I Love Him, I Love Him Not - 7

Hey peeps!

MINIMAN: I feel exactly the same way. I just finish describing a guy and then I have a random outburst, clawing at the computer screen, sobbing heatedly, you name it. My boys are perfect, even if I say so myself. Lol.

Ivory Gold: Hey! I will try to remember to go and retrieve your email address, but I have a memory like a sieve! And that's your story? You are so talented. :)

Life: Yup, Cole is conceited. Well, he's not that bad, really. You'll just have to read on to find out more.... :)

Latoya: Jealous of what? I have nothing to be jealous of! Lol. What other story? I wanna check it out and then I'll get back to you on whether you're crazy or not. :P x

Tiff. L: Why thank you! Cole is all of those things, and none of those things. Sorry, I just wanted to confuse you. I think you'll find out about him in the chapter after this one. :) So read on and enjoy!

Everyone else: Thank you for the comments and enjoy!

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As we re-entered the cafeteria, more than a handful of people glanced up to gawk. I cast my eyes downwards, wary of all the stares, and carried on walking, trying to shake Cole’s hand off. He didn’t relent. Instead, he pulled me even closer and wrapped an arm around my waist, discreetly grabbing my other hand and tucking it into his left pocket so it looked like I was hugging him, too.

Walking to the table, I realised Irena and Nathan were back. They looked pretty occupied, their arms and legs and everything else wrapped around each other, but as soon as we got to the table, Irena looked up.

Her eyes widened.

Her jaw dropped.

"Summer? Is that you?" she asked incredulously, sitting up properly and blinking hard. I had to laugh at her expression. It was like I had never had a boyfriend before or something.

"Uh huh. I came back to get my books. What’re you doing back so early?" I asked casually, even though I knew that there were only a few minutes of lunchtime left and that Nathan was always prompt.

Irena still seemed in a state of shock.

"I – uh – I, um, are you together?" she finally rasped out, scrambling to regain her balance as Nathan tried to pull her back down again. Even he had an expression of mild surprise on his face.

I didn’t answer, instead looking up at Cole. He had a half smile on his face as he tugged me closer, and he looked down at me with a strange expression on his face.

"Yes. We are." He said, picking my books up for me before I had a chance to touch them and whirling around. "See you. Summer and I need to talk." He called over his shoulder as he guided me between tables and chairs filled with dubious students.

There was a hairy moment when we passed the blonde table, and Lucy Waterman looked up. Cole said hi to her like he would any other day and she just glanced over us, her gaze icy.

"Hi." She hissed, before flipping her hair back and turning around to resume chattering with her friends. Presumably about us.

Cole, though, didn’t seem to notice anything different about our classmate’s behaviour. He just pulled me through the crowd and out the room, sighing in relief as we got outside.

"I felt like I was under scrutiny in there." He breathed jokingly, lacing his fingers through mine once again in a way that made me want to squeal and jump in the air like a demented bunny rabbit.

"You were." I laughed instead, squeezing his hand just a tiny bit. He chuckled and slipped our joint hands into his jeans pocket. The tiny gesture felt so intimate (probably because my hand was currently pressed up against his well toned thigh) that I was ready to burst.

"It’s because my girlfriend’s so gorgeous." He interrupted into my thoughts, making me laugh again. I bumped my shoulder with his and shook my head.

"It’s because you’re so gorgeous and your girlfriend’s so not, you dork." I corrected him honestly, suddenly sinking under the overbearing weight of the truth of it. He was gorgeous. And I wasn’t. How long would our relationship last?

Suddenly, without warning, I was disheartened again. Cole was here, right by my side, but something told me that it wouldn’t last. There was something in the gentle grip of his hand and brightness of his azure eyes that told me that he wasn’t completely there, that he wasn’t completely mine. I wondered what to think of that.

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The next few weeks were lacklustre, opposite to what I imagined life with Cole would be like. He was nice to me, but that was it. No more kisses. A few hugs, polite, friendly words exchanged, but otherwise, nothing. Max was as quiet as ever could be, having had received the upsetting news that the football team tryouts would be going ahead without him having a chance to participate in them because of his sore arm. Mum was working overtime. Irena was busy with her sister’s upcoming wedding. Nathan was busy with her. And the rest of the school seemed oblivious to my existence.

