It's 6:24 p.m.
I'm stuck in front of my closet, hunting around for something to wear. Most of the clothes I had brought with me are exercise and lounge clothing, nothing appropriate for a dinner out.
I look harder and find a pair of medium-wash jeans in the corner and a white top that rests slightly off my shoulders, accentuating my collarbones. Now I'm getting somewhere.
The room is empty, as I had told Martina that I wasn't hungry tonight. I hurry and pull on my jeans, realizing they're so much looser than they were last month. I ignore that fact, seeing that they look trendy enough anyway, and pull on the white top, fiddling with the neckline.
I realize that Axel has never seen me dressed up even remotely nor have I ever worn makeup around him.
It's strange how I have never been insecure about that, and maybe that says something about him. Either way, I have to deal with the little makeup I brought, concealing my undereyes, lining my eyes, and applying enough mascara to land me a Maybelline commercial.
When I'm done fixing my hair, I grab my phone and head out the door.
I slip out the exit of the dorms and hurry towards the parking lot on the opposite side of the camp. It's 6:59 when I reach the lot, and I try to locate his car.
I find Axel in the middle of the lot, standing in front of his silver car, and make my way over there, adjusting my hair and neckline of my shirt again. I was hoping I'd be the first one there, but I remind myself that not everything has to be a competition at this camp.
When I approach his car, I take in how he's decided to clean up: a linen button-down rolled up on his forearms with a few open buttons at the top and a pair of fitting dark jeans.
We don't say anything for a few seconds, our eyes doing all of the work. Then he swoops an arm around my waist, removing the artificial space I created.
It's so hard to be mad at him.
"You look stunning," he breathes, his hand splayed against my lower back. My knees go slightly weak, along with my rationality.
"And you know how to dress up," I complement back, my fingers tracing his chest. "It's sexy."
"I had a hunch I'd have to try a little harder with you," he replies effortlessly, pulling me towards his car. He holds open the passenger door for me, and I try not to act surprised at the sudden gallantry, sliding into the warm leather seat.
We don't say anything as he drives. I keep my gaze focused on the window, counting trees and stop signs absentmindedly, trying not to think about what might come out of this dinner. There's that thick tension between us again, and this time I can blame it partly on the outside, since Axel's half-open window is letting in a muggy warmth.
But the light goosebumps on my arm can't be from the weather.
After around twenty minutes, he pulls up into the far end of the parking lot of a slightly more upscale steakhouse, one I'd been to once for Poppy's high school graduation.
"I was worried about bringing you here," Axel says, his expression dead serious. "You know, since you're a strict vegan."
"Oh, shut up," I snap, getting out of the car myself, trying not to let myself laugh at his joke. He links our arms anyways as we walk to the restaurant, earning a loving stare from the older couple walking in at the same time. I want to scream at them that this isn't what they think, that we couldn't be further from a couple.
But I plaster on a smile, leaning in closer to Axel as we step inside of the dimly lit place and walk to the hostess. I'm overwhelmed by the smell of his cologne, which if I paid enough attention during my trips to the mall, isn't the cheap kind.
Our table is near the back by a gentle fountain, almost as though the hostess knew we needed some place less populated. I'm nervous at first as I sit down. Everything about this, from the table for two to the lit candle in the middle of it, screams first date.
But it's not.
"You comfortable?" Axel asks, taking note of how I'm practically sitting on the edge of my seat. He picks up his glass of water gingerly, eyeing me from behind it as he drinks. I pick up my own.
"Yes," I reply, releasing a small breath. I lean back into my seat and cross my legs. We continue a game of staring and small talkâtalking about the camp and the prize I won. Our eyes continuously dart between the bread basket in the middle of us and the tense looks on each other's faces.
I pick up a thick slice of ciabatta and rip off a piece with more force than necessary. "Let's get to the point here, Axel." I chew without thinking, swallowing before leaning over the table. "You said you would talk."
"We are talking," he counters. I've never seen him look nervous for much, but there is apprehension in the way he opens and closes his mouth.
"You know exactly what I mean."
"Fine." He puts down his already half-empty glass of water and leans his elbows against the table. "Do you want to know how my father died?"
How his father died? What a bizarre way to startâ "If you want to tell me."
He nods. "Ten years ago, in a subway accident in New York City."
My heart drops to my stomach, and my piece of bread slips out of my fingers with a light clink against my plate.
A subway accident is whatâ
He finishes my thoughts for me. "Your father was in the same one. He lived, mine didn't. It clicked before I said it though, right?"
A lump the size of a golf ball forms in my throat, and I struggle to swallow it. "B-but what do they have to do with each other?"
"Your father's was my father's boss for years, and a shitty one at that. He overworked him, sabotaged any chance of him ever getting a promotion, hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't try to save my dad in that accident."
It's almost like I'm seeing a different version of Axel talk, one full of pent-up rage. Even the waiter notices, taking a detour to another table as he approaches us with menus. I'm filled with an equal amount of rage, as anything that has to do with my father makes my blood boil. "Where do I factor into all of this, Axel?" I spit. "I'm not sure if you could tell, but I am not my father."
