6
A few days after that whole locker thing with Tori, I thought things were calming down. Like, the awkwardness was fading, or at least, I wanted to believe it was. But it was still there, you know? That weird tension, just hanging in the air, even if we were both pretending it wasn't.
And then there was Beck. We kind of... fell back into things. It wasn't some grand romantic gesture or anything. It was more like putting on an old pair of sneakers you'd forgotten about. Comfortable, familiar. But honestly, I wasn't even sure why I was doing it.
Maybe it was just easy. Maybe I was just bored, like I told Tori when we argued.
Deep down, I knew it wasn't right. It felt like we were trying to glue together something that was already shattered.
Then, of course, there was Tori.
We got into another fight, a stupid one. It started with her asking about me and Beck, and I, being a complete idiot, lied.
"You're just a rebound, Tori," I said, trying to sound casual. "I was bored. That's all."
I saw the hurt flash across her face, like I'd punched her. Her eyes went wide, and she just stared at me for a few seconds, completely speechless.
"A rebound?" Her voice was shaky, like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "So, everything we had... it's just a game to you?" She took a step back, her hands trembling a little.
I instantly regretted saying it, but the words were already out there.
"I'm just being honest," I lied again, looking down at the floor, anywhere but at her. "You knew I wasn't serious. It was just... something to do."
Her face crumpled a little, and I could see the pain she was trying to hide. But I couldn't look at her, not after what I'd just said.
"You're really going to say that? After everything?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but it felt like a knife.
I didn't say anything. My heart was pounding, and my stomach was in knots, but I refused to let myself feel guilty.
"Whatever," she said, her voice full of frustration. "I guess that's all I am to you, huh? Just something to pass the time. Well, I hope you're happy with that, Jade."
And then she turned and walked away. I just stood there, watching her go, my heart pounding in my ears.
And I didn't stop her.
I should have. I should have told her the truth, told her I was lying, that I didn't mean any of it. But I didn't.
Instead, I watched her leave, feeling like the absolute worst person ever.
Later that day, I found myself practically glued to the spot by Tori's locker, my heart doing a frantic drum solo in my chest. I knew I had to fix this, apologize, because it was finally sinking in how badly I'd messed up. But the second she saw me, her whole body went rigid. She wouldn't even turn around.
"Tori?" I called out, my voice barely a whisper. I took a step closer, but it was like I wasn't even there.
"Don't," she said, her voice flat, like ice. It was a voice I'd never heard from her. She finally turned her head, but her eyes were hard, no trace of the girl I used to tell everything to. "Whatever we had... it's done, Jade."
My chest tightened. "Tori, please—"
"No," she cut me off, her eyes narrowing. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to lie to me, hurt me, and then just pretend everything's okay. I'm done."
I opened my mouth, but the words just wouldn't come out. She was set, determined, and I could see her building a wall between us.
"I'm not your rebound, Jade. I'm not someone you can use when you're bored and throw away when you're not," she said, her voice steady. "So, if you need help? Don't come to me. If Beck breaks up with you? Don't expect me to care. I'm done."
Her words hit me hard, like a physical blow. Each one felt like a weight, dragging me down.
She wasn't even looking at me anymore. She was back to messing with her locker, her hands fumbling with her books, but her shoulders were tight, like she was holding herself together by sheer force.
I was frozen. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. The reality of what I'd done crashed down on me, and it felt like I couldn't breathe.
"Tori..." I whispered, almost pleading, but it came out all wrong. She didn't even glance back this time.
"I mean it, Jade," she said, her voice low and firm. "It's over."
And with that, she slammed her locker shut and walked away.
I just stood there, watching her go. I knew it was too late. I'd screwed up big time, and there was no fixing it now. Not this time.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt utterly, completely alone.
The lunch bell rang, a shrill, insistent sound that usually signaled a welcome break in the day, but today it felt like a cruel intrusion. I found myself at our usual table, sliding into the seat opposite Beck, but my body felt heavy, like I was dragging it through thick mud. Beck, ever the conversationalist, launched into a story about some ridiculous prank he'd witnessed in the hallway, his hands gesturing wildly, but his words seemed to wash over me, meaningless sounds in a sea of my own turbulent thoughts.