Tonight was a Saturday night, and instead of being out with my ‘boyfriend’, I was in, washing my lonely lasagne smeared dishes and listening to some heartbreaking music.

Mum and Maxi had gone out to Pizza Hut and a movie in account of cheering the little brat up about his missed trials. I don’t like fast food, so I had chosen to stay home. Plus, Maxi talks all the way through the good parts of a movie and mum usually cries or laughs so loud that we have to get escorted out.

Our kitchen sink is right beside a window, and I stared out at the back garden as I worked. The back garden used to be dad’s thing. He was a real gardener, with proper green fingers, and when he was around, the plants always blossomed with brightly coloured, sweet smelling flowers and had never even seen a weed.

Now, dandelions tangled up with wild pansies and the previously neat hedges grew riotously in every direction. You could tell that the grass must have been at least knee length, and suddenly I longed to explore. There used to be an old swing that I had played on when I was small – I hadn’t even touched it since my father’s death.

I stacked the cutlery and plates neatly on the drying rack and made my way outside, abruptly excited. My shoes sunk into the damp earth as I fought my way through the jungle till I reached my destination. It was still there!

Carefully, not sure how much weight it could take, I sat on the old plank of wood that was the seat of the swing. I just sat there, closing my eyes, thinking about all the good times I had discovered with my play toy, all the times it had brought me and my father closer.

Within a heartbeat, I was transported back into my memories.

‘Higher, daddy, higher!’ I squealed, kicking my legs out and gripping the ropes tight, willing myself to become light enough to fly right into the sky.

"You can’t go higher than this, baby, you’ll hurt yourself." My father’s voice, deep, reassuring, and lined with laughter, said from behind me, making me scowl sulkily.

"But I want to!" I insisted, rocking back and forth just a little more, making my father grip the swing and still it. "No!"

"Yes!" my dad said right back, chuckling as he lifted me clean off the swing and into his arms. The sky rumbled dangerously, but he didn’t seem to notice. We stood under the canopy of branches anyway.
Instead, he gazed at me with such love that I felt warmed inside. "I love you, little Summer. More than I love life itself. And no matter what, I will always be there for you. Even if you can’t see me, or hear me, daddy will be right by your side, okay? Just call my name and you know I’ll be there to hold your hand and cuddle you and…"

He didn’t get to finish his speech. At that precise moment, the skies opened and rain began to pour down out of the heavens, pounding the ground and pattering the windows with the loveliest sound. My thin white cotton dress was damp within seconds, and my mum came out of the back door, laughing, where she had been watching us.

"Come on, baby!" she called, and I ran to her, barefooted, laughing and jumping right into her open arms. She smiled beautifully and tickled me till I giggled. In her hand was a towel. "Here. Dry yourself up while I go and get daddy."

I nodded, taking the towel, and stood by the sink to clumsily rub at my hair and watch my parents as first daddy, and then mummy stepped out into the rain. It was going full pelt now, and I stared, fascinated, as my father grabbed my mum and lifted her off the ground, twirling her around as she spread her arms wide.

As she slid back down to the ground, he pulled her closer and caught her lips in a kiss. I watched as my parents embraced, as they laughed and showed me what true love really looked like.

He died later that night.

The bad nostalgia made my eyes sting with unshed tears. Dad. I closed my lids, clinging to the brief memories, willing them not to slip away through my fingers like sand. They were already trickling, though, fighting against the wind of time, and my father’s face seemed hazy in the pictures I kept in my mind.

I was suddenly frantic with grief.

Dad, I love you.

The tears, unrestrained, ran down my cheeks, leaving hot, wet trails in their wake. His open, smiling face flashed in my mind, always too far away for me to reach out and touch. Blue eyes sparkled from his handsome face, and thick, matted dark hair curled haphazardly on his forehead.

It was easy, even then, to see why mum had let herself fall in love with him. He was funny, eye-catching, affectionate and caring. He had a feel about him – an aura of affability and warmth – that instantly allowed you to let your guard down and trust him absolutely. I had trusted him. I had trusted him when he murmured to me, night after night before my bedtime story, that he would be there forever.

