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Can't Help But Wonder
After watching the first two Iron Man movies, Elijah decides it's time to stop avoiding the elephant in the room.
"So, what's up?"
It's all he says, flashing me a kind smile to match his tone. He's pushing without really pushing. I like it. Well, I like his method, not that he's trying to get me to talk.
But isn't that why I came here? To talk it out with someone? If I wanted a distraction, I could've went to Jalen's and certainly gotten one.
But that wasn't what I wanted. It's still not what I want.
Bringing my eyes to Elijah, I brace myself and try deciding where to start. My hands feel sweaty at the thought of sharing. Then I remind myself that Elijah's not someone I need to feel worried or nervous around.
As soon as I arrived on his doorstep, he welcomed me with open armsâno matter how intrusive I felt when I spotted his mother on the couch, and realized he said he couldn't leave the house because he didn't want her alone.
"It's my parents," I confess lowly, diverting my eyes to the floor. "I found out something about them and it just... messed with my mind, a little."
Elijah angles his body toward me, but remains quiet.
"I wondered for so long why my mom all of a sudden wanted to follow my dad out here. I mean, we'd gone almost three years without him. The original deal was for him to figure things out up here then come home," I say, keeping my gaze on the floor. "But at the end of the summer my mom came out of nowhere and said we were moving. No reason, no room for argument. Her word was law."
I take in a breath, remembering that day and how upset I was. I'd gone as far as to steal the tickets and shred them, as if that would change her mind.
I remember crying about it in my room. I was mad that our lives were revolving around Dad's needs and wants. I was mad we were being uprooted from everything we knew, once again, because that's what was convenient for Dad.
Mostly, I didn't want to leave Beach Way. My friends or Liam.
The thought stings more than anything.
I spent weeks feeling guilty about leaving, as if I didn't do all I could to stop it, all because I'd miss them.
And what did they do in return? My best friend and boyfriend hooked up behind my back.
Why do people cheat?
I feel a hand lightly touch my knee, making my eyes quickly find Elijah's. He removes his hand the second I do, but the effect of his touch lingers, and it gives me enough serenity to gather myself.
"I tried questioning her before about it. All she did was brush me off," I tell him. "She made it seem like it wasn't my business. But how could it not be? How could she possibly think this doesn't affect me?"
Elijah furrows his brows. "I can't answer if I don't know what it is that's affecting you."
I sigh. I know, Elijah. I'm just not sure if I want to share that.
Infidelity has been a constant presence in my life, not only in my own relationships but in my parents. This isn't the first time it's come up in their marriage, but it is the first time it's been confirmed. The other time, I did something really stupid when other people mentioned it.
But Elijah's not just anyone. He's not some dumb kid from school who knows nothing about me.
He's my friend, and he invited me into his home because he can clearly tell I need help.
And he can't help if he doesn't know everything.
"My dad cheated. My mom found out and followed him here. Apparently, they worked on it and moved past it, and now we're all supposed to pretend it didn't happen."
Elijah's eyes widen, then he nods to himself twice before going back to a neutral face. "Okay. But how does it make you feel?"
I shrug. "Mad. But that's nothing new. I'm always mad at them."
"Is anger the only emotion you're feeling, though?"
I look toward the ground again. "Yup."
"Lyndon," he calls out gently. "I'm getting more than just an angry vibe."
"I guess I'm disgusted, too." I shrug again, bringing my eyes to his once more. "He's a fucking pig and she's an idiot."
Elijah sighs, sliding further down the couch, closer to me. "Anything else?"
I swallow hard, shaking my head. "I'm not sad about it."
He raises a hand in surrender, able to detect the annoyance in my tone. "If you say so."
"I don't care enough," I tell him.
Elijah flashes me a sympathetic smile. "I think you do, and that's why you're mad."
Rolling my eyes, I rise from the couch.
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know," I say honestly, because I truly have no clue. I can't go home. I have nowhere else to go. But his words are making me want to leave.
I pass the fireplace in the living room, stopping at the row of pictures. Every single one is of Elijah.
Must be nice to be an only child.
I pause when I see an older man in one of the pictures. For a second, I think I'm seeing a future version of Elijah. The resemblance between them is uncanny. The picture next to it features the two of them with a woman.
Veronica Valencia. The kind elder woman I met earlier in the night, when I barged in on their movie marathon.
I feel selfish. Here I am coming to complain about my parents, when Elijah's dad is dead and he feels obligated to keep his lonely mother company.
Elijah stands beside me, startling me for a second as I didn't hear him approaching.
"You look just like him," I say while nodding my head toward the picture.
His eyes remain on my face, not needing to look to know what I'm talking about.
