9 - Answers

9

Answers

T he arts building on campus is gorgeous. All brick, large cathedral windows and vaulted ceilings. I can picture Isaiah here so easily.

Though, if I just grew a pair and entered, I wouldn't have to picture it. I could just see it.

Fuck it. I take a deep breath and push through the doors. It's quiet on campus, later in the afternoon with less students milling about, but I happen to know he's coming to the end of his last class.

Perks of having a fan who works for the school.

I walk slowly through the halls, doing my best to blend in as a stray student and most likely failing, until I find the large lecture room. Through the small window, I see Isaiah leaning on the desk, tattooed arms crossed against his chest, and a gentle smile on his face. When we were kids, teaching was never something that crossed his mind, but it makes sense. He's a good listener, he's encouraging, and he's incredibly smart. He's also brilliant at anything he puts his mind to.

The book feels like a heavy weight in my bag. I know it contains pieces of Isaiah I don't have, that I don't know about—him deciding to teach feels like that, too. All it does is make me wonder what other parts of him are new to me? What other parts of him bloomed after he left?

What parts of him are left from when he was everything to me?

Soon enough, the students file out, and before entering, I ensure they've all left, shutting the door behind me. The click draws his attention.

His eyes widen. "Ro—Aurora. What are you doing here?"

I watch his tattooed hands move nervously over the desk, cleaning it up and closing books. "I'm here to talk."

Isaiah runs a hand towards his forehead, over his curls. "You could've given me a heads up."

"Yeah, well, you left on your terms; you showed up here on your terms. I'm doing this on mine." I cross my arms, acting like my heart isn't beating out of my chest.

He dips his head. "Alright." Isaiah leans on his desk, and I stride in, sitting atop a desk directly across from him. I glance around. There's a poem up on the screen, a book sitting open on the desk.

"What do you want to know?"

I snort, hanging my head back before meeting his eyes. "What are you willing to tell me?"

Isaiah's expression is serious, though his eyes remain warm as they look at me. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"Everything?"

"Everything." He uncrosses an arm, motioning to the room. "I'd rather not do it here, but I will tell you everything."

I swallow, reaching into my bag and pulling out the book. "Let's start with this."

He fidgets, his fingers spinning the thin chain around his wrist. "You bought it?" Isaiah studies me, his eyes taking in every inch, heat singing my skin where his gaze lands.

Flipping it open, I thumb over the pages, careful to avoid the words. I still haven't read it. "Felt like I had to."

"Can I—one second." He kicks off the desk and moves around to his bag. The sound of rustling follows, and he pulls out another copy. One with the spine cracked and the pages folded, one that's well read. He steps towards me, closing the space, and holds it out. "Take this one."

"Why?"

"Aurora, just take it."

The moment he gets closer, I grab it from his outstretched hands to stop him from getting any closer. It's no use. He's a beacon. His cologne infiltrates my space, and even after all these years, he just smells like home. There's no use trying to decipher the scents; it's just…home.

"I think we should talk about the book after you read it." He grabs his bag. "But for right now, can we talk in my office?"

I'm frazzled, but I follow him out of the room and down the halls. Our shoulders brush once or twice, and each time, Isaiah glances down at me and me up at him.

I miss you.

The words bang on the inside of my head like a hammer. He's standing right next to me, and I miss him… I've never missed anyone in my life like this.

We reach his office quickly. It's decorated with bookshelves that are filled with poetry, fiction, and art books. There are papers scattered on the desk, meeting times written on his calendar on the wall, and a few pictures in frames I don't linger on. The door shuts behind him, and we're left alone again.

"Why did you leave?" I ask before the courage leaves as quick as it came.

Isaiah exhales, stepping into my line of sight. Sunlight streams in through the window, highlighting the man in front of me.

"Are you going to look at me?"

I hadn't even realized I'd looked away, deciding to focus on the linoleum floors instead. Wordlessly, I meet his eyes.

"I left because of Elijah."

"What?" My mind spins, spiraling as it tries to find the reasoning. Elijah left and never looked back at the end of our senior year. Isaiah himself left and stopped talking to me shortly after. But I never thought to connect the two—maybe I was dumb, but I couldn't see the correlation.

Isaiah sighs, crossing his arms. "There's no point in trying to figure out why. There isn't an excuse. I just did."

I narrow my eyes. "I'm going to need more than that, Isaiah. You're just creating more questions."