I tried to nod and smile at the appropriate moments, but it was a clumsy performance, a charade I could barely maintain. My mind was a relentless loop, replaying the scene with Tori earlier, her words echoing in my ears with a painful clarity. Every syllable, every nuance of her expression, was etched into my memory, a constant, agonizing reminder of the chasm I'd created between us. It was like a physical weight, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Beck, bless his perceptive soul, finally noticed my distracted demeanor. He paused mid-sentence, his eyebrows drawing together in a familiar expression of concern. "You good, Jade?" he asked, his voice laced with gentle inquiry.
I attempted a reassuring smile, a feeble effort that felt more like a grimace. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, I guess," I mumbled, my gaze drifting away.
He wasn't fooled, of course. Beck had known me for too long, seen me through too many ups and downs, to be easily misled. He studied me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine, before speaking again, his voice softer this time. "You sure? You don't look fine. You're kinda... distant. Like you're a million miles away."
A flicker of irritation sparked within me, a desperate attempt to deflect his concern. I rolled my eyes, a gesture that felt more petulant than dismissive. "I said I'm fine, Beck. Can we just drop it?" I snapped, the words coming out sharper than intended.
His expression softened, the concern deepening, but he didn't press the issue. He simply nodded, turning his attention back to his lunch, though I could feel his gaze lingering on me, a silent question hanging in the air. I desperately wanted to focus on him, to engage in our usual banter, to pretend that everything was perfectly normal, but the image of Tori, her hurt eyes, her retreating figure, kept flashing through my mind, a relentless slideshow of my own failures. I couldn't even bring myself to look across the cafeteria, where she sat with her friends, laughing and talking, radiating a happiness I knew I had stolen from her.
A wave of guilt washed over me, a heavy, suffocating feeling. I knew, deep down, that I didn't deserve her forgiveness. I had messed up, royally, and I had no idea how to fix it.
"Beck, I—" I began, the words catching in my throat, a jumbled mess of apologies and regrets. But the words felt hollow, inadequate, and I trailed off, shaking my head. "Forget it," I finished, the phrase heavy with self-reproach.
Beck didn't respond immediately, allowing the silence to stretch between us. He continued to eat, his movements deliberate, but the easy camaraderie that usually filled our lunches was gone, replaced by a palpable tension. There was no connection, no spark, just a heavy, uncomfortable stillness. We were two people sharing a table, but not a moment.
The silence grew, pressing down on me, until I couldn't bear it any longer. The words spilled out, a low, almost inaudible murmur. "I don't know why I did it," I muttered, my gaze fixed on the table, my voice barely a whisper.
Beck's head snapped up, his eyes meeting mine. "Did what?" he asked, his voice low, cautious, unsure whether I was addressing him or simply lost in my own thoughts.
I glanced at him, my mind still swirling with confusion and regret. "With Tori... I don't know why I pushed her away. I—I just—" I faltered, unable to articulate the tangled mess of emotions that had driven my actions.
Beck reached across the table, his hand covering mine, a gesture of comfort and support. "Jade, it's okay. People make mistakes," he said, his voice gentle, reassuring.
But his words offered little solace. It didn't feel okay. Not this time. Not with Tori. I had hurt her, deeply, and now she was gone, her absence a gaping hole in my life.
In that moment, sitting across from Beck, his hand warm on mine, I was struck by a profound sense of disorientation. I realized, with a chilling clarity, that I didn't even know what I wanted anymore. I was lost, adrift in a sea of regret and confusion, with no compass to guide me.
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The weeks that followed felt like an endless, gray blur, each day a stark reminder of the chasm I'd created. Things didn't just stay the same; they seemed to actively worsen, the silence from Tori growing heavier with each passing hour. She'd made good on her word, a painful testament to her resolve. It wasn't just a casual dismissal; it was a complete severance, a clean, surgical cut from her life. And honestly, how could I argue? I'd handed her the scalpel, after all.