When he doesn't speak, I turn toward him, finding those brown eyes still fixed on me.
"Why'd you come here, Lyndon?"
"I didn't want to be home, and I didn't want to be alone," I tell him.
"But did you want to talk?" he asks lowly.
"I... did. I do. I justâ" I cut myself off with a deep intake of breath. "It's a sore subject."
"Because it hurts," Elijah says matter of factly.
Turning my head toward the doorway leading to the kitchen, I briefly wonder if his mom is listening in. She excused herself to go cook minutes after the second movie ended, but I'm not sure how big this house is. I don't know if she can hear us.
"I get it," Elijah continues when I remain quiet. "My dad dying hurt and I don't like talking about it."
"They're not the same thing," I say with a laugh.
"No, they're not. I barely knew the man. You had a family for years."
Facing him again, I think about what he said and then shake my head. "My family's been breaking for years. This was just the final straw."
"And it hurts."
My eyes water once more, but I blink them away. Then, I give in, nodding my head.
Elijah watches me, remaining silent again.
"I don't get how they can come back from it. How we can come back from it? They're so horrible together. This should've been what ends it. Instead, we're just gonna pretend it didn't happen? I can't move on from this without any closure. And I don't think they can either. Shit will just keep happening, and they'll keep sweeping it under the rug. Like they always do. I can't keep living like that or with that."
I take a large breath once I finish, and find Elijah still staring at me with a concentrated gaze. From the corner of my eye, I see movement in the hallway leading to the kitchen.
Great. His mom is able to hear us.
Elijah lightly touches my wrist to regain my attention, then pulls back. "Feel a little better now that you said it?"
I wipe away a stray tear and shrug halfheartedly. "A little, yeah. It's not gonna fix anything though."
"Ever thought about saying that to your parents?"
I send him a blank look.
"I'm serious. Communication goes a long way, Lyndon."
"In order for us to communicate they'd need to actually listen to me, Elijah." I can't help the hard tone from seeping into my voice, already knowing talking to my parents solves nothing.
"It wouldn't kill you to try. And maybe, just maybe, saying your peace will help you. At least then you'll know you made your position on the whole thing clear. It'll no longer be your problem."
He senses my hesitation, so he adds, "Sometimes all it takes is a conversation. You'd be surprised at just how much of an affect talking can have on a situation."
I purse my lips, still pondering it.
"You stopped crying," he comments.
"Thank god," I say with a laugh. "I hate crying."
Elijah remains serious. "You cried throughout the first movie."
I cringe, looking away. He noticed? That's so embarrassing.
"I fixed myself for the second," I say jokingly.
Truth is, I let myself forget about it by the time the second movie came on. I focused on Elijah's laugh at the stupidest jokes and his mother's content smile at the sound.
"But you're better now?" he asks in a small voice.
"Yes," I quickly say, not wanting him to think for one second that he didn't help. "Thank you for letting me come over."
"No problem. I was... worried," he says in a low voice.
"Worried?" I echo.
He nods, eyes drifting to the floor. "On the phone... you sounded... I don't know. I can't explain it. I was just really worried about you."
My chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice, and when he raises his head to let his eyes meet mine, my heart rate quickens too much to be considered normal.
"If anything like this happens again, or you feel this way, just know you can come here. No phone calls or explanations. It's okay."
He's being so genuine and kind. I know I should thank him again, tell him I'll happily return the favor, I'll be there for him.
But I can't form any words. It feels like there's something stuck in my throat, making it hard to swallow and even harder to speak.
"I... I..." I stutter. "I gotta go."
Elijah looks confused, then nods in understanding.
"Yeah, I get it. Go," he motions with his hand, smiling again.
No, you don't get it. You have no idea what's going through my mind. I barely do.
I call out a thank you to Mrs. Valencia, but I'm not sure if I project my voice enough for her to hear.
I'm too focused on racing out of his house as fast as I can.
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"I know it's really, really, really late and this is super last minute, and I can't even remember the last time we had a full conversation or any interaction that went further than a simple hello since I've been back, but can I please spend the night at your house?"
The line is silent for a second, then another, and another, and just as I think I might actually pass out, she answers.
"Sure."
She sounds so fucking unsure, but I'm desparate, so I'll take it. "Thank you so much!" I say cheerfully. Then I awkwardly clear my throat. "Um, this is gonna sound silly, but what's your address?"
An agitated sound comes from my dear cousin, but she recites her address to me anyway.
"Come to the back. Not the front," she instructs before hanging up.
Damn, her and Jalen are too much alike.
The reminder of Jalen feels like a slap in the face. The uncertainty I have in him and our relationship is why I need to reach out to Malia for a place to stay.