It still irked me to wake up in the morning, walk downstairs, prepare myself for one of his bad jokes and then step into an empty kitchen; nobody sat on the breakfast counter, devouring a croissant almost as hungrily as he devoured the words on the newspaper clamped in his hand, nobody grinning warmly at me and leaping off the counter like a child, revealing his deep dimples which did nothing to dispel the notion that he was much younger than his age.

The pain, suddenly, was just too much, and I wrenched myself away from the swing, wiping my tears at the same time.

It was only when I’d pushed open the back door and stepped into the kitchen that I realised the house was not empty. A tall, familiar figure was folded up on a stool, tapping his fingers half impatiently on the marble breakfast bar worktop. My heart skipped for a second, accelerating, but then slowed considerably as my brain registered who it was. Cole. The front door was unlocked.

"Um hey, Cole." I sniffed in greeting, for some reason unsurprised that he had seemingly materialised in my kitchen. He looked up and smiled half-heartedly, and then frowned as I hastily wiped a lingering tear away.

"What’s up?" he asked quietly. He stood up and rushed to my side, placing a finger underneath my chin and tilting my head up when I stared at my feet and refused to look at him. His close proximity, even though he had taken the title of my boyfriend, was unfamiliar, and stomach butterflies fluttered around inside of me in wanting. I ignored the feeling. If his behaviour had told me anything, it was that he wasn’t committed to the relationship, and I hated that.

I sighed dejectedly. "Nothing. What’re you doing here?"

"Me? I’m visiting my girlfriend. What’re you doing here?" His feeble attempt at humour abruptly lightened the atmosphere, and I smiled.

"Oh, you know. Chilling out." I joked back, unconsciously leaning slightly closer to him. He dropped his finger from my chin and closed his hand around mine. The slight touch had the usual reaction to my senses – basically, they went wild.

My breath caught in my throat and I tilted my head that fraction of a centimetre higher. All he had to do was move an inch, and we’d be kissing. Was that really so hard for him to do?

Right now, in this state of loneliness, when I missed my father and was deserted by friends, I needed a pillar of support, somebody to hold me close. It seemed that Cole didn’t want to do that.

Instead of moving a fraction closer, he moved a fraction away, and that overwhelming sadness washed over me again. I wriggled my hand free from his and turned my back, feigning busyness.

"Would you like something to eat? Or drink, maybe?" I asked, and then instantly regretted it. My voice sounded so formal that I could have been talking to my grandma instead of my boyfriend.

Cole’s answering tone was slightly colder than I had anticipated.
"No, thank you," he refused curtly, walking back to the breakfast bar and occupying his old seat again. He didn’t say anything else, and the silence between us was crackling with tension.

I began to dry the dishes, something I never did normally. As slow as I could, one by one, I wiped each plate, glass and bowl, until there was nothing left for me to do. Cole was so silent that I wondered whether he was still there.

Turning, I realised he was. One arm was folded across his chest, resting on the bar, and the other was absentmindedly playing with a copper penny. I watched, fascinated, as he twirled it between his fingers, making it go faster and faster until it was nothing more than a blur, surprised when each encouraging spin of his touch never lessened the speed or knocked it off course.

His expression, though, was the real surprise.

His mouth was set into a slight pucker, as if he was pouting, and his eyes were sad and haunted. He seemed so downcast that I didn’t even hesitate, or stop to think. I walked right over to him, slipped into the stool next to his, and wound an arm around his waist.

He glanced up in surprise then, his beautiful, bewildered eyes staring right into mine. I stared back. The vivid blue of his irises were disconcertingly dazzling, and soon, I had to glance away. But my arm remained around him, and I rested my head on his shoulder. The light warmth radiating off him alone made my heart sputter and race.

"What’s up?" I asked quietly, keeping my eyes straight ahead. I could still feel his gaze on me. He made no move to hug me back, though, but I didn’t find this discouraging. So what if he wasn’t responding? I could at least get as much out of this limited time I had with him on an intimate level as I could. Not that we were on an intimate level anyway.
But while he was calling himself my boyfriend, I could get away with it.

"Us," he said, and my heart immediately dropped to my toes. He was going to break up with me, wasn’t he? His next words would be ‘we need to talk’. I waited, dreading them. "We need to talk."