Still, knowing you deserve something doesn't lessen the sting when it actually happens. Seeing her in the hallways, the way her eyes would slide right past me, like I was a ghost, it was a constant, gnawing ache. It was worse than I'd anticipated, far worse. I'd imagined the fallout, the awkward moments, maybe even some angry words. But this... this complete erasure, it was a different kind of pain.
One afternoon, during a particularly dull history class, I found myself watching her from across the room. She was laughing, genuinely laughing, surrounded by her friends. It was a familiar scene, one I used to be a part of. But now, I was an outsider, a spectator. She seemed so effortlessly happy, so completely unaffected by my absence. It was as if we'd never shared whispered secrets, inside jokes, or those late-night talks that stretched into the early hours. The realization hit me like a physical blow: she was thriving without me. And it was entirely my fault.
My relationship with Beck, meanwhile, was a slow, agonizing slide into oblivion. It felt forced, strained, like we were both actors in a play we no longer wanted to perform. There were no sparks, no genuine connection. Just a hollow echo of what we thought we should be. Every time I tried to voice my concerns, to articulate the growing unease, he'd dismiss it with a wave of his hand, a patronizing assurance that I just needed to "get over it." He thought it was a temporary blip, something I'd snap out of. But it wasn't about him, not really.
It was about Tori.
My mind was a constant loop of her. Her smile, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, the comforting cadence of her voice, the way she could always find the right words to soothe my anxieties. Even when I was at my worst, she had a way of making me feel like everything would eventually be okay. And I had thrown it all away. I had shattered that fragile trust, and now she was truly, irrevocably gone.
One afternoon, after the final bell had rung, I found myself inexplicably drawn to her locker. I stood there, a silent observer, watching as she meticulously packed her belongings. I told myself I wouldn't say anything, that I'd just turn around and walk away, pretending I wasn't still a raw wound of regret. But my feet were rooted to the spot, and my voice betrayed me.
"Tori," I called out, the word escaping my lips before I could stop it.
She froze, her movements halting mid-action. But she didn't turn around. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was a glacial whisper, devoid of warmth. "What do you want, Jade?"
A wave of uncertainty washed over me. Was there even a point? Could I salvage anything from this wreckage? But a stubborn sliver of hope, or perhaps just desperation, propelled me forward. "I just... I just wanted to talk."
With a sharp snap, she closed her locker and turned to face me. Her expression was guarded, her eyes hard, reflecting the walls she had erected around herself. "Jade, I don't think there's anything left to talk about."
Her words were like shards of ice, sharp and cutting, but I knew I deserved them. "I messed up," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I know I hurt you, and I don't expect you to forgive me. But I need you to know that I regret everything. I—"
"Jade," she interrupted, her voice sharper now, a warning. "You made your choice. You made it clear that you didn't care about me, not really. And now, I'm done. I'm not going to keep pretending like you're a part of my life when you clearly don't want me in yours."
Her words were a physical blow, a crushing weight on my chest, the guilt threatening to suffocate me. "I never wanted to hurt you," I whispered, the words barely audible. "You meant more to me than anything, and I messed it up."
She stared at me for a long, silent moment, her face an unreadable mask. Then, she shook her head, a slow, deliberate movement that signaled the finality of her decision. "You don't get to decide how I feel anymore, Jade. It's over."
She turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway, a lonely, final sound. I stood there, watching her go, knowing that I had relinquished any right to follow. She had made her choice, and I was left to grapple with the devastating consequences of my own.
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Ugh, that night. I swear, I was just trying to unwind. I'd finally managed to sink into the couch, you know? The kind of sprawl where you're half-watching some trashy show, half-trying to convince yourself the world outside isn't a complete disaster. But of course, just as I was getting into the whole 'ignoring the universe' vibe, there's a knock. A real, solid, insistent knock. Late. Really late. I didn't even bother to check the time, I just knew it was way past anyone's decent visiting hours.