If the voice in my head wasn't constantly reminding me of Jalen's shady antics, I could've just gone to him.
But staying with Maliaâno matter how fucking awkward this impromptu sleepover will beâis the better choice than giving in and calling Jalen.
And it's certainly a better idea than asking Elijah to spend the night.
The thought of spending the night at Elijah's feels wrong. Just going over to talk to him and spending several hours there makes me feel like I did something wrong.
But I brush that off. I needed a friend, and Elijah filled that role.
After parking on the street and sending Malia an i'm here text, I make my way to the back of her enormous mansion.
Figures her house would be bigger than Jalen's and David's.
I push away any snide remarks I want to make, just as I'm pushing away how being at Elijah's made me feel.
My only focus is getting into a warm bed and closing my motherfucking eyes. I need to sleep and forget this horrible day.
"That was fast," Malia says in lieu of greeting as she opens the backdoor.
"I was already out," I reply, cringing after.
Why did I say that? What if she asks where?
"Shoes off," she demands, pointing at my sneakers. "Carry them into the room."
I don't know why I even worried myself. She clearly won't pry. The bitch doesn't care. She never did.
"Yes, master," I say while bending down to remove my shoes.
When I stand straight, I see the dry look Malia casts me.
"Who's doing who a favor right now?" she asks while crossing her arms.
Rather than letting this turn into an argumentâbecause she's already pissing me off by rubbing it in my face that I'm turning to her for helpâI focus on the fact that she's whispering.
"Did you not tell your mom that I was coming?"
Malia's arms lower, just a little, but she keeps a neutral expression intact. "I'll tell her in the morning."
"Is she sleeping?"
"No, but I was," she answers with narrowed eyes. She drops her arms and turns away. "Follow me."
I roll my eyes at what feels like the tenth order she's given me already, but again, I keep my lips shut and do as she says.
I can't help but marvel at the luxurious hallway she leads me down.
The decor is a mix between modern and classic, simple yet elegant, with a color scheme of purely white and gray.
Awe fills me as we finally reach white double doors with silver handles. Malia easily pushes through them and enters the enormous room.
Lingering in the doorway like an idiot, I can't help but feel out of place. Like I truly don't belong.
How bad is it that I felt more comfortable at Elijah's than at my own cousin's?
"There's a bathroom over there," Malia announces while daintily pointing a finger to the other side of the room.
I follow her movement, seeing a white door. It matches the bed that's also white, and plushy, and probably a lot more comfortable than my own.
Still, I can't stop mouth from opening. "What?" I ask with a loud laugh. "You don't wanna share your room with me?"
Malia raises an eyebrow, fixing me with a pointed gaze before moving toward the door we came through.
"It was a joke," I announce in a hard tone. "It's not like I actually want to sleep with you."
She flashes me another bored look, entirely done with my shit.
"It's not like we're ten anymore," I continue speaking, trying to keep my voice full of that sarcastic venom, but knowing deep down there's bitterness lingering in it.
We're definitely not ten anymore.
"That's for damn sure," Malia says, and for once, that emotionless, bored tone is out of her voice. Instead, she sounds like the bitter one.
I just don't know why.
And she gives me no time to try figuring it out as she flips a switch by the door and exits, leaving me alone in the darkness.
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I feel hungover when I wake up. When I remember the events of last night, the pounding headache makes sense.
My brothers. My parents. Elijah. Jalen. Malia.
So much bullshit.
Raising my arms above my head in a stretch, I sigh contentedly at the great sleep I had. At least one thing went right. That brief thankfulness I feel ends when a knock at the door echoes throughout the room.
"Wake up, bitch," my cousin says before pushing open the door. She enters while wearing the same tiny, satin robe she had last night, hair cascading down her back in long waves.
How put together she looks irks me, so I decide to scowl and ask, "You're not gonna ask how I slept?"
Malia's eyes move up and down my sitting form on the bed. "Judging by the bird's nest on top of your head, I'd say the answer is obvious."
I roll my eyes, but don't bother fighting her about it. "We can't all be so lucky to be perfect like you, Malia."
Her brown eyes follow my movements as I rise from the bed and start gathering my things.
When she says nothing, I flash her a look. In return, she shrugs her shoulders. "What? Am I supposed to pretend I'm not?"
Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, and I'd love nothing more than to smack it out of her.
But rather than acting on those impulses, I take a breath, and instead find myself filled with sadness. How did we get here? How did our relationship get so... bad?
The reality of how bad all of the relationships in my life seem to be dawns on me, making me think for the briefest second that I'm the cause.
I shake that thought away. My family has always been complicated, that's not just on me. And even Malia had been a toxic part of my life in her own way.
