Burdened (A Burdened Novel) (6 page)

He moves closer, reluctantly, as if he is trying not to, but can’t resist. “Look, Tracey, don’t be sorry. I just don’t want to hold you up any longer. I know you have to get up early for school.”

“Nathan.” His eyes focus on me at the sound of his name. With him being closer, I can see him fighting his feelings. His eyes are calculated and his face is tight. “What are you trying not to say?” I ask, through questioning eyes. It irritates me that I can’t figure him out.

He gently presses his hand to the side of my face, his palm covering most of my lower jaw and his fingers resting against the side—to the back—of my neck. “Don’t, Tracey,” he says again, softly, as he rubs his thumb back and forth against my cheek.

Feeling his touch makes me forget about whatever worry I had and whatever insecurity I was feeling. I lean into it, eyes closed, craving more. He leaves it pressed there and I can feel him staring down at me.

Please
, I beg to myself. I feel the warmth go through my neck and down to my chest. It starts to burn and ache. I now realize it is him who causes the burning and aching I feel every time he is around and leaves my presence. It’s worse when he is gone, practically unbearable. But when he is around, it’s warm and comforting. Something else I can’t explain.

I press my hand against his, wanting to feel him under my touch. He lets me for only a second, before removing his hand completely. I’m immediately empty, cold, and the ache in my chest begins to cringe and tighten. I place my hand over where I feel the pain, and grab at my chest to suppress the pain, hoping to comfort it.

“I’ll see you around, Tracey.” I can’t turn to leave. I’m frozen in the cool breeze and the empty feeling that consumes me. “Go in the house and go to sleep, Tracey,” he says, looking at me like he’s ready for me to walk away, slightly angered.

I say nothing, standing, still looking at him with hurt-filled eyes. My mind is blank; I only feel pain.

He walks toward me and turns me around by my shoulders. He moves next to my ear and whispers, “I dream of you too,” and kisses the back of my neck—too softly. My heart forgets how to beat as he gently pushes me in the house.

My feet move, against my will, walking me into the house. The door closes behind me, once I’m completely in. I back up against it, sliding to the floor. My heart is still stuck in mid-beat. I listen as his truck starts up and pulls away. I listen to it until I can’t hear it anymore, and every car I hear, I swear it is his.

I am losing my fucking mind.

I force myself from the floor to the family room, chest still aching. Lying down, I close my eyes and his soft lips haunt my skin; his eyes haunt my memories, then his elusive words, confirming I’m not in this alone.

I can’t understand why he is fighting it. Why it seems like he is teasing me. Why doesn’t he want it like I do? I want to be with him, touch him. It’s so bad, and it feels like a need more than a want.

It takes me forever to fall asleep. I toss and turn, thinking about all the things I shouldn’t, trying to fight it. His words, ‘Don’t, Tracey,’ creep through my mind. I regret how much I love the way my name sounds in his voice.

I don’t remember at what point my heart decided to start beating again. That thought transitions to me, thinking about his touch and the way it makes my stomach drop, leaving room for butterflies to swarm. It makes my heart flutter and my skin shiver with goose-bumps.

Glen’s alarm goes off, playing a song by the Fall Out Boys. She wakes up instantly and cuts it off. She looks over at me looking at her. “Why is that your alarm?” I ask, staring at her. The alarm scared me awake.

She shrugs. “I love it.” She smiles wide. “Aw, Tracey,” she throws herself back on the bed, “Again, I dreamed about him. I am messed up in the head,” she says, covering her red-turning face with her hands.

