unREASONable by Arya Matthews

Track 22

Marshall

I hop the stairs two at a time and go straight for a shower. Hot water pelts my skin. I start to relax almost immediately, but it still takes a long time to unwind after being stuck with Alexandra in the minivan for almost sixteen hours, listening to her chat with CJ, Shane, and Zach about music and what it’s like to tour and everything else they felt like dredging up. I sat up front with Graham and did a fantastic job taking turns between napping and scowling at the traffic. During one of our pit stops, I almost pulled her aside and said, “Listen, no more clinging to CJ, no more indulging Zach’s jokes. Be mine. Just mine.”

Almost.

I shut off the water and clunk my forehead on the tiles. I should’ve just done it.

There’s music coming from my bedroom. I sigh because it seems like I can’t have a minute of peace even in my own room. I towel off and pull on a robe, giving myself some time to calm down before I go out there.

CJ sits at my desk and uses my laptop to scrub through our most recent recording. “Hey, what do you think— Oh. You feeling okay?”

Why in the universe does he think something is wrong? I frown so hard it actually hurts. Ah, maybe it’s the frown.

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” No matter why he’s here, I need to sleep and not think about anything.

“Sure.” CJ rolls away from the desk. “Did you ever show Alexandra the song?”

“Yes.” I point at the door.

CJ heads out but lingers in the doorway. “Did she like it?”

“She’s perfect. Leave already.”

“She’s perfect?” CJ lifts an eyebrow.

“She said the song is perfect.”

“That’s not what you said.”

I push him out and slide the door closed.

Why can’t I just talk to CJ?

It’s not just him. I can’t talk about it with anyone else.

But I need to. I know I’m the odd one, always needing to discuss everything. I know it’s a weird need for someone who fears opening up more than anything, but knowing everything to a T makes it so that I know what to do, what to expect, and what other people expect of me.

What does Alexandra expect of me after this vacation? I should probably make sure she knows nothing more can happen between us. It’s better that she’s sad now.

I cross the yard and knock on the guest house door, glancing over my shoulder like a kid who’s snuck out after the curfew. I am a kid. Twenty-two and a half, vulnerable and weird and—

Alexandra opens the door. “What’s up?”

“Can I come in?” I glance over my shoulder again.

“Why? To confuse me more?”

Ouch. “I won’t. I promise.”

Her eyes narrow. She’s doubting me and my promises, which is fair. I turn to leave, but Alexandra grabs my upper arm and pulls me in.

I shouldn’t have come without a life vest. I’m already drowning. It’s harder to breathe. I came to tell her we’re done, but images of our kiss in the snow consume my brain cells. Again. Every time I let my guard down for one second, the memory of that frosty and hot and unbearable kiss sears through my body. I promised myself that it would be the last time, but…

It was the last time. It was. It has to be.

Also, I smell heaven—butter and garlic. “What are you eating?”

She shakes her head and walks away. “Nothing.”

I lock the door and follow her. One more scent hits my nose. “I smell cheese.”

Alexandra bars my way. “No, you don’t.”

“You’re having spaghetti, aren’t you?” I don’t know why she’s hiding it from me. It’s not like I’d tell on her to anyone.

“I was just so hungry, and it was quick, and I can’t stand the sight of a salad right now.”

It’s entertaining to watch her try and justify herself to me. “Is there any left?”

“Why are you here?”

My resolution to butt out of her relationship with CJ is still there, but the words won’t come out. At least not the ones I need. “Watch a movie with me,” I blurt out instead.

“Okay. The TV’s in there.” She points down the hall.

“I know.”

I get to the family room where I drop on a big, comfortable couch and fiddle with the remotes. She joins me with two bowls of spaghetti in her hands. The smell of it, still warm and rich, is enough to make me weak at the knees. We’ve eaten lots of great food over the holiday break, but I expect that bowl of simple pasta with cheese to hit the spot hard.

I start a streaming service. “What do you want to watch?”

“I haven’t seen that yet,” she says about the latest Star Wars installation.

“You like Star Wars?” Does she have to make it even harder? If a girl likes sci-fi, she’s a keeper. Everybody knows that.

“What’s not to like? I used to watch those from bootleg tapes when I was a kid. It was grainy, you know? I loved it.”

“You had a tape player? I almost forgot what those things look like. Only one of the families I’ve lived with had a tape player. The rest kind of tried to keep up with modern technology.”

This reminder of the “good old days” only brings more weight to the already difficult situation. Suddenly cold, I get up and flip the switch on the fireplace. Flames come to life with a soft pop.

Alexandra chokes on a mouthful of spaghetti. “Turn it off!”