Maybe it wasn't always her fault, because she certainly didn't ask for me to admire her when we were kids, but she sure as hell didn't stop me from placing her on a pedestal. That little bitch loved the attention, I know it.
"Breakfast is ready," Malia announces in a dry tone after I don't respond.
I nod my head at her as I continue grabbing my things. As I place my boots on, I feel the side eye Malia is casting me.
"Are you staying or...?" she asks, voice trailing off.
I look up, sighing. "I'm still tired," I tell her, and mean it. Even though I probably got the best sleep of my life last night, I'm still emotionally tired. Too much has happened. Too much is still unresolved. "I'm gonna head home."
Malia's pretty face contorts in anger as she takes a step closer. "Are you serious? You're not staying for breakfast? You're just going to leave?"
I blank at her tone, not understanding the anger. Does she not want me gone? She certainly has been acting like it. "Yeah. Thanks for letting me stay, and thanks for the offer, but..."
"It wasn't my offer," she cuts me off, tone still harsher than need be. "My mother invited you, Lyndon. She knows you're here, and so does Kendrick. You can't just skip out."
Rather than focusing on the fact that it's not even her that wants me hereâbecause as much as I try not too, it still hurts when I'm reminded how distant we areâit's the ending that rings in my ears.
Kendrick. She calls her stepdad Kendrick, even though he's been in her life... well, since I left. It's been seven years.
Malia breathes in and out deeply once, then seems to regain the little bit of her composure she lost. "Just... come down and say hi, then you can leave."
I follow her wordlessly through the hall, down the stairs, and into the lavish kitchen. The second we enter, the smell of bacon hits me, and I'm instantly hungry.
"Lyndon!" Titi Talia walks around the countertop, making her way to me and pulling me in for a quick hug, planting the lightest kiss on my cheek. "I've wanted us all to catch up ever since you moved back, there's just been no time." She pauses to let out a breezy laugh, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as she guides me further into the kitchen. "How've you been? How's your mother?"
My face drops at the reminder of that mess, so I brush it off and turn it on her. "All good. How about you, titi? New husband, new house. Sounds exciting."
Her smile brightens, as if that's possible. Malia silently takes a seat at the stool by the island in the middle of the large room, reaching for the orange juice in front of her and pouring a glass.
Footsteps come from the other doorway on the opposite side of the kitchen. "Speaking of new husband..." Titi Talia says in a giddy voice, trailing off as he enters.
I'm not sure what I was expecting Kendrick Carrington to look like, but somehow, he fits the exact picture one would have in their head when they picture the richest man on the east coast.
The only way I can think to describe him is as a silver fox, and though that might be inappropriate since the man's technically my uncle, there's still no other words to do him justice. He's just as handsome as one would expect, and even if he's not blood related to Malia, he's just as good looking as her. The amount of attractiveness in the room is honestly killing my appetite.
"Kendrick, dear, this is my niece, Lyndon," Talia announces happily, dragging me closer to where her husband is. When his expression remains stoic, she adds, "Angelica's daughter."
Kendrick nods, eyes moving to observe me. He sends me a nod of acknowledgement as he reaches for a cup of coffee from the counter. "Nice to meet you, Lyndon."
Doesn't really sound like it's all that nice. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Carrington."
He nods once more, then takes a seat while bringing his eyes to the newspaper in one hand, and continuing to sip his coffee.
"So," Talia announces giddily once more, clearly trying to change the atmosphere in the room. Either that or she's just completely oblivious to it. Kendrick and Malia didn't even address one another. "Did you girls have fun last night?"
"Fun?" I echo.
Talia nods, hair bouncing as she does. It makes her look more youthful, so much more youthful than I've ever seen my mother look. "Yeah, catching up. Having a sleepover. Just like old times."
She sends a wistful look to her daughter, but all Malia does is send her a bored look and bring her attention back to her glass. "Yup. The best of times, Mom."
Her sarcasm practically smacks us in the face, and before either of us can respond, Kendrick does. "Watch your tone."
His voice is barely higher than a whisper as his eyes never leave the newspaper, but the message is clear.
Malia slowly angles her head his way, sending a sharp look that I'm sure he can feel. "Okay, Kendrick."
Though the words insinuate that she's following his demand, it's clear that's not at all what she means. Not with the mocking tone and definitely not with the way she says his name as if it's a curse word.
Kendrick's eyes dart up, catching hers, and though I'm not at all apart of their staring contest, I begin to sweat.
Thankfully nothing else is said, and when I look to Talia, wondering how this makes her feel, all I see is that her smile dropped. She picks it right back up seconds later, turning to me. "How are you liking New York?"
