29. Clarissa

Rissa rubs my chest,but it does nothing to relieve the churning.

“Nah, fuck that!” Voices yell, and I lift my head and turn in that direction. Tyree is being dragged from the front door by a group of guys as he fights to go back inside.

“Oh god,” I whisper, and Rissa gives me a sympathetic expression.

“Man, stop! It’s over,” August yells, pushing Tyree down the driveway. Tyree is walking in circles and veering back to the front door. The other group of guys are trying to calm him down, but he’s like a bull.

August takes Tyree and walks away from the house with a tight grip. I can’t hear the words, but they’re talking fast. I continue sitting on the grass with Rissa, and she doesn’t voice the thought, but I think she can feel the dread I have. I’ve been with Tyree for two years, and I love him.

Tell me you feel it too.

Tell me your gut twists when we’re in the same room.

“Clarissa, get up! Let’s go!” Tyree yells, suddenly coming to my side.

“Hold up! We not yelling at Lis,” Rissa says, getting up and helping me stand.

Tyree folds his hands behind his head and lets out a hard breath. “I’m fucking pissed,” he says, pacing the small area in front of me.

“Hey, you shouldn’t be driving this angry, plus you’ve been drinking. Let me drive y’all,” August says.

“No, Derrek just got here, and he’s going to take Lis and me home.”

“What?”

Rissa pulls me by my hand to her side while Tyree looks down at us. “Come on, man, you’re still too worked up,” August says.

“So I’m supposed to be happy right now? My best fucking friend!” Tyree yells.

“Hey, Marissa, is everything cool?” A guy walks up, and I recognize him from pictures as Derrek.

“Yeah, I need you to take Lis and me home.”

Tyree is shaking his head as he drops his arms to his sides. “No, he can take you home, but not her.” He points to me.

Rissa is gearing up, and I step between them. “Rissa, it’s okay. August will drive us.”

She looks me deep in my eyes. “You sure?” I nod yes, and she pulls me into a hug. “Call me as soon as you get home. I mean it, Lis.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t say goodbye, only nodding to Tyree and August as she and Derrek walk up the drive. The other guys have disappeared back into the house. A shiver runs down my arms, and although I miss my coat, I say nothing.

August pulls Tyree to the side and talks lowly before he’s back.

“Please stay out here. I’m going to run in and get Rey so we can leave.” I nod, and August is jogging back into the house. The tension swirls and loops around my legs. Tyree isn’t looking at me, but he’s gone from pacing to completely still and silent.

When Rey and August come out, the sour mood is punctuated with the embarrassment of this outburst. Rey looks at me with pity in her eyes as we walk to the car. Tyree is quiet during the walk, and insects grow louder in our absence of noise.

We shuffle into the back, and Tyree turns so he’s facing the window and away from me. I hug my body tighter, trying to get warm. August turns up the heat, and the low volume of the radio hums as seatbelts are buckled and the car is put in reverse.

I twist my mouth, biting my lips as new tears fill and spill over.

This is the most awkward and charged ride I’ve ever experienced. Nobody says a word for the twenty-minute drive it takes to get to our place. Once we arrive, Tyree opens his door and starts walking up the stairs.

“Thanks, August. It was nice meeting you, Rey,” I say, even though I don’t feel it. This night has been hell, and I shift over from the back seat and get out. August is saying something, but I don’t hear it before I close the car door. I can’t get to my apartment fast enough, so I keep going as though I didn’t hear him. I jog up the stairs as Tyree stands waiting for me at the top, still not speaking.

He moves to the side and lets me walk by before we’re at the door, then unlocks it. I walk in and take off my shoes. Cold, wet fabric hugs my backside, and I rub my arms, still with a trail of goosebumps along my skin.

Tyree comes in and locks the door, walking to the bedroom.

I let out a breath and clutch my face in my hands. After five minutes, I go to the second bathroom and take a shower. The tension is suffocating, but I breathe past it. I breathe past it as I scrub my skin. I breathe past it as I wash my face, and I breathe past it as I dry off and wrap a towel around my body.

When I open the door, Tyree is there with his hands in his pockets.

I stop short, and he looks up. His eyes are swimming with tears, and I grip the door frame.

“I’m sorry, Clarissa. I— I just—” He starts to speak, but I walk up and take his hand. He stares down at our connected fingers and pulls me into a hug. The warmth of his body and the depth of his sorrow are palpable. The grief of a lost friendship is a living being standing next to us.

He holds me in his arms and cries. Silently, tears fall down my cheeks as I grip him tighter.

Tell me you feel it too.

Tell me your gut twists when we’re in the same room.

It’s been a few days since the fight. Tyree hasn’t cried again or addressed what happened. He’s going to work and acting as if Tyson never existed. Rissa was mad at me the next day after the fight because I forgot to call her. My mind might as well have been mush for all the focus I had. I barely slept a wink.

I spoon fruit into a small bowl and stand at the counter. “Clarissa, have you seen my blue shirt with the stripes?” Tyree asks from the bedroom.

“Check the closet, right side in the back,” I yell.

I pierce some pineapple with my fork and take a bite.

“Got it! Thanks, babe.”

Is it possible to feel so much you become numb? We haven’t talked about anything. He hasn’t asked how this happened or how I feel about it. There’s nothing.

Do I know how I feel about it?

Maybe not.

Tell me you feel it too.

Tell me your gut twists when we’re in the same room.

A knot in my throat grows, and the sweet pineapple does nothing to remove the bitterness.

My phone chirps, and it’s a phone call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” I say. The accent is so thick I can’t understand.

“Hello.” The phone shuffles, and someone with a less pronounced accent gets on the line.

“Is this Clarissa Camp?”

“Yes.”

“There’s been an accident.” No other words filter through as I drop the phone and subsequently spill my bowl of fruit.

“Clarissa? Clarissa! What’s wrong?” Tyree yells as I crumple to the floor.