Dear Ava

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

“I hurt you?” He tries to hold my eyes but dips his head. “I can’t take it anymore. You’ve only been here two days and I can’t…” He trails off. “Can’t what?” His head rises. He struggles to speak, the words pulled from him. He looks as if he’s in some kind of crisis. I almost think he weaves on his feet. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I always thought I was a strong person, but I’m not,” he adds as he scrubs his face. “Ava, please.” His chest rises, expands. “I’ve…missed you. I’ve imagined you in the hallway a hundred times. I didn’t play one football game without looking at the sidelines and wishing you were there. I’ve played back that night in my head over and over, but I was drunk too, and I wasn’t thinking right. You ran off to dance, and all I saw was you at your first Shark kegger, leaving me for someone better. I didn’t do the right thing. I reacted like a sniveling, jealous asshole. I let you down and you got hurt.”

I smirk. She saunters off and I watch her, but when I turn back, he’s got those gray eyes on me.

Why did I do that? is racing through my head as I leave. I blame it on Chance and his half-assed apology. Maybe that memory of how Knox looked at me. Whatever.

I can be strong for Tyler. I can make this shitty road mine. Own it. Use it. And someday, someday, I’ll have a beautiful road, smooth and easy and perfect.

“So you aren’t going to let these assholes get to you, Ava?” I say to the scared girl in the mirror. “No. Not yet. I’m not quitting. Only cowards quit.”

I’m nervous when I pull into the parking lot of Lou’s. My heart is jumping in my chest at the prospect of seeing her, and it’s so wrong.

There’s a wall around me, but she’s got one up too. She’s the eye of a hurricane, the winds of her pain whipping around her.

exit and stop for a moment in front of the glass door, checking my reflection. Jeans and a tight shirt that shows off my arms—check. Cologne she says she hates but really loves—check. This isn’t a date, asshole. Uh-huh. So why am I rippling with anxiousness?

Wearing frayed cut-off shorts and a faded yellow Sex Pistols shirt, she’s heartbreakingly beautiful. Her hair swings softly around her shoulders, and I feel a pang for the blonde style she wore last year. I may have had a weakness for her hair. Stupid.

“Not today. I saw Tyler earlier. He lives nearby at the group home. How did you know I worked here?” Oh, Ava. I know so much. I wave her off.

“Wow, Knox. You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my motives. Glad I’ve been on your mind.” Only for about three years.

I just look at her. Damn. She’s so fucking… “I’m amazed by you. Rank them for me.”

I take a bite of my burger, gag a bit at the tomatoes, chew it down, and wipe my mouth. “Nope. Forget me. Tell me something about you.” Because Ava…shit, I want to know everything.

“Who wants to look at my face?” I say the words lightly, but underneath… “You’re beautiful,” she murmurs.

We walk through the open doors of the library and she lets out a little sigh as she takes in the grand foyer, the massive rows of books, the front desk. I’m watching her—can’t help it. I’m in Ava overload. “You love this place.”

I have to look away from her face. She’s too…sweet. Vulnerable. I ease my body away from her, just a few inches. I have no right to be this close to her, not after what I did—

Time passes, and I watch the movie, or do I? The images are there, but she’s here, and my muscles are wired, and why did I want to do this and why am I torturing myself with someone I can never have? I don’t want to even be her friend. So why do I want to know her favorite color? What’s in that locket she clutches? What makes her happy? Why does she love tomatoes?

And then the pen falls out of her hand, her body sways, just a little, coming closer, and her head bobs forward, then back to the wall, then she’s lying on my shoulder. Out cold. The room is hot. Fucking stifling. My hands clench. So close. So damn close to me. A broken girl. A fierce girl. Just for me.

I barely notice—hell, I’m barely breathing when the credits roll, and I still haven’t moved five minutes later, afraid to jostle her, to lose how good she feels, the warmth of her arm against mine, the scent of her hair in my face.

Moving slowly, my hand touches her hair, my finger drifting over the edge of her jaw. So delicate. So soft.

But she’s talking to my back because I’m already walking out the door and holding it open for her. Our eyes meet. Hers are a stormy sea. Mine are…shit, they’re cold, I hope. She takes a little breath, straightens her shoulders, and slides past me. I inhale, just one more time, just a hint of vanilla.