My eyes widen, unsure how to even engage in casual conversation after that. Malia grabs her glass and stands, exiting down the hall we came from, while Kendrick continues reading and Talia looks at me expectantly.
I swallow hard. "Uh, it's alright," I answer slowly. "Thank you for the food," I say, gesturing towards the untouched food she placed on the plate in front of me, "but my mother wants me home. I better go."
Talia pouts, but nods in understanding. "We must plan a day to all get together. I'd love to see Angelica again. Please let her know."
I nod and stand, though I don't get why she can't just tell my mother herself. Don't they talk?
Turning down the hall, I move slowly, trying to figure out where Malia went.
I get my answer when I hear low voices, one that's always been too familiar and the other sounding foreign as hell to me.
"Not now," one says, and it's clearly Malia, all harsh and closed off.
"Lia," another voice whines. "What happened? It's barely noon!"
I move closer, shocked to see what's almost the younger version of Malia, just with gray eyes, straighter hair, and a kinder smile.
"Blair?" I question, though I know this has to be her.
The girl turns toward me, face shifting between shock and happiness. "Lyndon! Oh my god."
She rushes toward me, throwing her arms around my waist, and I return the hug in full force, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and holding her close.
"Damn, you got big," I say into her hair.
"I don't think I'll ever beat you, Amazon," she says jokingly.
I pinch her arm at the nickname, regretting the time I decided to confide in a fucking five year old that I was being picked on for my height.
"Really?" I ask with a dry tone as I pull away.
Her arms remain locked around my waist. "Hey, you're the one that pulled the oh my god you're so big! line as if you expected me to stay five forever."
I let out a chuckle. "I guess seeing you just shows how long it's been."
Blair nods, just as Malia does from behind her, and all I can do is marvel at how similar they look. What's really throwing me is the fact that Blair's now the age Malia was when I last saw her, before I moved. In a weird way, it's like being thrown back in time. And once that silly idea leaves, I'm reminded once again of how much has changed.
"You're leaving?" Malia asks, or says, I'm not sure. I can't tell if she wants me too.
"No, please stay. I literally just got to see you," Blair pleads.
I shrug, knowing I don't have anywhere to be. "I am hungry."
Blair claps. "Yay!" she shrieks, and her energetic bounce actually makes me feel a bit better. "We can have Grace bring the food to the back, so we don't have to go to the kitchen."
Her words are directed toward Malia, sending her a pleading look. Malia sighs, then nods. "Go ask, and I'll show Lyndon what you're talking about."
Blair follows her sister's orders, running off seconds later.
And then there were two.
"Don't," Malia says roughly. Then, she walks down the hall to our left.
"Don't what?" I ask as I follow her.
Malia turns to send me a hard look. "You know what, and that's all we're saying about it."
I swallow hard, knowing exactly what she means. "Okay. Clearly you don't want to talk about what happened in the kitchen, and how weird things are between you and your stepfather who you call by his first name. Got it."
Malia's nostrils flare as she hears the words, and even though she's resembling an angry bull right now, there's still something too pretty about her face, it's annoying.
"Lyndon..." she says warningly. "You're the last person who should be getting involved in anyone else's business."
I let out a humorless laugh. "What the fuck? Are you kidding me? I'm the only one who's an open book around here!"
She sends me a wide eyed look. "If you really think that..." she trails off, shaking her head to herself. "Then you're delusional, honey."
My jaw clenches at that condescending nickname, but nonetheless, I keep my composure as she normally would. "Out of everyone at Arlin Preparatory, I'm hiding the least."
Malia's eyes narrow as she observes me for several seconds. "Then why are you here, and not fixing whatever the fuck your problem is."
My mouth opens, but there's no rebuttal. Damn, she got me.
I suck my teeth. "If you wanna know what's wrong, I'll happily tell you. I have nothing to hide."
Malia raises her hands in the air, waving them around the empty room she's bought us too, containing one couch and a table. "By all means, Lyndon, please, tell me your problems."
"I don't appreciate your tone," I tell her, following as she sits on the couch. Once we've each claimed one side to ourselves, carefully maintaining as much distance between us, I begin. "My dad cheated on my mom. And they're of course not handling it in any normal way. Your turn."
A knowing smile comes to my cousin's face, single dimple appearing on the right side of her cheek, stupidly reminding me of Jalen.
"You expect me to believe that's all that's wrong?"
"Huh?"
Malia folds her hands, bringing them into her lap as she crosses her legs. "What's the issue with Jalen?"
Not expecting her straightforwardness, I choke on my spit. After coughing several times as Malia just sits there watching, I regain my composure. "There is no issue with Jalen."
"Hm," Malia hums, clearly showing she doesn't believe me. "Then why has he been asking me where you are?'