Silence stretches in the space between us. He fidgets, and as strange as it sounds, it makes me feel better. That something as simple as that hasn't changed.

"I've never talked about it with anyone, Aurora. Not the reason, not the why… just give me a second," he says gently. The sound of his voice is a soft caress. Even if he is frustrated, he's never let it show verbally. He's never pushed it on to someone else by yelling or shouting, at least in my experience.

"Okay." I swallow, tugging on a loose thread on my tank top. His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a few deep breaths. From here, I see his eyes pause on a photo frame on the desk before they close. After a moment, he turns back to me.

"When Elijah left, everything fell apart. Like the world had been ripped out from under me. When he left, we were still in school. You know there were distractions. Your final season, graduation, and whatnot. But after…I don't think I ever let you see how hard it was."

He didn't. I remember it—him acting like everything was fine.

"Mom wouldn't talk about it. She went to work early and came home late. She cracked down on grades and preparing for college, but we never talked about that he was gone. I was trying to fill his footsteps, which, until then, had been perfect. But it was too much. It all…" Isaiah swallows, exhaling as his eyes close.

My chest aches. I knew he was hurting; that was easy to see, but it was the first time in our lives he wouldn't let me in. When I pushed, he pulled away. When I tried to let him be, he was frustrated. There wasn't a win. There couldn't have been with his brother walking out of his life.

"It was too much. Trying to exceed her expectations and my own… it was unbearable. And I'd never had to do anything without him. I couldn't wrap my head around it, what life had turned into with him gone. He raised me; he was my best friend, aside from you." Isaiah lets out a humorless laugh. "And he just left. Left most of his stuff like it meant nothing."

My eyes water at the unsaid. Eli left him too and seemingly left him behind like it was easy.

I turn away, shutting my eyes. When I open them, I'm grateful that no tears fall.

I can't imagine the hurt he felt. But I do know how hurt I was when he did a similar thing to me.

"Why didn't you let me in?" My voice cracks, and his jaw clenches, foot tapping as he stays put. "I will never be able to know what that was like for you. I will never understand the pain then and the pain now. But you had me. You… I was in—" I stop, scared I'm going to cry right here, right now if I don't take a deep breath. "You were my best friend in the world. I would've done anything for you. But you just shut me out. Day by day."

Pain flashes over his features. "I didn't know how to talk to you."

"I didn't need you to talk to me. I wanted you to let me be there for you in any way that would've helped you. You could've yelled at me, you could've said you didn't want to talk, and I would've let it happen. I would've dealt with anything you threw at me, Isaiah. But leaving at the end of it? You'd already shut me out, but I guess I thought you would've let me back in."

Tension thickens the air, and a small kernel of regret lands in my stomach. The reality is, it wasn't about me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to try and make his leaving feel less significant."

"You didn't." Isaiah begins to step forward but thinks better of it, leaning back against the desk. He pockets his hands in the fitted slacks and looks back to me. "He hurt me, yes, for reasons I'm not sure I'll ever uncover. But just because he left doesn't mean I should've left you. And for that, I'm sorry, Aurora."

The number one most present man in my life is my dad. And he has never, in my memory, apologized to me for anything. I can't help it if someone saying they're sorry makes my emotions churn. It hits different coming from Isaiah since he knows—used to know-–the ins and outs of that relationship. The knowing look in his eye tells me he still remembers.

"I know you are," I say, the tension dissolving. But exhaustion takes its place. And the sadness I've felt since that day sits heavy on my shoulders. "But you did hurt me. I can't understand what you felt. I can't understand the darkness you were walking through. But you left me. You made me feel as though our friendship, our…" I swallow, waving my hand. "You made me feel like none of that mattered. That all those years, our lives together, our entire relationship meant nothing. The reality is, you did leave me. You left me. And you didn't look back."

He heaves a sigh. My throat tightens, and I'm not sure if I want to throw up or cry.

I continue, "I'm not saying this to take away from what you felt. I don't want to be an extra burden you carry. I just want you to know how I felt. How I feel."

Isaiah's eyes are piercing and full of pain. "You still feel that way?"

"What? Lonely and sad? Everyday." My voice cracks. "You being here doesn't immediately make that all go away. It's not magically going to fix it, Isaiah. Those feelings have been my friends since the day you walked away."

Silence falls. His honesty and the apology were enough to control the fire, but it's not done burning.

