Boyfriend Bargain by Ilsa Madden-Mills

35

Sugar

Iwant to die.

A week goes by in a blur. It feels like the world should stop and wait for me to catch my breath, to wait for this awful emptiness to ease, but it doesn’t. I spend the first two days without him in my bed tossing and turning, angry and pissed off at myself for trusting him. By the time Wednesday hits, I’m curled up with a pillow, trying to smell the remnants of him as I re-watch Game of Thrones and cry. Julia calls Taylor and Poppy, and they come over and beg me to leave the dorm room and go to class. But I can’t. My room is our place. It’s where we made love and laughed. It’s where he gave me the penguin. By Friday, I feel empty, a vast cavern of nothing. My anger is back, battling with the grief, but I don’t have any tears left, and I vow to be better and throw myself into filling out more law school applications. When Monday rolls back around, I resolve to go to class. I tell all my professors I was sick and when they look at my face, they buy it and let it slide.

Another week creeps by. I live at the library, trying to get caught up on my coursework. I eat real food instead of crap and keep my head down as I work at BB’s. Mara keeps asking me what happened and I can’t tell her. She gives up and just sighs whenever she looks in my eyes. I know what she’ll see there: heartbreak.

And through it all?

I haven’t seen or heard from Z.

A whimper wants to rise up inside me, and I push it down.

Which is why when he walks into our poetry class midmorning, I gasp aloud.

I scramble around for my phone and fire off a text to Eric. He’s been checking in on me periodically to see how I am, and while I only send him one-word answers—Fine, Okay—it’s a connection to Z that’s hard to give up.

Why is Z in our poetry class? What happened to therapy?

I see the dots across the screen and I clench the phone, anxiously awaiting a response as he comes to a halt in the doorway, looking for a seat.

He rearranged his schedule. Told me this morning.

Why? He’s still seeing the sports psychologist?

Yes, babe. Maybe he’s there to see you. I don’t know.

Whatever. I hit send and look back up.

Z looks magnificent, his shoulders and body in a tight black shirt, his legs in jeans that cup his ass, his feet in gold Converse. His hair is untamed, his face hard as he steps forward and moves his gaze across the auditorium.

I prepare myself for one of his intense stares.

It doesn’t happen.

His icy grey eyes ghost over the room and I feel the brush as they flicker briefly on my face, but they keep moving, his expression blank.

And just like that, it’s back to the way it used to be: me, invisible to him.

“Dude, Z’s back,” breathes Sorority Girl a few seats away.

“The TA said the professor excused him for hockey stuff, but he’s been doing the work on his own. Maybe he’s back for good,” another girl replies.

Well. She certainly keeps up. My lips tighten.

“I hope this class improves his hockey game,” says a guy a few seats away.

I clench my fists and even though I’m angry and hurt, I can’t let anyone drag Z down. I turn around and scowl.

The guy’s eyes go wide. “If you watch the news then you know he’s losing his shit.”

I flip back around and stare at the professor. There has been rampant speculation about what happened at Concord State but no confirmation, and I’d have to be on another planet to not know that they barely won their last game against Denver.

I have an empty seat next to me, as usual, but Z heads to the front where he used to sit. Of course there’s a girl on each side of him, gushing.

Class gets started but I’m in a daze. I can’t stop staring at the back of his head.

“Miss Ryan, can you read the poem?” Professor Goldberg says, and I blink.

“Sir?”

He raises an eyebrow. “The Emily Dickinson poem?”

I let out a breath. Right. The one you read last night, Sugar. Get with it.

I give him a nod, but my eyes are on Z, and I think I see his shoulders tightening as he shifts in his seat.

I lick my lips and stare down at my laptop.

“Miss Ryan? Are you with us today?” the professor asks.

“Yes.” I clear my throat and read the poem.

““Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.”

“Excellent,” he says. “Elaborate, please, on the meaning.”

Oh.

Several long moments go by, and a few students turn to look at me.

But he doesn’t look.

He stares down at his notebook, pen twirling through his fingers.

Professor Goldberg gives up on me and looks around the room. “Initial thoughts, anyone? What is this poem about?”

“The poem is about a bird,” Sorority Girl says.

The professor lifts an eyebrow. “Indeed. Just a bird?”

There’s a rumble of chuckles.

“Hope is the bird,” I say. “The bird is a metaphor for hope.”

“Nice, but tell me more.” He scans the rows of students. “What does it mean? Come on, give me the good stuff, kids.”

Z stares down at his desk, and something shifts inside me, my anger turning to sadness. He’s in a dark place, and haven’t I always known it?

It’s part of why I was drawn to him…

I still want him.

I overhear Sorority Girl whispering to the girl next to her about Z and how he freaked out at the game. They’re wondering if he’ll be able to take the ice at the next one.

My chest rises.

We are over. We are—but I still want to protect him. I want him to live out his dreams. I want him to have hope.

I get the professor’s attention and he turns to me. “Yes?”

“The central idea of the poem is hope. Everything might be falling apart, but hope never stops. It’s there when you just can’t get calculus or when you didn’t get into law school. It’s there when darkness is inside you.” I stop, my voice verging on cracking, emotion threatening. I swallow. “Hope is there when you can’t figure out the fucking answers.”