"Wait, what?" My heart rate quickens, both at the knowledge that they possibly have or had conversations about me, and that Jalen even asked. He cares... he... No, stop. "What... what'd he say?"
That same annoying smile remains on her face. "I'll show you after you tell me what's going on."
Jesus everloving Christ, she can't be serious.
"Malia..." I say, voice somewhere between warning and pleading. I'm not sure if begging her to let me know or beating it out of her is the way to go.
Begging used to always work back in the day. Malia loved being in charge, and being made to feel way more important than she actually was. But times have changed. Spending time here has only solidified that. I've changed. I don't know if she has, but I did. And punching her if she doesn't show me right now is sounding like a good option.
"I know Jalen," she states, teasing smile falling from her face, replaced with a more serious look. "It's why I'm asking. Not because I care, but because I know him."
I'm not entirely sure what that's supposed to mean, but the message is clear. This isn't to mess with me or have some fun to distract from whatever the hell happened earlier. She knows something is wrong.
"I think he cheated on me," I say, eyes closed, "with Cortney."
When I reopen my eyes, after saying a small prayer that I won't regret revealing this, I find Malia with a thoughtful expression on her face.
"What makes you think that?" she asks.
"On New Year's Eve at that stupid party," I begin, "I saw her kissing somebody who looked a hell of a lot like Jalen. Then, I couldn't find both of them for the next hour."
Malia nods her head to herself, eyes shifting to the wall behind me, seeming to go over the details in her head. "And have you ever thought about telling him this?"
"I did tell him," I quickly say. "Of course I did."
"Well, what'd he say?"
"That he didn't cheat..."
Malia looks at me as if I'm a fucking moron, and to be honest, that's how I've been feeling lately.
"Well then there you go!" she says as if it's obvious. "Problem solved. I thought it would be something more serious."
"Malia, are you on crack?" I ask, moving closer as I observe her. "Just because he said he didn't cheat doesn't mean he actually didn't."
"What do you want? Photo proof? I'm sure the Uccello's had cameras that night, especially since you were there," Malia says with a shrug.
Ignoring the jab that information does to my ego, I shake my head. "Yeah, I'm just gonna barge on in there and ask for copies of their security footage." I laugh at the insanity, but also take a moment to wonder if getting Malia or even Daniel to help me do that would be possible. Then, I shake my head once more. That's fucking crazy. "I shouldn't have to get proof like that. I should be able to trust him."
"Then why don't you?" she asks, as if it's really that simple.
Is it, though? Is it really that simple to say okay, Jalen, I trust that you didn't cheat even though I practically saw it with my own fucking eyes and you're not telling me where the fuck you actually were...?
No, it's not. Because Liam cheated. My dad cheated. It seriously looks like Jalen did.
People cheat, no matter how good or bad the relationship is. That's what I've learned.
"He hasn't given me a reason too," I finally say back.
Malia tilts her head to the side. "I'm confused. What has he done that's been so untrustworthy?"
I roll my eyes. "Damn it, Malia. Do you really not pay attention at lunch? The way he treats me when you and David are around?"
"It's a crime to want to talk to his friends? Lyndon, please don't tell me you're one of those girls who expects to have all of her boyfriend's attention, twenty-four seven."
"I'm not!" I defend. Okay, I kind of am, but she doesn't need to know that. Either way, Jalen still treats me wrong during those times. She's not changing my mind about it. "And it's not just that. He's shady, Malia. He's so fucking shady."
She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow, expecting me to elaborate.
"I don't want to harp on the rumors, but come on, how can they not even be a little true? His history with all these other girls? The games? Chloe? Eleâ"
"Alright," Malia cuts in, raising a hand. "Those rumors are what other people are doing. That's Arlin being shady, not Jalen."
I toss my hands in the air, feeling exasperated. "Are you dead ass?" My voice rises, on the verge of hysterics. "He's constantly telling me to ignore it. Even if it is nothing, Malia, even if everything they're saying are fucking lies, why does he act so goddamn sus? Why can't he just talk about it?"
Malia sighs, shifting her position, uncrossing her hands and legs. "Is it being shady to want to keep some things to yourself? Honestly, Lyndon, how much do you actually reveal to people?"
"Why are you turning this on me?" I ask.
"You're deflecting," she states, smirking. "Speaking of these rumors you seem so fond of, have you ever heard the one going around Arlin about you being kicked off the swim team at your old school?"
I clench my fists, unsure if I'm more angry at her or at the fact that that's gone around the school. What don't these people know?
I focus on the anger at Malia. It's easier than pondering over how true every other rumor in school is.
