Read Online Where We Fell by Amber L. Johnson - Free Book Online
Authors: Amber L. Johnson
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eggshell she’s
dodging, and I already have cracks. And if she breathes the wrong way she'll
wake up and realize that none of the good news was even real. To assuage her
fears, I give her a smile, though I’m certain she knows it’s fake. Then I get
up and shower because it seems like this is the thing that will make her think
I’m okay enough for her to leave me alone.
By the time they head out for their date and the
pizza is delivered, I’m back to being angry and pissed off.
I debate calling Terrence, but that would require me
to turn my phone on. And part of me thinks maybe Hannah has called or sent a
few more texts, and I really don’t want to face her right now. I’m twenty
minutes into telling myself that I’m better off without her, and that I can
just ignore her and she’ll go away—head off into the sunset with her massive
boyfriend—when the doorbell rings again. I’m inclined not to answer it. It
could be kids trying to get more candy since it’s Friday night and some parents
are weird about their kids trick-or-treating on school nights.
It rings again. And again. And finally I lose my
patience and pull the door open with a scowl that I hope conveys just how damn
annoyed I am. But instead of some kid in a Spider Man
costume . . . I get Hannah Hartwell on my doorstep.
Holding my photo album.
This is the moment when I’m glad I took a shower.
When I’m glad I’m holding a piece of meat-lovers pizza in my left hand. This is
when I narrow my eyes and tell her off.
But before I can even utter a word, she gives me a
dirty glare and holds out the book between us. She looks exhausted and I chalk
it up to spending a wild night with that guy, even if the very thought makes me
want to vomit sausage and bacon all over her bright purple toe nails.
“You haven’t answered your phone in two days.”
I don’t respond.
“You came to my place? What does this mean? I opened
the door to go to a party and this was lying outside.” She looks utterly
confused and more than a little hurt. “Is this your way of, like, breaking up
with me or something?”
For some reason this seems incredibly funny to me.
She’s so indignant . I’m crowding the doorframe and don’t make one move
to invite her in. Instead, I laugh.
“Sorry. I couldn’t be bothered to knock when I
saw you with your boyfriend.”
This is when her eyes get wide and confusion clouds
her face. “My boyfriend.” It’s a statement that makes the hair on the back of
my neck stand on end. She crosses her arms and looks me up and down. “Go ahead,
Oliver. Tell me what my boyfriend looks like.”
I wave my hand as nonchalantly as I can, since I’m
still holding a piece of pizza. A bit of hamburger falls off and lands at her
feet. I make no move to kick it out of the way. Like that meat is a line
between the two of us that she won’t cross. “Your boyfriend? He’s pretty tall.
Big shoulders. Black hair. He was wearing the other half of your couple’s
costume, right? Because your ‘sick, non-college—whatever I am to you—‘couldn’t
be the doctor to your nurse. Am I right?”
“No, you’re not right. You’re an idiot.”
“Hannah. I saw you . You can’t lie or pretend.
I was there. I drove up to tell you . . .” I stop and shake my
head, unwilling to let her have the little glimmer of happiness I have. Because
it’s getting smaller by the second. “Just admit it.”
Her eyes are beginning to fill with tears, but she’s
holding them back before she speaks. “For your information, my boyfriend
doesn’t look like that at all. He’s pretty skinny because he almost died of
cancer. He doesn’t have black hair. It’s actually light brown, what there is of
it. And he’s the biggest asshole in the entire world right now because he would
even entertain the thought of me cheating on him. After what Ryan
did . . . it’s just insulting to think that I’d ever, ever do that to you.” She shoves my book at my stomach
dodging, and I already have cracks. And if she breathes the wrong way she'll
wake up and realize that none of the good news was even real. To assuage her
fears, I give her a smile, though I’m certain she knows it’s fake. Then I get
up and shower because it seems like this is the thing that will make her think
I’m okay enough for her to leave me alone.
By the time they head out for their date and the
pizza is delivered, I’m back to being angry and pissed off.
I debate calling Terrence, but that would require me
to turn my phone on. And part of me thinks maybe Hannah has called or sent a
few more texts, and I really don’t want to face her right now. I’m twenty
minutes into telling myself that I’m better off without her, and that I can
just ignore her and she’ll go away—head off into the sunset with her massive
boyfriend—when the doorbell rings again. I’m inclined not to answer it. It
could be kids trying to get more candy since it’s Friday night and some parents
are weird about their kids trick-or-treating on school nights.
It rings again. And again. And finally I lose my
patience and pull the door open with a scowl that I hope conveys just how damn
annoyed I am. But instead of some kid in a Spider Man
costume . . . I get Hannah Hartwell on my doorstep.
Holding my photo album.
This is the moment when I’m glad I took a shower.
When I’m glad I’m holding a piece of meat-lovers pizza in my left hand. This is
when I narrow my eyes and tell her off.
But before I can even utter a word, she gives me a
dirty glare and holds out the book between us. She looks exhausted and I chalk
it up to spending a wild night with that guy, even if the very thought makes me
want to vomit sausage and bacon all over her bright purple toe nails.
“You haven’t answered your phone in two days.”
I don’t respond.
“You came to my place? What does this mean? I opened
the door to go to a party and this was lying outside.” She looks utterly
confused and more than a little hurt. “Is this your way of, like, breaking up
with me or something?”
For some reason this seems incredibly funny to me.
She’s so indignant . I’m crowding the doorframe and don’t make one move
to invite her in. Instead, I laugh.
“Sorry. I couldn’t be bothered to knock when I
saw you with your boyfriend.”
This is when her eyes get wide and confusion clouds
her face. “My boyfriend.” It’s a statement that makes the hair on the back of
my neck stand on end. She crosses her arms and looks me up and down. “Go ahead,
Oliver. Tell me what my boyfriend looks like.”
I wave my hand as nonchalantly as I can, since I’m
still holding a piece of pizza. A bit of hamburger falls off and lands at her
feet. I make no move to kick it out of the way. Like that meat is a line
between the two of us that she won’t cross. “Your boyfriend? He’s pretty tall.
Big shoulders. Black hair. He was wearing the other half of your couple’s
costume, right? Because your ‘sick, non-college—whatever I am to you—‘couldn’t
be the doctor to your nurse. Am I right?”
“No, you’re not right. You’re an idiot.”
“Hannah. I saw you . You can’t lie or pretend.
I was there. I drove up to tell you . . .” I stop and shake my
head, unwilling to let her have the little glimmer of happiness I have. Because
it’s getting smaller by the second. “Just admit it.”
Her eyes are beginning to fill with tears, but she’s
holding them back before she speaks. “For your information, my boyfriend
doesn’t look like that at all. He’s pretty skinny because he almost died of
cancer. He doesn’t have black hair. It’s actually light brown, what there is of
it. And he’s the biggest asshole in the entire world right now because he would
even entertain the thought of me cheating on him. After what Ryan
did . . . it’s just insulting to think that I’d ever, ever do that to you.” She shoves my book at my stomach
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