"You just came in between all of it. I had no way of ever reaching your father again after that incident, and when I saw his own daughter had applied to this camp, I felt like I had found my connection. So, I chose to work with you." I bite the inside of my cheek so hard, I can taste a little blood.
That's what he really meant by choosing me.
Fucking liar.
"What was your plan for all of this then? Where was your 'revenge' going to go, huh?" I lean over the table so that we're inches away, my fingers gripping the table cloth.
"I didn't have a plan," he explains, sitting back and running his fingers over the stubble on his chin and neck. "I was just bitter. I thought I'd feel better if I got close to you, confirmed if you were like him or not, but you're anything but." He tries to reach his hand out for me, but I recoil. "I can promise you I don't think this way at all anymore, Whitney, which is why I had no idea how to tell you this without drowning in shame."
I'm stunned to silence, unable to form a coherent sentence even if I tried. After opening and shutting my mouth over and over again like an idiot, I tell him what I need to: "I can't do this here. I can't sit and have dinner with you and bullshit everyone here. I need to leave."
"Whitney, no one's staringâ"
"Are you blind?" When he tilts his head from one side to another, he notices how many couples have their eyes trained on us and have to rip their gazes at our notice. "We're leaving. Now."
He doesn't say another word as we pick up ourselves up and walk straight to the exit the moment the waiter approaches again. Heads tilt up one by one as we leave, and I give them the show they want by pushing the exit doors as hard as I can and speeding ahead of Axel.
I haven't felt this angry, hurt, and heartbroken...ever.
"Whitney, wait!" I hear this over and over again as I use the speed he taught me to reach to his car, my feet aching against the hard soles of my sandals. Tears threaten to blur my vision, and I blink rapidly, telling myself I'll probably have the rest of summer to cry anyway. "Whitney, please. Don't do this."
"Do what?" I snap, spinning around to face him as I reach his car. "Leave? Did you expect me to smile and tell you your thought process was perfectly alright, and then we'd go eat our steaks and make out under the fucking stars?!"
He looks at the gravel ground, his face crestfallen. He tries to take a step towards me, but I back up more. "Whitney, please don't be like this. This is exactly the reason I didn't want to tell you! I'd have to admit to something I don't feel anymore, a wish to go back to a past I know doesn't exist anymore. I was so goddamn stupid, and I know it."
"How do I really know that, though?" I move backwards until my elbows hit the metal of his car behind me. "How do I know that you don't still feel that way, that you're not only saying this because you're blinded by lust or desire or whatever the hell's been between us? Because you really don't seem too trustworthy to me right now, Axel."
His face breaks. "Whitney, I swear on everything good in my life that I'm not lying. Every moment I spent with you made me realize how foolish it was of me to put you in a situation that never had anything to do with you in the first place. When you'd make me laugh or smile like you always manage to do, I started to question why I was ever angry in the first place. Why I thought I had to do this for my dad knowing the fact he's gone will never change. But youâyou're still here, and I can't let you go like this." He places his hands on my forearms, and I fight against him, not wanting to be so near to his body. Because every time I feel him this close to me, I know my mind will cloud over, and I won't be able think straight.
"Axel, please, get away from me," I say, trying to sound strong but my voice slightly cracks. "Please."
"Whitney, please don't do this," he says softly. I squeeze my eyes shut, gulping, and give up fighting.
"Do you know why I'm even more mad than I already would be after hearing what you admitted to me?" I ask him, mustering up the strength in my voice. "It's because all of this goes back to my dad. I don't love him, Axel, and knowing that even though he's never cared about me personally either, he got in the way of the one thing I've ever truly cared for kills me. God, why did this have to be about him?" As he holds onto me tighter, I want to hit him, push him away, tell him to stop doing this to me, but instead, I just softly slip out from his hold and stand in defeat against his car.
"Even as much as you hate him, I won't let you blame this on your father like I did, Whitney," he says, tugging his hand through his hair in frustration. "Blame me, hate me, never talk to me again if you want, but just know who started this all."
"I really want to hate you, but I can't," I say, tilting my head up, brushing the last few tears escaping my eyes. "Because some weird, small part of me understands why you felt like you had to do that, at least if I pretend for a moment I'm an unbiased onlooker. And I don't know what that makes me."
He laughs, one of those short laughs that's out of pain more than anything. "That makes you a good person, Whitney. Unlike me."
My smile comes out halfhearted, like my actual teenaged heart that's breaking in two. "So much for a pseudo first date," I say sardonically as I wipe at my blurry eyes again. "I kept trying to convince myself that this dinner wouldn't go so horribly."
He takes my hands in his. "I'll take you out on a real first date; I'll take you out on a million more. I just figured you wouldn't want anything to do with me after I told you this."
"The more you say that, the more you'll give me ideas," I reply, making weak smiles appear on both our faces for the first time tonight. He reaches for me again, but I barely brush his hand before grabbing the car door handle instead, not quite kissing him underneath the stars.
Maybe it's because we won't see any tonight, since the sky has clouded over as much as my mind has after this argument.