I know I shouldn't care; it's for the better to keep our distance. I find myself trying to figure out a way out of this mess. I know I owe it to my parents and Joey to see this through, but I keep thinking at what cost? Would they even want me to do this?
And, truth be told, I don't want Leighton to hate me.
So, as Hayley smiles at me, and stands on her toes to give me a peck on the cheek, I move away and ask her, “What happened yesterday after I left?”
“What happened?” she asks, her eyes wide with pretend innocence. I recognize it so well.
“You tell me. When I left, she didn't hate me. When I came back, she couldn't stand to be near me. So something must have happened in between, and you were the only one with her.”
“I just explained some things to her, Devon,” she says, an air of arrogance around her, something she picked up from her father. This is the side of Hayley I never liked. She likes to meddle in things because she thinks she knows best. “Like, if she cared, she wouldn't put you in danger like she did yesterday morning. You both should have known better.”
I start to pace the room, frustrated, and then stop in front of her, looking down. “You have no fucking idea what's going on.”
“Then what is going on? I thought I had it figured out, that she was playing some game with you to get herself out of this, but clearly I'm wrong. And you stopped talking to me ages ago,” she says, waving her hands in exasperation. “How can I know if you won't tell me?”
I turn my back to her, and look straight into my father's eyes above the fireplace. “You wouldn't understand,” I say to both of them.
“And then she started asking me all these questions, and I didn't know what to say, what I'm supposed to say. I don't know what to think of this, Devon.”
I turn back to her. “What questions?”
Hayley looks down at her hands and starts playing with the rings on her fingers.
“What did she ask, Hales?”
“She asked about you, and me. About us.”
I can't help myself. I lose it. “What the fuck, Hales?” I yell, striding toward her. “What did you tell her?”
She starts crying. Of course, she fucking starts crying.
Now, I've been friends with Hayley for a very, very long time. And the tears I see, they're not sad, or scared. I've seen her cry these tears whenever she knew she did something wrong. When she took my music player and lost it, she cried these tears. When she broke up with me, she cried these tears. These tears are guilty.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
“Hales,” I say, approaching her slowly and crouching in front of her. “This is important. What did she ask?”
“Just about us. When, how long—no, not how long, just when.” She finally looks up, but won't meet my eyes. “I may have over-shared.”
Her words fill me with icy dread. “What did you tell her?”
She sobs harder, covering her face with her palms. I thread my fingers behind my neck to keep myself from ripping her arms away so she would look at me. “Hayley, what the fuck did you tell her?”
“I told her the truth,” she yells. Finally, she looks at me, straight into my eyes. “She was ruining everything, I just wanted her—”
Fuck.
Hayley's voice fades completely in my ears, just background noise. She knows everything, is all I keep thinking. And I realize for the first time, I don't want her to know. It matters so little at this point, but I don't want her to know how much I fucked up.
I don't want her to hate me.
“Why the fuck would you do that, Hales? I thought we were over. You—” I find myself yelling at Hayley, my hands squeezing her shoulders. “—you were the one who broke up with me.”
I don't believe for a second she didn't know what she was doing.
“You're hurting me, Devon,” she whispers. I loosen the grip on her shoulders, and then let her go. She falls back into the sofa.
“It's not about you and me. I just wanted her to back off,” she says, through tears. “You're going to lose everything over her. I just wanted her to back off because I know you, and you've already made up your mind.”
I shake my head at her, so disappointed. First, that she assumes what's in my head. Second, I can't believe she thought it was her right to do something like this. Even though I get where she's coming from, I just don't get it.
“It's her, isn't it?” I hear her say, but I'm already out the door and on my way up, the keys to Leighton's room in my shaking hands.
LEIGHTON
The door opens but I don’t react; I just continue to draw. He approaches me hesitantly, walking slowly across the room. He looks down at what I’m drawing, and stills. I don’t acknowledge his presence.
He clears his throat. “Can we talk?”
I lift my head. “I really have nothing to say to you.”
“I spoke to Hayley,” he says quietly.
When I don’t reply, or show any reaction, he continues. “It wasn’t her place to say any of those things to you.”
I shrug like it doesn’t matter either way. I'm not going to show him just how much this hurts.
“Leighton,” he says, his voice pleading.
“What do you want from me, Devon?” I ask, putting the pencil down. I lay the sketch of my mother on the bed, and give him my full attention.
He sits down next to me. “Can I talk?”
“So talk,” I say, staring up at him, keeping my expression blank.
“She has no idea what she's talking about. She had no right.”
I sigh. “That sounds like an issue you need to take up with her, not me.”
“You know what I mean,” he says, running his hands through his hair in frustration.
“No, I don’t. If you and Hayley are having communication problems, then speak to her about them. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a drawing to finish,” I say, looking pointedly at the door.
“I never wanted her like that,” he says, moving closer so he’s right next to me. “I promise.”
I get up to move away from him, needing that space between us. I lift up my hands. “Again, Devon . . . ”
“No, just listen, please,” he says softly, following after me. “I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone. I've always wanted you,” he whispers.
And this is when I snap.
“You want me?” I ask, my voice gaining steel. “Because it sounds to me like just a short few months ago you wanted her more than anything. What did she say? Oh that’s right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “’He wanted us to work so bad.’” I make air quotes with my fingers, drawing out and exaggerating the last two words as much as I can to get my point across. Yes, I know that I’m jealous and feeling just a little bit sorry for myself right now, but I don’t give a fuck.
“It wasn't like that—” he starts, but I continue my rant.
“Now, as much as I like hearing about you ‘making wild passionate love—’” My voice breaks on the last word. He squeezes his eyes shut. Hearing myself say it out loud, acknowledging it, and him not denying it, I can actually feel my heart rip in two. “—to a woman you want so badly but can’t have because she dumped you, I’d rather you all just left me the fuck alone.”
I turn away from him, hiding my expression. He steps up behind me and wraps his arms around me, holding me to his warm chest. I feel his frantic heart beating against my back. I break away from his embrace and turn to face him, my hand flying swinging before I even realize what I'm doing. He grabs my wrist mid-air, and I rip it out of his grasp and deliver that slap straight across his cheek.
“Don't you dare fucking touch me again! You wanted me? You had me, you bastard. You came and went as you pleased, you fucked me whenever you felt like it, then you ignored me, and it fucking hurt, but I let you do it because I knew you had to deal with your hang-ups but you wouldn't even speak to me and tell me what's going on.”