With cautious steps, Isaiah moves toward me. Slumped against the chair behind me, I watch him. When he's an arm's length away, he stops. If I reached out, my fingertips would be able to brush against the simple, black linen shirt. Might even feel the heat emitting from him.

I keep still.

"I'm not going to walk away ever again. I'm not going to leave you ever again."

"And how do I know that?" I want to shout; it would be easier, but my words are weighed down with pain.

For a moment, he stares at me. I'm not sure what he's looking for.

"I have to show you. And I will." Isaiah's voice is soft. "I meant what I said. About being here for you." I never learned how to live without you. "Leaving was a mistake. A mistake I'll pay for as long as you want me to. But there is no future I imagine without you in it. There is no life I envision without you. I'm here for you."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

I tip my head back. "That's all I have to give, Isaiah. I can't…" Again, my stupid voice cracks. "There's nothing left to say right now."

Right now, I want to hide. I want to lock myself in a room, wrapped in a blanket and shrouded in darkness. I don't want to feel this way—vulnerable and wide-open.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. I'm not obligated to answer."

Isaiah takes a breath. "Is there any chance you'll ever forgive me?"

My heart stings. His voice is gentle, quiet. Quiet enough that if anyone else was here, only I would've been able to hear it. Back then, he did that all the time. Lowered his voice so only I could hear him. Made us feel like the only two people in the world.

My eyes travel over his face. The sharp shape of his hairline, the curls on top. The way his nose perfectly fits his face with a tiny bump on the bridge and the tiny silver stud on one side. I can't help but take my time on his jawline and the full lips that turn into a beautiful smile. Eventually, I look up, finding my favorite shade of brown looking at me.

I want to tell him—I want to scream at him, "of course, there is!" I want to take away his hurt as quickly as possible. But the prickly, self-protective instincts I have left don't let me. Because if he hurts me again… I won't recover. I won't bounce back.

"A chance."

And I swear, even that makes him stand straighter. He's close enough that I could easily memorize all the visible tattoos if I took the time. Could find out the parts of him that are different—older. But right now, it's too much. The proximity, the heat emitting off his body, the light smell of cologne. The way he's looking at me.

"It's going to take some time," I say, pushing off the chair and taking a step back. "And you should know, I'm seeing someone."

Guilt swells that it took me this long to remember Drew. And at the fact that I only mentioned it to put some space between me and Isaiah.

"The one at your game," he states, and I nod. "Okay."

I stand. He's too close. He's too…everything. And I'm scared if I spend another minute here, I'll forgive him right now. "I'm gonna go. Sorry to bombard you here and demand answers." As I move, I stumble, frazzled by the short but illuminating conversation. Undone by the feelings running rampant.

Isaiah catches me, fingers gently curling around my arms. His thumb draws a slow circle on my skin. "I'd rather you demand answers than not speak to me at all."

Nerves fire rapidly, trying to process the feel of him touching me and the sincerity behind his words. I remain captive to the soft grip on my skin for a moment longer before stepping back.

"Can I walk you out?" he asks.

I mull it over, and the silence that fills the space is heavy and awkward. I love silence. But I hate it with him. It's not normal. We never walked on eggshells around each other. We were never fearful or hesitant. We just were.

And now we…

I don't fucking know, but I hate it.

"I think I just need to be alone, Isaiah."

Isaiah dips his head. "I understand." We stare at each other. His eyes rake over me, taking me in. I wonder if I'm the same girl he left behind. Are the parts of me he likes still here? Or have they been eaten alive by this ridiculous, dramatic misery? I sigh and break my eyes away.

But he's not done. "I'll be at your next game."

I stop a few feet away from the door. Everything feels like it's crashing down right now. My anger and the hurt and the pain—they're all dragging me to the floor step by step. And now this. He says he's going to show up for me. I can only wait and see.

"Okay."

Isaiah says nothing else but moves toward the door, holding it open for me. I step into the hallway alone, my eyes forward, but with every step, his gaze remains locked on me. I can feel the heat of it, the pressure. The resolve to fix what's broken.

His words ring in my head over and over again. I hope he means them. I want nothing more than for them to be true. For him to show up for me now. But it's going to take more than what he gave me today. I can't just let him back in, no matter how much I want to. I can't act like I haven't felt alone every single day since he left. I want to forgive him.

I hope he gives me a reason to.