Tell me about it. “It’s okay,” I say, my eyes un-focusing, seeing
him
instead of what’s in front of me. “Maybe you just need to talk to him, be around him, and share a moment with him, without him needing or wanting to leave or walk away. Maybe you didn’t get enough, and every ounce of you knows that too. So you want more. Maybe that one touch just wasn’t enough, or the looking into his eyes as God placed him there in that moment to save you from breaking your face as you were falling down the stairs.” My own situation plays back to me. “So your body is telling you it wants him, just as much as you do.” Even when you deny it. “It makes you crave his touch. Your brain clouds your head with images of him and he haunts your dreams. Your eyes deceive you every time you close them, and your ears play tricks on you—making you believe he is next to you by playing his voice repeatedly in your head.”

I shake my head, throwing myself back on the blow mattress. My head hits the pillow gently, but my chest aches horribly.

“Umm,” Glen starts, “yes…exactly.” Getting up, she walks over and lies down on my bed, propping her head on her hand, turned onto her side. “And how do you know that?”

My eyes widen as I stare at the ceiling, now realizing what I had just said. “Huh?”

“Tell me the truth, Tracey. Do you like Scott too?”

“
Ew, no!” I say, showing as much disgust as I feel. She flinches away. “Not saying that there’s something wrong with him,” I follow quickly, “just that
I
am not attracted to him. He is cute though,” I add for her comfort.

“Okay, so spill! Tell me what is going on and how you know exactly what I’m feeling!” she says with expectant eyes.

I still do not want to tell Glen about my mysterious new friend, feelings, and attraction. We’ve been friends forever, yes, and I can trust her with anything. But this just isn’t a comfortable situation for me.

She did tell me hers though, right?

“Come on, Tracey, spill. You look worse than me, so I know it has to be something.” I steal a peek at her through the corner of my eyes. She’s staring at me like I am going to give her the secrets to the world.

“It’s not that serious, Glen.”

“So tell me then.”

I’m having a mental fight with myself over telling her and not telling her. I’ll tell, but how much detail I’ll share all depends on how she reacts to the beginning. “The other day,” I start, “this guy hit me while I was in my car in the parking lot at school.” I look at her, expecting a reaction, but I get nothing.

“He came to my window to check on me, and when I looked at him it was all downhill from there.” I tell her about everything, except the swirling eyes, burning touches, nurse’s office, details in my dreams, and how he showed up here last night.

I stole Scott’s story, basically.

“Okay, he sounds hot,” she says, smiling from ear to ear.

“And, he is Scott’s cousin.” Popping whatever giddy bubble she was in, a wider smile spreads from shoulder to shoulder, consuming her face. I’m not sure if I should have said it or not.

“OMG, are you serious?” she is eager.

“Yes, but Scott tells me not to talk to him,” I sit up, my excitement is nowhere near hers, “and he seems like
he
doesn’t want to either.”

She rambles through our showers and as we dress, about how we could end up a family, why wouldn’t Scott want me to talk to him, why I didn’t tell her when it had happened, why he wouldn’t want me being as cute as I am, and a lot of other comments—completely ignoring the hurt in my statement.

I refuse to tell her his name, because I can’t speak it or hear it, thanks to the spasm it sends my stupid heart through. Every time I think about him and it flutters, I ask it,
How could you feel something for him when you don’t even know him?
And it responds by beating roughly, as if it wants me to rip it out and hand it to him, to comfort it until it stops hurting.

“Glen,” I cut off her rambles as we walk out to my car, “I cannot talk about it. Okay?” It is bad enough I think about him all damn day. I don’t want to—no, I
can’t—
talk about him too. This could be why I didn’t want to tell her in the first place.

“Is it that bad?” she asks sympathetically.

I nod, as we get in the car. “But what makes it worse is that, I can tell he’s into—” Her phone rings, cutting me off, playing another verse from the song from earlier. “Really?”

“What? I love it!” she chuckles at herself.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I ask as she stares at the screen.

“No, it’s just Rachel. She wants a ride to school. But I am just not feeling company right now.”

“Humph, well aren’t you
my
company?” I ask, starting up the car, and feeling grateful the phone rang in the first place.

“Yes, but you’re different.” She puts on her seatbelt. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but have you seen him since he dropped you off?”

