Sinking Faster

Knocking. Knock-knock-knocking.

It was all that I heard for the past fifteen minutes as Garrett stood outside my bedroom door, repeatedly calling for me over and over again.

“Nicole. Please, for God’s sake, just talk to me, okay?” he tried again.

I sighed, setting down my laptop on my bed. For the past hour, I had made feeble attempts in writing a fifteen page essay for my communications class. There was a deadline coming up, seeing as I had only a week before it was due.

For the past few weeks, work consumed me. I tried to avoid Garrett at all costs, taking extra shifts everyday in order to do so. In the meantime, though, Courtney continued to pester me about everything that had happened. As far as she knew, she thought Garrett and I were just having another argument, and I’m sure that’s what everyone else in our circle of friends thought as well.

It was the truth, though. I was still confused on the status of my friendship with Garrett. There were so many signs that it could be something beyond friendship. Whatever chemistry was developing between us was actually meaningful to me. I guess Garrett did mean something to me. This really scared me. After all, Garrett could just think of me as a rebound to his problems with his ex-girlfriend. Or I could simply be a summertime fling to him.

I could see, after the past few weeks, that slowly, I was letting myself go. I didn’t know where that strong, pent-up girl went. I had fallen for a boy. I had, for once, in all of my life, put myself out there. Even if the circumstances hadn’t even called for such an action.

I also feared that Garrett would be using me as a ploy to prove that I was as “easy” as he initially thought I was. I couldn’t grasp as to whether he was capable of doing this. Part of me didn’t think so. Part of me wanted to believe that this was real, that the past weeks’ events had some significance.

I didn’t have the time or the mental strength to be dealing with this right now, either. Lately, now more than ever, my mother had been constantly calling me, asking if I could come up to Massachusetts for a meeting regarding the debutante ball in the fall. For some strange reason, which I certainly couldn’t fathom, she thought I would be a great role model for the “youngsters” that were preparing themselves for this. She wanted me to assist her in the etiquette classes and such.

As many times as I told her I didn’t want to do any of this, she insisted, saying that it was family tradition for us to continue. And again, she ranted and raved about my sister’s wonderful achievements in these events.

Being as stressed as I was demonstrated that Garrett’s impetuous knocking did nothing to soothe me.

“What, Garrett?” I finally shouted, crossing my arms from behind the door. “What do you want from me?”

“Can you just open the fucking door?” he said hastily, sighing in defeat.

“No. Not until you tell me why it is you’re here,” I replied flatly.

“Look, I just want to talk to you. Now open the door,” he grunted.

I rolled my eyes, realizing that he wouldn’t leave without a fight. I slowly turned the doorknob, only to see his stare glancing over me. He wore his same leather jacket with a purple v-neck, his hair in a tousled mess as always.

“Okay.” I said, staring at him quizzically. “What do you want?”

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “I just wanted to talk to you. It’s been a while.”

I snorted. “Now you want to talk. Not three weeks ago, when I tried -”

“I’m sorry, all right?” he interrupted, shouting. He grabbed a fistful of hair, glancing at me in frustration. “I’ve been thinking. And, y’know, it wasn’t right, what I was doing to you.”

I rolled my eyes and sat on my bed, picking up my laptop. “Well that’s nice, Gar, that you’re finally realizing that. But look, I have a paper to tend to right now, and you’re -”

“Nicole, will you just listen to me?” he asked exasperatedly. “I like you. A lot. And I didn’t realize it before because I was too focused on being a dick. Jessica left a pretty bad scar, y’know?”

I was just about to speak when he continued.

“No,” he said, holding up a finger. “Just listen to me for a sec. I was under such a bad impression of you because of her. I don’t know if that even makes any sense, but it’s the truth. And I don’t know what the fuck is going on between us, but I don’t want to lose it, alright?”

I sighed, biting my lip, glancing at him from my paper. He looked pretty bent up about it, rubbing his neck ferociously. And once again, it was his eyes that got me. They were shining luminously as they searched my face for a reaction.

“I don’t know what to say, Gar,” I said softly. “I don’t normally put myself out there. I mean, even though it wasn’t really that big of deal, you really hurt me that morning. I do like you, I do, it’s just that I don’t think I can handle it.”

He sighed, coming over to sit next to me. “You won’t even give me a chance, though. Not to be even more of a dick, but are you really that cynical, Nicole? Can’t we just give it a try, to see if it goes somewhere?”

“Don’t I have a right to be cynical, Garrett?” I snapped. “After what happened?”

“Yes. You do,” he said, pausing. “But listen. I-I care about you. I don’t know how much more simply I can say that. I want to be with you.”

I sighed, looking up at him, wondering if I was being unreasonable. He hurt me. And now I must admit how eager I was to defend myself, to defend myself from getting hurt. This was why I never bothered to venture in the outskirts of love. It was too complicated.

But looking at Garrett, here, sitting in front of me, eyes sincere, in his leather jacket with his mussed up hair and his fading mustache, I couldn’t help but think that I wanted to be with him. I couldn’t decide, however, if it was a risk I was yet willing to take.

“Nicole?”

“I…I guess we could give it a try,” I replied softly, looking at him from under my bangs. “I - just don’t hurt me, okay, Gar? Please. I’m new at this.”

He smiled widely, grabbing my hands. “I won’t,” he chuckled. “I promise.”

“Alright, good,” I smiled, leaning over to mess up his hair.

“Hey,” he chuckled. He moved in front of me, and putting his hands at my waist. “What do you think you’re doing, Miss Freeman?”

“What do you think I’m doing, Mr. Nickelsen?” I asked as I leant back on my headboard, rubbing circles on Garrett’s chest.

“I think you want me to kiss you,” he said assuredly, leaning forward.

“Mmmm,” I smiled against his lips. “Maybe I do.”

He chuckled. “Good.”

I don’t know how long we stayed like that on my bed, just kissing, having kicked my laptop on the floor. I felt a surge of electricity pulsing through my veins at the thought of Garrett and I. It was almost incomprehensible - and uncharacteristic, at that - for me, Nicole Freemen, to be kissing Garrett Nickelsen. Especially when I believed that anything remotely close to “love” was nonexistent.

Only then did I realize that Garrett Nickelsen was different.