I flip the switch again. The fire dies. What is it about Alexandra and fire? She didn’t want to sit around the fire pit at the Tangs.’ She’s downright freaked out about the fireplace right now.

Alexandra pulls the cardigan she’s wearing tighter around herself and presses a hand to her forehead. “Are you cold? I’ll get you a blanket.”

Before I can say anything, she leaves the room but returns within a minute with a thick quilt. Her gaze darts to the fireplace once more as she forces even, slow breaths in and out of her lungs.

I sit with her again and spread the quilt over our legs. Alexandra continues staring at the fireplace, her breathing still labored.

“Alexandra?” I touch her cheek.

She blinks and looks at me like she’s barely noticed me, and I struggle to understand this scene. What is going on? What happened to cause such a reaction?

“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day,” she says.

“Let’s talk about it.”

She frowns, confused. “The day? You’ve been with me through all of it.”

“No. Tell me about you and fire.”

Alexandra rubs her temples. “No.”

“Why not?”

She shakes her head. “Not talking about it.”

“Is it a secret?” I force myself to focus on her and not the bitterness her justified distrust plants in my chest.

“No. It’s not. It’s… I really can’t talk about it.”

If I ask simple but direct questions, will it help? I won’t know until I try. “You really are afraid of fire, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Her breathing accelerates once more.

What do I do? How can I help her? What is this that crumbles Alexandra the Fighter into a mess of a human being? It doesn’t matter. Right now I’ve got to get her to feel calm and safe again.

“Hey, come here.” I coax her into my arms. “We don’t have to talk about you, but you can ask anything about me. All the girls I’ve dated, noses I’ve broken, cars I’ve stolen.”

That last bit gets her to perk up and look at me. “You stole a car?”

“No, actually.”

“But you did break someone’s nose?”

“Many times.” I can’t help smiling at her interest in my supposedly nefarious past.

Alexandra slides her fingers up and down my forearm. “Why?”

I refuse to react to her touch. I’m a master of self-control. “Sometimes because people looked at me the wrong way or said something stupid, but mostly because of Zach. People harassed all of us, but surprisingly, he got it the worst. Everyone assumed he was stuck up and considered himself better than others because of his family’s wealth and his musical ability when in reality he was just super shy. There wasn’t a week in our freshman year when I didn’t find him cornered by some bully.”

She chews on her lower lip for a second. “I can’t really picture that at all. Zach? Shy? Bullied? He’s as tall as a giraffe. He can probably plow through anyone without even noticing them.”

“He wasn’t at fifteen, and I had a bad temper back then.”

She raises a mocking eyebrow. “Had?”

This girl. So sneaky.

“Just watch a movie with me.” I pull over an ottoman and we both put our feet up. Sinking into the soft comfort of the couch and her scent, clean and sweet, I start the movie and stuff a huge pile of spaghetti into my mouth. So good.

“How do you speak Russian?”

I should’ve known she didn’t forget about that.

“I’m taking online classes toward an art history degree. One or two at a time, as much as the band business allows.”

Alexandra stares at me with huge, surprised eyes. “Seriously? You’re going to college? Right now?”

I nod.

“So then, you were serious about reading Tolstoy?”

I nod again.

She pats my cheek. “My condolences.”

This time I laugh. “Thanks. I flunked the class.”

“Flunked? As in failed? Why?”

“All I had to do was read a few books and write a few essays. But guess who hasn’t been reading or writing as much as he should have. And guess why.” I tap her chin with my index finger. “I completely spaced most of the assignments, so I’ll have to retake it.”

Alexandra offers me an apologetic smile. “I could help you next time.”

“You will help me next time.”

She smiles wider, happy.

I have to hit the brakes. I’m not here to make her happy. I’m not even here to make better friends with her.

“Why art history? Why Russian?” She grins. “Why not, right? You really don’t seem like the type, though. You guys keep surprising me.”

“Ya znayu.” I know. It’s not often that I get to practice with a native speaker, so I end up sounding nervous.

Alexandra’s face lights up with delight as she gets back to her food. She loves that I can speak Russian to her. I will never do it again.

Rebels make plans, the Empire carries on with its schemes, droids beep, and lightsabers buzz. We munch on our secret late dinner. Alexandra relaxes against me, our shoulders and thighs touching, and my chest fills with content warmth I have no business enjoying.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been confusing,” I say, preparing to tell her why I’m really here.

When she doesn’t respond, I crane my head. Her eyes are closed.

“Are you asleep?”

She rests her head on my shoulder and drapes one arm over my chest. “Mmmm?”

I tuck the quilt around her and kiss the top of her head. I came to talk, but it doesn’t seem to matter right now, so I choose to let it go.