“No.” A lie. “But let’s just drop it. It’s bad enough that it’s in my mind 24/7 and I can’t figure out why it’s affecting me the way that it is. I can’t
take
talking about it, okay?” I just need her to let it go.

“I got you,
Cey,” she says, pulling the visor down to block the sun as we pull out of the driveway. “I think I am going to talk to Scott tonight. I just need you to do something for me today.”

“What?”

“Can you find out if he’s talking to anyone? You know, has a girl? You all seem cool by the way you both were talking yesterday.”

Scott and I
are
cool, but not ‘stop and have a conversation about his relationship life’ type of cool. He might get the wrong idea. I was actually kind of shocked with him approaching me yesterday and telling me not to talk to his cousin.

“Umm, Glen, I think that would give him the wrong idea if I asked him if he has a girlfriend.”

“Tracey, please? I need to know,” she argues.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.” No, I won’t, but if it will get her to shut up, I’ll tell her anything.

Driving the speed limit, instead of my usual ‘bat out of hell’ driving, it takes us fifteen minutes to get to school. I’m not in the best of moods today. This shit is miserable. I need to get over this man. How dare he stop by my house last night to throw me off? I was having an okay day.

Pulling in, the parking lot is packed. It seems like the whole school is out here. It’s not unusual, but classes start in eight minutes. People usually start to head in.

“What is going on?” Glen asks, looking around at the crowds as we get out of the car.

“Nothing, people just talking about the party.”
Matthew walks up, answering Glen’s question. “You ladies going?”

“Yeah, we’re going,” I answer, starting to grab my bag from the trunk.

“You all want to ride with me?” He walks over, assisting me, and his hand grazes my arm and gives me the shock from hell.

“Ouch!” I yell. “What the hell, Matt?
You been rubbing your feet on a carpet or something?”

He straightens, rubbing his hand. “No, I have hardwood floors. That’s you, and that shit hurt.”

“Yeah, it did!” I say exuberantly, while throwing my bag over my shoulder and rubbing my arm. I still feel the pain from the shock.

He reaches up, closing my trunk. “So do you all need a ride, Glen?”

“No, I’m going to drive just Tracey and me,” she answers, wrapping her arm around mine. “See you in third.”

“Why did you blow him off like that?” I ask, after we gain some distance from him.

“He was kind of irritating me. Plus, we have things to figure out.”

The crowds start to disperse after the ringing of the first bell. Walking to our first class, Glen talks about what she wants me to say to Scott and what she doesn’t want me to say. All I can hear is: Scott, Scott, and Scott.
Nothing else.

She ends with, “Okay?”

“Okay, Glen,” I reply without interest.

Classes go by—again—without my full attention. When someone isn’t speaking directly to me, I think about him. And he didn’t make it any better by stopping by last night, letting me know he feels the same—well, something like that—and letting me feel the slightest touch of those lips that I dream of kissing, giving into my craving for him to touch me and letting that touch marinate on my skin.

“What an ass!” I blurt out loudly.

“Is there something you would like to share with the class Miss Warren?” Mr. Robertson, my third period teacher, asks.

“Sorry,” I say, embarrassed about my unruly outburst, everybody looking at me like I lost my mind. I slide down in my chair, looking up at the ceiling.

Is he doing this to me on purpose? This isn’t me, dumbstruck over some guy.

The bell rings, pulling me from my thoughts. I’m happy it did. I grab my things, ignoring whoever is trying to talk to me, which seems like everybody today. My head is starting to hurt and my confusion is making it worse.

Glen meets me by my locker, talking about her ‘Scott Plan,’ while I put my books away. It seems so childish. I don’t get why she can’t just go up and talk to the boy.

Just as she says his name, he walks up beside me. “Hi Tracey,” he says, calmly and uninterested. I have no idea what he’s going to say and I don’t know how I feel about him saying it in front of Glen.