Professor Goldberg gives me an approving nod. “Your participation point just went up a letter grade, Miss Ryan. I’ll forgive the profanity.”

I settle back in my seat. My heart feels like a block of cement is sitting on it. Hope for the future is what sustains a person, not guilt or regrets, and I want him to see that. He mentioned that his mom gave him the necklace for hope, but what if he’s lost so much that—

Stop. You can’t help him.

Class ends a few minutes later and I take my time leaving, moving slowly and giving him enough time to get out into the hall and down the steps. I don’t want to come face-to-face with him. I’m not sure what would happen. I might break down, might beg him—

“Hey, I’m sorry about being a dick,” says a male voice behind me, and it’s the guy who was talking about Z. He slides up next to me and sticks his hand out. His hair is a rich brown, his eyes a brilliant blue, and he’s wearing an HU football practice shirt. Another athlete. “I’m Dallas, wide receiver for the Lions. Been sitting in the row with you all semester. I’m a big hockey fan, and maybe that’s why I spoke out of turn. Just want them to go all the way, you know?”

He’s tall with a charming smile that’s open and honest, and it’s hard not to soften. I pause and then finally take his hand. His grip is firm and light, his gaze appreciative as he takes in my skinny jeans, tight black fuzzy sweater, flats, and hair, which is down and around my shoulders. I’m wearing more makeup than usual these days too, covering up the dark circles under my eyes.

“Yeah, I want them to win too.”

He nods. “You guys were a thing before, right? I mean, I saw you on his social media.”

My chest squeezes. “Briefly.” I exhale, my mouth tightening, and he winces and gives me a lopsided grin.

“Yeah. My bad. I heard about his girl-of-the-month thing…”

Ugh. “That’s just rumors,” I say with a polite smile then turn and walk to the exit.

He follows along next to me. “Sorry, I keep putting my foot in my mouth. Can I make it up to you? Coffee, sometime, maybe?” He grimaces. “Not trying to be forward, but well, ah, we’ve been sitting near each other for weeks and you’re not seeing him…”

I don’t even have to think about it. I’m not ready for coffee—or anything with anyone else. “Maybe some other time,” I say, and a small laugh comes from him.

“I should have kept my mouth shut about the hockey star. Can we start all over? Hi, I’m Dallas and I think you’re kinda cool.” He gives me a sheepish look. “I liked your poem analysis. This class is one of my favorites.”

I nod. “Yeah, it’s fun. I just took it as an elective.”

“Looks like we already have something in common,” he says, throwing in a teasing grin.

I let out a breath and look over his shoulder. No Z in the hallway.

He follows my gaze and gives me a smirk. “Just not into me, are you?”

I grin for the first time. “Not really.”

He lifts his shoulders nonchalantly. “I can wear you down. See ya, Sugar.”

He heads out the side exit with a wave, and I walk out through the main doors.

I take off for the student center to get a slushie, my head down as I replay the class, wondering if somehow I missed him looking at me, but I know I didn’t. I just thought if there were any truth to him wanting me for me, he would have tried harder to convince me.

He let me go, and I guess that tells me everything.

Julia appears up ahead on the sidewalk and jogs over to me.

“Hey, you doing okay?” she asks, her eyes searching mine.

I nod.

She gives me a sympathetic smile. “You headed to grab some lunch?”

“Actually just a slushie, but I could be talked into pizza.” I pause. “I don’t want to go back to our room because that’s where we always…” I stop. “I’m trying to stay busy.”

Her lips tighten. “I’m so pissed at Z right now.”

“I’ll be okay.”

I’m lying. I’m counting down the days until I’m out of here and in law school—somewhere, anywhere else.

“I know you’re lying, but time will help. Come on.”

We take the steep steps up to the student center and walk into the spacious lobby. It’s filled with students getting lunch, but it’s the gorgeous twenty-foot stone lion fountain in the center of the room that catches my eye. It’s a hub for people to congregate and eat lunch on the fly.

Z sits on the ledge talking to Lola from Eric’s birthday party. He smiles at her and her hand is on his chest, tracing little circles on his shirt as she bats fluttery lashes up at him.

Air whooshes out of my chest.

Something breaks inside me, and I feel the tear, the agony of what it’s like to see the person you love with someone else.

Seeing Bennett with that girl at the Tipsy Moose doesn’t even compare.

My legs wobble for a second before I straighten up and square my shoulders.

“Sugar, wait. Let’s leave campus for lunch…” It’s Julia with her hand on my arm, trying to shield me, but I brush her off, my steps moving closer.

I get within about twenty feet of them, and I can’t go any closer. My heart is lead as I lean against the wall next to the pizza place for support. People come and go, crossing in front of me, carrying food and talking and laughing, but I don’t even notice.

I can’t stop looking at them. He’s right there. With someone.

I have no grounds to be angry. I ended it and—

She’s touching him.

And he’s letting her.

The world collapses as his gaze drifts up, so goddamn slow, and when his eyes meet mine…there is zilch there.

My heart stutters.

Lola says something and he looks at her.

My eyes close. How can he be with someone else when I feel like I’m dying inside?

“Let’s go,” Julia is saying, but I don’t budge. Maybe…maybe I need to see this. I need to see that he can just go straight from me to someone else.

I love you. Forever.

He was never really mine.

I turn from them and walk away.