"Why are you so set on defending him?" I ask bitterly, roughly pointing my finger in her face with my every word. "You're acting like a damn lawyer!"
Malia eyes my finger with disinterest, then flashes me a look, and she doesn't need to say the words for me to know I need to drop my finger before she gets pissed.
I hate how in control she is all these years later. I hate her relationship with Jalen. How jealous I am of her, even now. For Christ's sake, I saw Jalen kiss Cortney, yet hearing Malia defend him somehow angers me more.
How fucking pathetic.
"It's complicated," Malia begins, voice sounding tired of having this conversation. Well, I'm tired of hearing that damn line.
Malia fully faces me, eyes set on my own, holding my gaze as she firmly says her next words. "But I promise you, Jalen's not a bad person."
I let out a shaky breath, whispering, "I swear he is sometimes."
Malia's face morphs into one of sadness, as if hearing that truly upsets her. "You should just talk to him, Lyndon."
"I've tried," I say, letting my exhaustion seep into my words.
She shakes her head, just as the door opens, and Blair along with maids with a buffet finally arrive.
"Really talk to him, Lyndon. Especially before you judge him so damn hard." With those parting words, Malia rises from the couch, meeting her sister and the maids with a warm smile, one I haven't seen since we were ten.
I feel my eyes water at the sight, at how different everything is, and yet how similar she manages to make me feelâseventeen, eleven, or six, it doesn't matter. Malia will always be the perfect person who has everything, and is everything I want to be.
And I hate how the part that irks me the most about it is that she seems to have a better understanding of Jalen than me. One I feel like I'll never be able to have.
ââââââââââ²âââââââââ
The second I leave Malia's, I turn on my phone. Disregarding every missed call and flood of texts from my mom, Noah, and even Knox, I focus on Jalen's. I take it as a sign to finally talk to him, really talk to him, just as Malia said too.
Rather than giving him any kind of warning, I just show up, parking right in front of his houseâno longer caring about his park two houses down rule. I don't care if his parents see, or know I'm here. I don't care about anything except the truth at this point.
I slam my car door closed, not even regretting the damage that could cause. Instead, I march up the stairs, aggressively pressing the doorbell and impatiently tapping my foot as it echoes within the mansion.
One maid I recognize, but whose name I can't place, opens the door, shock coming to her before she loudly announces, "Oh my, Miss Lyndon! You're here!"
Ignoring her shock, I push past her as gently as I can. "Is Jalen home?"
My eyes scan the foyer, moving to the doorway that leads to that stupid ballroom and then toward the hall I know holds Jalen's room.
"He was getting ready to go out," she says as best as she can with her accent. "I call him for you."
"No, no," I say with a small smile, hoping that softens my rushed tone. "I'll go find him. Where'd you last see him?"
She points down another hall, one I've never been through, but that doesn't stop me from charging down it.
He's hiding something a voice in my head says, and that one thought lingers, urging me to move faster, as if barging in on him in his home will help me discover his secrets, when really, all it does is make me look like a crazy stalker.
Is this what he's turned me into? Is this what he's done to me? Driven me crazy?
It feels like he has, and yet, I stick around. I don't want to leave. I wish he'd give me a reason to stay. Just one, I'll take. I'll take anything.
But why? Why do I let him do this to me? Why do I do this to myself?
I hear a door close down the hall, so I rush that way, and sure enough, I knock into a hard chest, almost losing my balance and falling back.
Without opening my eyes, I know it's him. That much is obvious from the warm hand that lands on my waist, curving around and keeping me upright.
Please don't let me down.
I open my eyes, coming into contact with that beautiful, blue ocean that never ceases to take my breath away. But they belong to a boy that seems to keep hurting me, even if he's not trying too.
Or maybe I'm hurting myself by not believing him.
Suddenly feeling conflicted once again, ready to lose all motivation I had to come over here and get the truth, I shake my head. I shouldn't be shocked at this. Jalen's a pro at making me doubt myself.
"Lyndon," he breathes out, voice full of relief. "Holy shit. You're here."
He pulls me back into him after, wrapping his arms around me, burying his head into my neck.
Wait, what...
I rest my hands lightly on his back, trying to not let the close proximity make me fully forget why I raced over here.
But it's hard too. Why is it so hard to think clearly around this boy?
"I..." he murmurs into my neck, words muffled due to my hair.
I slightly pull away, wanting him to finish the sentence, but he decides to grab my hands and drag me into the nearest room.
I quickly realize we're in a garage, and he's wearing his leather jacket, which means he was about to leave.
Instantly I wonder where he was going, and with who, and those thoughts make me realize how much I don't trust him. Another reminder of what I need to do.
