The Breakup Artist (20 page)

“Not yet. He hasn’t called me all weekend though, so I’m assuming that’s a good sign. Maybe he’s thinking it over and trying to find a way to let me down easy.” She laughed at this, though I didn’t see what was so amusing about it. “Anyways, if he doesn’t call me on Sunday, I’ll just ditch school Monday to give you another chance at getting him to do it. After that, I’m rescinding my offer.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” I said unenthusiastically.

“I figured you would,” she said, and then the line went dead. I was beginning to notice that none of my clients seemed to posses the ability to say “good-bye” to end their phone conversations. They all just kind of hung up. Maybe it was because in their eyes I was more like the hired help—more like a vending machine than a human being. I ran my fingers through my blonde, messy hair, fully aware that I hadn’t brushed it that morning, and searched through the contact list on my phone. I now had six numbers saved rather than just five, though it didn’t make much of a difference, since that sixth number wouldn’t answer my calls.

I hit send when the scroll illuminated David’s name and got his voicemail once again.

“Hey, David, it’s Amelia. I know you’re probably sick of all the messages I’ve left you, but I just want to talk. You can’t really want to throw everything away without at least talking first, can you?” I paused for a second, though I knew the voicemail certainly wasn’t going to answer me. “Anyway, I’m really sorry, and if you just let me explain, we might be able to work this out.”

I paused again, feeling the urge to say something I knew was crazy after having only known this boy for such a short amount of time. Still, there it was, completely overpowering me and making me unable to think about anything other than David. It was that one emotion I thought didn’t exist in the world. The one that I knew would probably scare him away if I uttered it when our relationship was in danger of falling apart. In the end, though, my feelings won out and I said the thing I knew I should just keep to myself. And that’s how I ended my voicemail to him.

“I love you.”

☼☼☼

Saturday night came and went with absolutely no response from David, and I wallowed in my own self-pity. I knew I was being pathetic and love struck, but it felt like misery was just that much more intense after everything had been so perfect. I felt completely at a loss now that my other half was missing. I wouldn’t have felt this if I hadn’t known how wonderful it felt to be with someone you’re so completely in tune with in the first place. The whole thing left me feeling empty, and I fell asleep that night crying.

Sunday morning passed without my notice. I didn’t wake until two in the afternoon. Suddenly I felt like Rachel had the right idea, sleeping the day away. Nothing seemed so horrible if you just shut out the world for a while. I walked through the house to see if my mom was home, but found no one. I didn’t even find a note saying she was out with a client. I guess she knew I’d just assume she was out with someone now, though “client” wasn’t really the term I’d use.

I ate an apple and checked my phone for any new messages or missed calls but was met with nothing. I tried to ignore the sharp pain this left right above my stomach and decided to be semi-productive and take a long hot shower. I washed my hair thoroughly and scrubbed my skin until it felt raw, trying to wash away the creeping feeling that I had ruined something truly amazing. As I continued to endure the rest of this long day by myself, I spent time on all of the little extras. I needed anything to keep my mind occupied.

By the time I was done with my routine, I had perfectly curled hair, expertly applied makeup, and absolutely nowhere to go. I had, luckily, eaten up some time in the day, and I noticed that the sun was beginning to make its way toward the distant mountain range. I had gotten Rachel to give me Alex’s number with the compromise that I’d go out on a date with him that Monday night, even though that was the furthest thing from what I wanted to be doing.

With nothing left for me to waste my time on, I went into the living room to watch some TV. There had to be something on that could distract me from my current state. As I went to sit on the couch, my foot hit something hard on the floor, causing me to yelp with pain. I looked down angrily to locate the source of my annoyance, only to see the corner of David’s laptop sticking out from under the couch.
He must have left it when he made me dinner
, I thought excitedly. At least holding his laptop ransom could give me some excuse to see him again, even if it only meant seeing him for a second to give him the computer. At this point I was desperate. Any contact would make me feel better.

I quickly picked up my phone and texted David, excited that he still had some obligation to see me so that I could explain everything.

“You left your laptop at my house,” I texted, sending the message the second I had hit the last letter. Sitting back on the couch with his computer on my lap I smiled triumphantly. At least things were looking up a little. The green light on David’s computer blinked at me, indicating that even though the screen was closed, the computer was still on.

“That can’t be good,” I thought aloud, thinking I should probably turn the thing off before giving it back to him. When I opened the screen the same word processor popped up that he’d been typing on after dinner. I glanced at it for a moment, not because I actually intended to read it, but simply because that’s where my eyes had fallen. When I read the name “Amelia” on the screen I froze. What could David possibly be writing about me? Was this some sort of digital journal he was keeping?

Now, I don’t really consider myself a nosey person. I can keep a secret and I respect people’s privacy. But when I saw my name on the computer screen of the boy who I wanted back so badly, I couldn’t resist reading on. I had to find out if there was some hint in here as to how I could win him back.

Scrolling to the top of the document I read the title: “The Lonely Girl Syndrome.” I stopped reading for a moment. It didn’t really sound like a journal entry. And it wasn’t exactly formatted to be something turned in to school. At this point I had two different options and I knew how I picked would change things in a big way. I could read on and see exactly what David really thought of me, or I could just close the computer, return it to him, and be grateful that he had taught me so much while we both still trusted each other.

