared. She came to a halt. Eyes flickered from the boxes to me and back again.

I didn't say anything.

She didn't say anything as well.

A deep breath. Her mouth fell open, almost comically. Familiar red blotches were already creeping up her neck, becoming clearer each silent second.

She staggered to the armchair, like a drunk after closing time, and I had to fight the urge to support her. The way she let herself fall back, immediate and relented, was so unlike her I was starting to worry. Minutes stretched out between us, her biting her lip, staring off into the distance, until she looked up at me. "You're leaving me, are you?"

Just a statement. There was no emotion behind the words, and I wondered if she'd already seen this coming, or had gone into lawyer mode. Suddenly, I didn't know what to do with myself, so I stuck my hands in my jeans pockets. "Yeah. I am."

This time, something happened in her features, only for a split second, like everything tightened. It was gone before I could even take it in. She stroked her brow, controlled, then said: "I thought you were different."

I didn't know what to say to that. In what way had she thought I was different? What had she seen in me, that first time, that she'd decided to go for it? Was it because there was something in me that separated me from the usual people surrounding her, her stiff mother, her manipulative father, her disgusting cousin? I liked to think I was different from them. I'd dedicated half my life to not becoming like those people, or worse, like my own parents.