"Jalen," I say, but when he looks to me with those puppy dog eyes, face looking innocent and filled with... worry?... I lose my train of thoughts. I direct my eyes to the side, hoping not looking at him will help, but instead I see a yellow bike, brand new with a basket full of sunflowers. "WhaâWhat's this?"
"Oh, I, uh," Jalen says nervously, making my eyes find him again. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, flicking his gaze between the ground and me. "I got it for you. I figured you needed a safer bike to ride."
I squint my eyes, so fucking confused now. "But why? Not why did you think I did, because my bike is old, but why now? All of a sudden? So out of the blue?"
The questions come out like rapid fire, and it's clear to me that I'm desperately trying to find the good in him Malia swears is there, because maybe finding that, and only focusing on that, will help me believe him.
"I know what happened," he says lowly, eyes cast downward again. You know what? I wish he'd look at me so I can see his eyes, tell if there's sympathy or anger in them, so this way I can decipher exactly what he knows. "I was worried about you."
My stomach drops at his concerned tone, and what his words remind me of.
I can't explain it. I was just really worried about you.
I think I'm gonna be sick.
"Where did you go, Lyndon? You had everyone worried," he continues.
And then he raises his head, letting me finally see his face, and it's an understatement to say it breaks me.
His emotions have always showed in his eyes, rarely ever on his face. Even his smiles were brief, and his sadness never left his eyes. But right now, there's an expression, and it's full of complete worry. Over me.
"I... I, uh," I say, voice cracking due to every emotion coming at me. "I was at Malia's," I finally answer. "I spent the night there. I needed to get out my house."
Guilt floods me at the lie, so strong I almost feel like falling, especially at the sad look that takes over his eyes at my words.
I already know what's coming, what his next question will be.
"Why didn't you come here?" he asks in a small voice, seeming hurt by my choice.
Funnily enough, that's what I thought he'd ask. Maybe I do know him as well as Malia.
But the longer I look at him, and the more I think about the answer to that question, I decide that I don't know him. How could I be so unsure? If I really knew him, I could be confident, and know if he did or didn't cheat.
God, I feel so fucking stupid for still wondering. But I can't help it.
And I can't keep sitting in silence. It's eating away at me.
"Have you spoken to Noah?"
His question momentarily distracts me, as it's completely out of left field.
"Um, no? Why do you care?"
"You should at least let him know you're okay. Danny said he's still going crazy wondering where you went off too."
"Is that how you know... what happened? Daniel told you?" I ask, having not even wondered how the fuck he knew.
"Actually, David told me," he reveals, smirking a little when he sees the complete and utter fucking shock take over my face. "Noah, I guess, told Danny what happened, and David overheard. He told me he heard you were missing and thought I'd like to know. So I asked Danny for Noah's number and, after an irritating five minutes, he told me the whole story. And that he assumed you were with me."
Jalen watches me, that sad look returning when it hits him that something bothered me and I didn't turn to him for help.
When I remember who I turned too, the guilt comes back tenfold.
"When I told him you weren't, shit hit the fan. You had us all worried, Lyndon. That was..." he trails off, pausing as he shakes his head and shuts his eyes tight. "It was scary not knowing, Lyndon. I thought you..." he cuts himself off once more, swallowing hard as he struggles for the words. "I don't wanna go there. Point is, I'm glad you were safe at Malia's. I just wish she'd have fucking told me that."
His worry, care, and concern seems to reach out and wrap around my heart, twisting and twisting until it hurts, and it becomes too damn much.
It makes me want to just throw myself into his arms, tell him I'm sorry, and then spend the next few days hiding here with him.
But I know I can't keep pushing my doubts aside every time he does things like this. Every time he makes me feel this way. Makes me feel...
I can't keep letting myself wonder. Because if I don't address this head on, once and for allânot accepting anymore bullshit cop outsâI'll live my life always wondering, and we'll never truly be happy.
"Jalen," I call out. He looks at me, eyes filled with hope, as I take a deep breath and prepare to crush it by asking, "Did you cheat on me with Cortney?"
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A / N:
It's been a while since the last update. I had the first part of this chapter written for a month, and I couldn't bring myself to finish it. A lot's been going on, not only now, but 2019 overall has just sucked. But I'm really happy and proud about this story, which is why I'm so determined to finish it before the year ends so at least something good comes out of it!
Once I sat down and forced myself to write, I couldn't stop. The next chapter is ready and will either be up later, or tomorrow, depending on how long it takes me to edit (we all know I tend to write a little too much all the time).
I wanna thank everyone again for reading, voting, and commenting! Words can't explain how much it means. I really hope you're all enjoying reading this story as much I am telling it.
Also, prepare for the next chapter. Shit's about to hit the fan. See you soon!