I chose the first option.

Big surprise.

I didn’t remember much from what I soon learned was a newspaper article. But some of the phrases stuck in my mind like they’d been burned there. “. . . came from a loveless home to suck the love out of the relationships around her.” “. . . withdraws herself from the norms of growing up due to a false sense of superiority.” “. . . relies on her looks because nothing resides below the surface.”

Each paragraph was worse than the one before it, and I couldn’t believe that the person I was reading about was supposed to be me. The details in the article had to come from his year of watching me as he mentioned jobs from ages ago, even jobs I had taken when I went to different schools. Had he followed me to those schools and I just didn’t notice? Could he even do that if his parents didn’t move like my mom and I did so often?

I was vaguely aware of my phone buzzing next to me but I didn’t bother to look down or pick it up. I just stared straight ahead at the screen, too shocked to cry.

I didn’t end up reading the whole article. Half was all I could really manage to stomach for the time being. When I had had enough I gently closed the laptop, not bothering to turn it off.

“Okay,” I said to the empty room. “This is okay,” I said, still more quietly. I didn’t seem to be able to really say anything that mattered. I could only keep telling myself that everything was okay. This was, of course, pretty far from the truth, but if I kept lying to myself I was hoping I’d eventually start to believe the lie. “Maybe he wasn’t adding to the article all this time. Maybe he was . . . deleting it . . . or at least revising it.”

One thing I did know was that he had definitely been doing something to the article since we’d been dating. I just didn’t know what.

My phone buzzed next to my leg once more and I finally mustered the sanity to reach down and pick it up. I didn’t quite know what to do when I read the words “One Missed Call From David” illuminated across the little screen. Closing that screen my phone revealed to me that I also had a text message from David. I wasn’t quite sure if I actually wanted to read it. It would be horrible to read him trying to make up some excuse as to why he’d written the article. Although it would be worse if he didn’t . . . if he just asked for his computer back so that he could finally turn in his big story.

Opening up his message didn’t really reveal much to me. All he had written was
“Is the laptop still on?”
I couldn’t tell if he was worried, resigned, or just relieved that he wouldn’t have to pretend to be interested in me anymore. Sitting there with my phone in my hand I felt so small. The hurt that was bubbling up inside of me felt like more than I could bear, but then the idea that this hurt was caused by a high school relationship made me feel like a fool. I had become exactly like the people I had always made fun of. Maybe David was right. Maybe I did withdraw myself from growing up because I had a false sense of superiority. I had always thought of myself as separate from all of the other students. Like I was part of their world but was above sharing their experiences.

I shook my head, trying to clear it of all of the confusion David’s article had brought. Taking a deep breath I decided the only thing I could do would be to actually talk to David. Best case, he didn’t mean a word of what he was writing. He was just kidding . . . or trying to prove a point. Worst case, we were through. He hated me and was just using me for his stupid newspaper article.

I decided not to consider the second option anymore or I’d just hang up the phone right as he picked up. As the phone rang, I tried to keep myself from shaking. There had to be some logical explanation to all of this. There was no way David didn’t feel as connected to me as I did to him.

On the third ring, I heard David pick up.

“Hey,” came his familiar voice on the other end of the phone. He sounded just as bad as I felt, I noted with some hope. Perhaps he didn’t want things to be over between us either. I kept my fingers crossed as I spoke in a shaky voice.

“Do you think we can talk?” I asked, my heart feeling like it might just stop altogether.

“Not over the phone,” he said after a sizeable pause. “Can you meet me at the park off Hendrix?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in five minutes,” I said, probably a bit too anxiously.

“All right . . . bye.” I was glad that at least David still remembered how to end a conversation, though I hoped that was the only context in which I’d ever hear him utter the word “good-bye.” Maybe the fact that he felt bad meant that the article wasn’t real. Maybe I’d imagined the whole thing.

Or maybe I was just delusional and trying to make myself feel better.

I sped down the street to the park much faster than I should have, happy that I had just taken so much time to make myself look presentable. I pulled into the mostly empty parking lot and instantly spotted David’s old blue car. I pulled up beside it, but he wasn’t inside. My heart sank for a moment, before I realized that he was probably in the park somewhere. I left the laptop on the passenger side seat, hoping that even if he just wanted to take his computer and go, I could lock the door until we resolved this whole thing. I walked through the wet grass until I found him sitting on a swing in the abandoned playground.

He looked up when I approached but said nothing, just like he’d done on Friday. At least today he didn’t look like he wanted to kill anyone. Instead, he just looked sad and resigned—exactly how I felt.

“You look nice,” he said after I sat on the swing beside his.

“Thanks,” I answered. I looked over at him and noted that his eyes were red, though I couldn’t be sure if it was from lack of sleep or crying. I found myself hoping that either one of these causes was not due to the demise of our relationship.

“So you said you wanted to talk?” he asked carefully, and immediately we had gotten to the hard part. I nodded, not sure exactly where to start or how I could justify my actions to him. Now that I had read the article I almost felt like my little fall off the wagon would be the easy part of the conversation. I decided I’d wait until he brought that situation up. Although from the way he kept looking at me like I was a bomb about to go off, he wasn’t quite sure if I had read the article or not. I sighed heavily, figuring I’d kick off this little heart-to-heart with my lies. We could always move to his later.