My stomach did that weird flip-flop thing, the kind you get when you know something's off. I got up, every muscle tense, and walked to the door. I hesitated a moment, like maybe if I just ignored it, whoever it was would go away. But no such luck. I opened the door, and there she was. Tori.
My eyes widened, I couldn't help it. She looked... frazzled. Like someone had shaken her up and then left her to dry. Her eyes were darting around, not really focusing, like she was trying to find an escape route or something. I just stood there, one eyebrow raised, radiating all the annoyance I could muster. "What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice flat, but failing to hide the nervous flutter that was starting to creep in.
She took a deep breath, like she was about to dive into freezing water, but the words came out in a rush, all jumbled and stumbling. "I—I had to tell you something. I don't know how to say this, but... I just—"
My patience was wearing thin. I crossed my arms, the universal 'get to the point' pose. "Tori, just spit it out. What do you want?"
She blinked, and then, like a dam breaking, the words just spilled out. "I'm pregnant."
The air in the hallway suddenly felt thick, heavy. I stared at her, my mind doing that annoying thing where it spins in circles, trying to make sense of something that makes absolutely no sense. After a moment, I shook my head, my voice flat and detached. "How is that any of my concern?"
She looked down, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her sleeve. "You're the last person I... I mean, you're the last person I slept with before this happened."
My heart sank. Not in a romantic, 'oh my god, this is amazing' kind of way. More like a 'oh my god, I just swallowed a brick' kind of way. All the anger, all the hurt, all the frustration I'd been trying to bury over the past few weeks came flooding back, amplified. "What the hell?" I snapped. "Are you seriously telling me this now? You show up at my door, uninvited, after everything that's happened, and now you're dropping this bomb on me?"
Her eyes welled up with tears, but she didn't let them fall. "I didn't know what to do, Jade. I needed to tell you because this affects you too."
"Oh, so now I'm involved? Just like that?" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "You think I'm going to drop everything for you? After everything that's happened?"
She opened her mouth, but I cut her off. "You're the one who pushed me away. You're the one who made it clear that you were done with me, and now you're showing up on my doorstep, making everything about you again? No, Tori. You don't get to do that."
"I never wanted this," she said, her voice shaking now. "But it happened, and I—I needed you to know. Whether you want to be involved or not, this is... this is your responsibility too."
"My responsibility?" I repeated, my fists clenching at my sides. "You don't get to guilt-trip me into being part of this. I didn't even want a relationship with you to begin with, and now this? Why the hell didn't you tell me sooner, Tori?"
"I—I couldn't! I didn't know how to tell you! I didn't want you to think I was trying to trap you or something," she said, her voice rising in frustration. "I didn't want you to hate me more than you already do."
The tension in the room was unbearable. I stood there, seething, trying to make sense of it all. This whole situation felt like a twisted mess of things I never asked for, never wanted.
She took a deep breath, her voice cracking as she tried to hold it together. "Look, I didn't come here to fight. I just thought you should know."
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Oh, I know. You thought you'd drop the biggest bomb on me and then expect me to just go along with it."
Her expression softened, but the frustration was still there. "I didn't expect anything from you, Jade. I just needed to be honest with you. You have a right to know."
The words hung in the air, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke. The silence felt thick and suffocating.
Finally, I shook my head. "I don't know what you want from me, Tori. I can't fix this. I can't fix us. You've made it clear that whatever we had is over."
Her lips trembled, and for a moment, I thought she might break down in front of me. But instead, she just turned to leave, her steps heavy as she walked toward the door.
"Good luck with everything, Tori," I said coldly, my voice full of anger and confusion. "But don't come to me with this again. I'm not your saviour."
She stopped at the door, pausing for a moment before turning around to face me one last time. "I didn't want you to be my saviour, Jade. I just wanted you to know the truth."
And with that, she left.
I stood there in the silence, the weight of what had just been said crashing down on me. I didn't know what to feel. What could I feel? It was a mess, a complete, utter mess. And no matter how hard I tried to push it away, it wasn't something I could ignore anymore. It was there, a cold, hard fact, and it was going to change everything.