Fake Girlfriend

My life could not get worse than it was right now. It wasn’t even so much that I hated Cole or that he hated me or that he was an ass. What really made my life feel like hell was that nothing had changed. Here I was, acting like I loved Cole and lying to my friends, just as I had under a month ago when this all had started. I was still just his fake girlfriend.

Why did that make me feel like crying?

As it seemed, because Lex had forgiven him for punching him and, he and I were “together” again, the rest of our friends were quick to absolve Cole for being a jerk. Suddenly, they were all friends again—another thing that was slowly killing me. I hated how I was continuously lying to the people who never lie to me. How could I manage to keep lying? I spared a glance at Cole, who was laughing with his old friends. I almost smiled, seeing how he was happy to be friends with his old gang again, but I remembered I was supposed to be angry. How could he manage to say he loved me when he obviously didn’t?

I tried to keep up with my friends’ conversation. Trying to laugh at the right times. Comment when I should. Smile when nothing else was required. However, I could only keep up with the act for so long. Sometime half way through lunch, I couldn’t take it anymore. It was either blurt out the entire truth to everyone, or get out of there. So, I stood up, and everyone looked at me.

I smiled apologetically. “I’m going to go to the bathroom real quick,” I said, trying to sound convincing, but my voice shook with uneasiness, and everyone noticed it.

Cole was the only one who didn’t look at me funny. His eyes, that seemed to tell a different story than the smile on his face, just looked at me and nodded. Apparently, he was still mad at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to care, or even wonder why. He wasn’t the one who was going insane with all these feelings.

I turned and left, and no one stopped me. I was relieved to find the bathroom empty. Leaning against the counter, facing the mirror, I tried to organize my thoughts. Calm down, I thought, breathing slowly. The continuous urge to cry was welled up in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I was so overwhelmed with feelings.

Hate, Guilt, Sadness, Confusion, Helplessness, Anxiety…

Love.

I started to cry. What was love doing there? What on earth about could I possibly like? Not like. Love.

Why on earth did I love Cole Ramsey?

***

It took about ten minutes to get myself calmed down enough, my thoughts straightened out. You hate Cole Ramsey. Always have, always will. There is, nor ever was any feelings towards him besides hate, was the phrase I uttered in my mind over and over again. My brain—my heart could not believe the idea. No matter how many times I told it.

When I opened the bathroom door, who else would be there waiting than Cole himself. I couldn’t read him at all. He was no longer smiling and laughing, and his eyes no longer said anything. His arms were crossed, and he was leaning up against the wall watching me watch him. All he had to do was raise an eyebrow, and I just about blew up again.

“Leave me alone,” I grumbled. I acted bored as I rubbed my eye, but I was actually making sure there were no more tears.

But he noticed anyways. “Your eyes are red,” he said rather monotonously.

“Yeah. So what?”

“So you’ve been crying,” he stated.

My eyes narrowed. “Why do you care?” That was the second time today I asked him that question. He hated me. He just liked to irritate me until I was a complete mess, like I was now. He shouldn’t care if I was crying. I was just his fake girlfriend, after all.

“I don’t recall saying I did,” he said. His voice was ice cold. And it hurt. Badly.

But what was I expecting?

I turned and walked, faster than normal, in the opposite direction of the lunch room. Cole made no move to follow me. Out of the corner of my eye as I turned the corner, I could see him standing there, arms still crossed and back still against the wall. Crap, I felt like crying again.

The bell that ended lunch rang a few minutes after I made it to my locker, trying to get myself together. Looking in the mirror attached to the door of my locker, I wiped away the smudged eyeliner as best I could and stared at my miserable self. I couldn’t figure out why I would ever waste tears on something like this. It’s not like he ever liked me, so I shouldn’t feel like I’ve ever been rejected. But I did.

Again, I calmed myself down, hoping not to run into Cole until all the thoughts in my head settled down. Of course, that would be in about two minutes when I would be forced to enter the History room and meet Cole’s now unreadable gaze. Not to mention, we had that project due next week Friday. Or that I would have to see Brad’s gorgeous face again, and be reminded that it was him I was supposed to be with. I had to say, though, it was a relief to realize that I still had major feelings for Brad, and that he seemed to still be –at least—friendly with me.

Even though I kind of wanted to see Brad, I really didn’t want to see Cole. I felt like shit. Like sick to my stomach. Seeing Cole would definitely not make that feeling any less. Instead of walking to History, I walked to the nurse’s office. I knew my sickness wasn’t physical, and I knew that this was the cowardly way of doing things, but I refused to sit for forty minutes pretending to love I guy I actually loved—wait, I mean hated.

I rubbed my temples, and the nurse looked up with her always-concerned eyes. “Something wrong, dearie?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “I feel sick. I want to go home.”

When you’re a senior who’s never been sick or even ever made an appearance in the nurse’s office, people tend to believe you when you say you’re not feeling too good. The nurse gave me permission to go home, no questions asked, but insisted I call someone to let them know. I, of course, called Mike.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mike,” I answered.

”Thisbe!” He sounded surprised. ”Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I frowned. “Actually, no. I’m not feeling too good. I’m just calling to let you know I’m coming home.”

”You’re sick? Alright, I’ll come pick you up. Just give me five minutes.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine driving myself.”

Mike snorted. ”I’m already walking out the door.”

“But Mr. Jennings will be mad if you leave work,” I protested. As if on cue, I begin to hear an old man yelling in the background. “See? He’s already yelling at you!”

Mike just snickered. ”Bumblebee, that’s all heeverdoes.” And with that, he hung up, and I had no choice but to wait for him to come.

I sat in the nurse’s office trying not to let my mind wander. Because if I let it wander, it would undoubtedly begin to think about Cole. It would start thinking about why I felt… this way… if he was the jerk who used me. But then, it would argue itself by saying how funny he is. His wit was quite the redeeming charm. It would also think of how handsome he was. Usually, I had been more for the light hair, light eyes sort of guy, but Cole was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome—with a smug of imperfection. To add to the good looks, deep under all the sarcasm, was a good person, too. One could just tell he wasn’t really the scary tough guy everyone made him out to be. If I let my mind wander, it would start thinking about all those things…

Dammit. Too late.