Dreams

"Something's been bothering me."

I look over at Conrad, shifting my position against him on the couch as he plays with my hair. "Yeah?"

His chocolate eyes slide from the TV and toward me, studying my face like it may be the last time he'll ever see it. "If you knew you were leaving so soon at the end of the summer, why did you and Brenna even bother to get involved in a relationship?"

I swallow and move closer to him, listening to Conrad's heart beat rhythmically. "A week or two after we graduated, Brenna thought it was important we both got boyfriends for the summer -- to have someone to have fun with before we went off to college."

"A summer fling, boy-toy," Conrad replies, and the way he says those words, how they're laced with some sort of anger, there's this sudden pit in my stomach.

"Sort of...I mean, we would have told them beforehand -- before they really got any ideas, you know?"

"Is that all I am to you?" Conrad asks this question so quietly I wonder if I was even supposed to have heard it.

"What? No, of course not!"

"Because you apparently didn't feel like informing me when you were leaving exactly." Conrad stands up, running a hand through his hair, "Don't you think I would've liked to know when my girlfriend was heading off to freaking New Hampshire?"

"Con, I didn't want you thinking about that the entire time we were together -- how much time we had left. I just wanted to be here with you, without thinking about that stuff." I try to reach for his hand, but he snatches it away before I have the chance. "Why are you so mad?" I finally yell, "I'm sorry I never told you!"

There's this noise, a snort and a heavy sigh mixed together, "Yeah, I'm pissed you didn't tell me the exact day you're leaving, but I'm even more mad that I'm just...a summer fling to you." The last part slides off of his lips easily, but I know the words pain him.

Even though they're not true.

I take too long to respond, so many different words coming to mind, and I open my mouth before closing it. What was I supposed to say? "It's -- You know that's not true, Conrad..." I trail off, looking up from my hands that I've been twisting around and realize he's not standing in front of me anymore.

A door down the hall shuts and I sit on the couch, tears pricking my eyes. I glance at the clock and realize it's nearing ten that night. I run a hand over my face, and pull it away when I feel the wetness of my tears.

I continue sitting on the couch, hoping this wasn't really happening -- that Conrad really wasn't that mad at me. That he'd come back out and wrap me in his arms, saying that none of what we said mattered.

But it was happening, this wasn't some nightmare, it was reality and I wasn't about to sit on Conrad's couch all night when I knew he'd never come out of his room. I stand up and grab my purse, before pausing slightly at the front door.

I groan and turn around, heading down the hallway before finding his bedroom door. I knock on it and put my ear against the chilly wood, hearing Conrad shift around before his even breathing on the side of it rings in my ears.

The lock clicks and at first, I think he's going to open it. But then I realize he was locking the door, not unlocking it. I swallow and blink back the tears. "Hey," I whisper, but I know he can hear me. "I - I just wanted to let you know I'm g - gonna head out. I'm sorry, you were never just a boy-toy for me." I say, my fingers pressed against the wood, wishing I had the power to walk right through this damn door. "You had me the second you started talking about Stan."

And it was true. So very true.

I sigh, "So...call me. If you want. Whatever. I guess I'll just...see you around." A small sob tears through my chest. Was this a break-up? Over something so stupid, so juvenile?

I turn away from his door and practically run toward the elevator outside his apartment, my heart aching.

Conrad. Conrad. Conrad. That's all that would process in my mind, that's the only thing every thought revolved around in the elevator ride down toward the lobby. I tried to concentrate on the pattern of the carpet beneath my feet or how distraught I looked in my reflection in the elevator doors. I searched through my bag and found a tissue, dabbing at the mascara running down my cheeks and combed my fingers through my hair, attempting to make it look halfway decent.

The red blotchy skin under my eyes, however, would not go away and it bothered me to no end. That red puffiness was such a tattle-tale sign of crying and everyone in the stupid lobby would know how upset I was and probably form theories about how I was leaving my boyfriend's house, pregnant and he said he wanted nothing to do to me. Or maybe I was going to see my sick mother in the hospital one last time. Or possibly just a stupid girl crying because her relationship just ended.

I was ashamed to put myself in that last category.

I sighed, watching the little number above the elevator doors descend until it finally made that obnoxious dinging noise, alarming me that I had come to my stop. The elevator shook slightly as the doors slid open and I took a deep breath before walking into the lobby, my flip flops smacking against the floor.

A door across from me flew open, slamming against the wall, and I didn't even bother looking up to see what the cause of the noise was. My hand was on the door leading out toward the parking lot and something inside my head caused me to stop for a second, as if bracing myself for the humid summer air.

"Wait!" Somebody yelled behind me, and I felt a twang of jealously for whoever the person was calling after. They were lucky to have someone chase after them.

I pushed open the door and a blast of heat hit my face, brushing my hair behind my shoulders, but I felt so empty I didn't really even register how hot it was. But before I even took one step out the door, someone grabbed the handle and closed it, forcing me to stumble backwards and try to understand what was going on.

Before looking up to even see who it was, I say, "Do you mind? I was trying to leave."