Paper Hearts

22

I had come to terms with the fact that I had—albeit unwillingly—fallen in love with Luke Callaway. But I had also come to terms with another fact, which was the completely true statement in which I assured myself that it would never happen again.

So I avoided him at school, weaving and dipping between classes and through hallways before he could catch sight of me. His number was still blocked from my phone, so that was taken care of, and I made a point to steer clear of places like local parties, the theatre, and the ice cream shop.

I had everything under control—Mom didn't know a thing, neither did Dad, and I hadn't seen Luke since our lunchtime interaction on Monday.

I knew every move Luke had, and I had been able to avoid him with ease and precision. My routes to everyday places were often elaborate—made up of back roads and unknown shortcuts—and I soon knew what was to be expected. Luke would give up, I would calm down, and I would attend the wedding alone. I no longer cared what my mother thought.

What I wasn't expecting, however, was the squealing of tires on pavement and bright, shining headlights outside my house at two o' clock in the morning.

I'd been watching television all night—Dad went to bed early with a headache, and I stayed up to finish a movie, and from there I just kept watching, not even slightly aware of what was on the screen anymore. I was still dressed in the clothes I wore to school, and my entire body was stiff from sitting so still.

But when I heard the loud noises outside, my heart leapt into my throat, and suddenly I was rushing to the window, nerves jittering and blood pumping.

When I saw what was outside, I could hardly believe my eyes.

It was Luke's truck, headlights blazing and exhaust rising, the driver himself honking the horn once, twice, three times—loud, blaring noises that rang out into the dead of the night and were sure to rile up neighbors fairly quickly.

Without even thinking, I was up, rushing to the front door and flinging it open, my bare feet slapping against the concrete as the cool air whipped around me, and I rushed to the truck, suddenly freezing as I wrenched the door open, mouth open in shock as I looked Luke Callaway straight in the eyes as he said,

"Get the hell in, Hemmings."

"What's going on?" I demanded, fury and elation and a thousand other things churning through my veins, "Don't you realize it's—"

"Two o' clock in the morning?" He finished, running his hands through his hair and blowing out a breath. "Yeah, Victoria, I do. But I also know that I'm going to go insane if you don't talk to me again and I just need you to forgive me, okay? So get in and shut up so I can take you to get your damn ice cream and we can confront our feelings like the grown adults that we are."

And I don't know if it was the spontaneity, or the adrenaline, or whatever else I was feeling—but I got in the truck. And I let him start driving. Just like I did on the day we met.

________

We didn't talk the entire way to the shop—there was no noise other than the static of the radio and the car engine, and I watched Luke silently from my spot in the passenger's seat. I hadn't realized how long it felt it had been since I last sat in it—comfortable, chatty, completely oblivious to the world of pain my heart would soon cause me.

And as I watched him, then, in that moment—the taut concentration of his face, the way his brows dug into his forehead, the overall anger and concern that overrode his features—I couldn't help but wonder if I might have, just maybe, had the same effect on him.

He pulled into a parking space in front of the store, its sign still lit and a single employee slumped against the counter. Without a word, Luke stopped the car and got out, crossing to my side and wrenching it open right as I had my hand wrapped around the handle. Jerking back, I stared into his gaze, positively shocked at the intense emotion I found there.

But I didn't say anything, sliding out and following him in, unsure of what would happen and if I was by any means ready for it.

He stormed through the entrance, holding the door open long enough for me to enter, breathless as he stalked up to the counter and slammed down a ten-dollar bill.

"One scoop vanilla, one scoop strawberry."

I didn't object to the choice; ice cream was the last thing on my mind. I just went to our usual table in the corner, stifling a yawn as I sat down tentatively, almost as if I were afraid that the chair would electrocute me. Everything suddenly seemed so alien; the days I had spent apart from Luke were taking their toll—suddenly I felt out-of-place, unbelonging.

But he sat across from me with a bowl and two plastic spoons in hand, handing me one and dipping it into the vanilla as I took a tentative bite from the strawberry. From where I was sitting, I could just barely see the first two letters of the alleged "i***t" tattoo.

"Victoria, I'm sorry," Luke said suddenly, his voice low, "And I've tried to tell you that, over and over again. What happened that night—it was a mistake. I know I shouldn't have blown you off for Elle like that; it was stupid and selfish and a million other things, and I want to kick myself for being such an i***t, but I can't take it back, no matter how hard I try."

I just watched him, my throat tightening as he glanced down and said,

"I just want you and I to be okay again. That's it. I—I didn't realize how much I miss your slightly annoying notes and plans until I didn't have them anymore. It's been driving me crazy. Elle and I, we're never going to get together, and even though I say that, I know I still kissed her like that—but it was only because I saw you and Tanner, and I don't know, I got really angry, so I decided to fight fire with fire—"

"What?"

The word was out of my mouth in an instant, instinctively, defensive. Luke's gaze snapped up to mind, and I just gaped at him.

"I—Tanner and I didn't kiss. He tried to, but I wouldn't let him. Why...why else do you think I got drenched with beer?"

At this, confusion clouded his eyes.

"You...you didn't—?"

"No," I said, my voice sounding oddly calm, even to my own ears. "I didn't want to, so I told him not to. And he didn't. Instead, he went to Elle and ratted me out."

"Oh, God," Luke said, putting his head in his hands, "The only reason I even considered kissing Elle was because—"

"Because you thought Tanner and I did?" I finished, incredulous, and he nodded. "Luke, why would I do that?"

"I don't know; I thought it was because you were mad at me or something. For keeping it so—short."

"What?"

"The kiss. Our kiss," he explained, looking more and more flustered by the second. "I kept it to the five-second minimum, and I could tell it wasn't exactly ideal, and before I knew it, you were partnered up with Tanner, and suddenly I was imagining the two of you—"

"God, Luke, no. Never. Never again." I told him, looking up at the ceiling, my ice cream completely forgotten. "I mean, the kiss was short, but what were you supposed to do? We're not even—we're not—"

"Real." He finished, and it wasn't a question, but a statement. A fact. "We're not real, Victoria. You and I, this whole thing, it's a façade, it's a pretense, it's a make-believe. You and I aren't real, and even so, somehow—"

"Somehow we are," I said quietly, feeling hot tears beginning to rise in my throat. I coughed and looked away, but by the time I turned back to him, his eyes were already fixated on me.

"Somehow we are." He repeated.

I looked down at my ice cream, which was now melting slightly, turning into a runny, pink liquid. I placed my spoon carefully along the edge of the bowl, blowing out a breath before saying,

"The kisses are fake, the relationship is fake, everything we are is fake."

The words were torn from me unwillingly, truthfully, the complete and exact opposite of what I wanted to hear myself say.

Luke nodded, as if assuring himself of this, and said,

"Then I think we can just put this behind us and move on. Continue with the plan. With the wedding."

The words jarred me of whatever stupor I'd been wading in for the past week, I was suddenly aware of the truth, the truth that the wedding was coming up so quickly, and I had almost thrown everything away for the fickle complexity of my situation.

Maybe it's time to stop letting my heart make my decisions for me.

So I didn't. I looked Luke Callaway straight in the eyes and said,

"You're right. We should...we should move on."

He nodded, with the smallest of smiles.

"Do you forgive me, Victoria?"

"Of course I do."

"Then everything can go back to normal?"

"Yes."

And that was that. He went back to his ice cream, and I kept my eyes on him, waiting, half-hoping he would change his mind and profess his undying love for me, and then we could be an actual couple at the actual wedding, and everything would be perfect.

But it wasn't. Because, now, everything was back to normal—even though I didn't want it to be.