Page 97 of Blitz

I love Tucker Kingsley. I want to spend the rest of my life making him happy. Even if that means that sometimes we stay in. Even if that means cutting back on the drinking. Even if it means admitting the real reason why I transferred to Newton.

I don’t know how to make him talk to me. The Friday after the breakup, I have an away meet at Amherst, and the next shift at the assessment center feels like forever away. He ducks past me in sociology class. He won’t meet my eye.

My friends are no help.

“Fuck him,” Fred says. “Fuck someone new.”

“He’s an asshole,” Melissa says.

“Forget about him,” Mark says.

I don’t want to fuck someone new. He’s not an asshole just because he ended things. I don’t want to forget about him.

I love him.

I didn’t realize how poorly prepared I was to be in a relationship at this stage of my life until I was confronted with the reality of it.

My Saturday nights are my chance to relax after a long meet. I need that time to unwind. I like to kick back with my friends and have a good time. Can I spend the time with them without drinking? I honestly don’t know. Being around drunk people is significantly more fun when I’m drunk, too.

I don’t mind the occasional night in on the couch. I don’t want to spend every night watching TV or playing video games—or watching as other people play video games. Every once in a while is fine. I don’t even mind spending time with his roommates. I like his friends.

What bothers me is that he doesn’t put himself out there. He hides. He cowers in on himself and hides away from the world. He went to one party, decided it wasn’t for him, and never went back. He slept with one other girl, didn’t have immediate soul-shattering chemistry, and decided he didn’t want to have casual sex. Which—fine. It’s not for everyone. But he didn’t even try. He didn’t put himself out there. He hid in his dorm room, he hides in his house now, and he doesn’t seem to want to change that.

There’s no middle ground. We tried to compromise. He went with me to a few parties. I stayed in with him and his friends. Neither of us were particularly happy.

But fuck, if I’m not miserable without him.

My self-worth is not dependent on who I may or may not be dating. My self-esteem isn’t predicated on who is or is not in my bed. I’m not the kind of girl who falls to pieces because my boyfriend breaks up with me.

Except now I am. And as much as I hate that this is what he’s reduced me to, mainly I hate how much I miss him. His stupid smiles and his unhealthy coping mechanisms and his inability to unwind. I miss it all.

For three nights straight, I eat a peanut butter sandwich for dinner. It helps soothe the ache of missing him ever so slightly. Maybe he’s onto something here. The first night, I do it because I miss him. The second, I’m genuinely craving peanut butter—I must be about to get my period. The third night, I see him making one and want to know why. Why does he need to emotionally eat today? What triggered him? Is he okay?

He sits at the far end of the dining hall, his back to the rest of the room like usual. He hunkers down in his regular seat and slowly eats his meal. I watch the muscles in his broad back jump and bustle.

He won’t look at me. He won’t talk to me. Not that I’ve really tried—I know better than to press my luck. He’s hurting.

Neither of us wanted to break up. Neither of us are happy.

The guys pack up and leave the dining hall, leaving behind only Miles and Sam. They coo at each other and stare into one another’s eyes from across the table.

This is my chance.

Interrupting Fred’s monologue about Sullivan the football player—they’re back on again, which worries Melissa—I make my way across the room. I pull out the seat beside Sam. Tucker’s seat. The hard plastic is still warm from his body heat.

“This spot taken?”

She tears her eyes away from Miles to stare at me.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Right this minute?”

Miles clears his throat. “You can sit.” Sam turns to glare at him and he shrugs. “She’s not the devil.”

“Thanks, I think.”

His eyes are hard. “Let’s be clear, I don’t like you.”