My mouth dries. I blink. I might pass out. We just stare at each other, and the night is warm, and her hand is hot, electric sparks firing from her to me. I think if you tell yourself something enough, over and over again, just maybe you can make it come true. I can’t have her. I can’t have this. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

How messed up is that? I want her. I fucking do. But you can’t take a beautiful, soft flower and crush it under your cleats, not when she’s halfway to broken already.

Wyatt cocks his head. “I may have heard it was over you.” I drop my burrito. “What?” “Seems like Liam was badmouthing you and Knox shut him up.” My mouth drops. “Me?” “You,” he repeats. “But why?” He shrugs. “I can’t even begin to understand how he thinks. He keeps shit close.”

What do you want? I type. Students rush past me, but I’m oblivious as I wait for his response. You.

I swallow, looking away from his chiseled, beautiful features. It hurts how much he’s ignored me for the past two days, and now this.

“It wasn’t your fault, and I never want you to feel guilty for something you had no control over.” “But…I didn’t even do the right thing when I found you! It drives me crazy!” I’ll kill him with my bare hands.

When he speaks, the words come reluctantly. “You’ve always fascinated me, okay? Since day one, since the moment you waltzed through those doors with your long blonde hair and eyes full of all that hope. Everyone else comes here and they already have everything, but you had nothing—nothing except your power. You barely looked at any of us, especially me, and I knew then you were untouchable, knew you deserved better than any guy at Camden.”

“Tulip, fuck, what are you doing to me?” he mutters, his hand tightening, his other one grasping my other hip. “I’m not doing anything,” I gasp out. “You’re killing me,” he rumbles in my ear.

“What’s between us?” My voice shakes. “Since last year, there’s been this connection and I can’t explain it.” His eyes close briefly. “I know how it feels to walk into a room and feel as if no one really knows you. So do you.”

“Truth or dare, Cold and Evil. You pick, and you better choose the right one, damn you.” “Dare.” “Kiss me.”

“You’re shaking,” I say, recalling how he trembled outside Vandy. “I’m scared.” “Am I the first girl you’ve kissed in a long time, like really kissed?” He nods. “But that isn’t why I’m scared. I’ve always wanted to kiss you, Tulip.”

“Tulip,” he whispers, moving us until I’m against the wall and he’s hovering in front of me, his lips back on mine. “You…drive…me…insane,”

“Am I not good enough? Not up to your standards? Afraid of what your friends might say? Not bleacher-worthy?” I don’t mean that last part, because I don’t want to be that girl, but he’s distancing himself. Again.

Can’t also means no, and he’s said it very clearly. He closes his eyes briefly and looks as if he might say something, but he doesn’t, and sometimes when people don’t speak, they say everything, don’t they?

“Do you?” he says, and then the rest of his words come at me in an angry rush. “You want to pretend I haven’t wanted you? Go ahead, tell yourself those lies. But the truth is, you don’t know who hurt you that night. You’re still reeling from the aftershocks and I’m not good for you—” He stops abruptly.

Ava with her lips on me. Ava walking away from me. She says she doesn’t blame me for what happened, but it doesn’t change the fact that deep down, part of me knows I can’t be involved with her.

“Why?” His eyes search my face. “You can’t change what happened, and you had nothing to do with it.” “I’m not trying to make up for what happened to her,” I say tightly. “Nothing can do that.” But… I want her to be happy. And being with me won’t do that. The fact that she even wanted to kiss me blows my mind.

Frustration hounds me. Jesus. I want to be a man, but I’m just a kid, only seventeen, and I don’t know how to fix this—my dad, my brother, our spiraling relationship.

So why do I feel this deep emptiness inside when I think about our conversation in the auditorium? Why is he still fighting his teammates over me?

Things will be okay, I promise, I promise, I promise. Just take one day at a damn time. That’s what I do.”

I frown. “I don’t want you fighting my battles. Don’t do it again.” He sighs. “Can’t seem to stop, Tulip. Now, who do I need to take down for this?”

And there it is, just a tiny touch from him and electric tingles dance up my arms and over my body. I look down at our hands. He’s worried. He keeps fighting my battles when he clearly has his own. His gray eyes cling to mine. “Please.”

My body clenches at the mere sound of his voice. I want him so much, yet it’s so much more than simple lust or desire; it’s deeper and stronger and crazy and how have I let him scale my fortress? He wants me, and he fights it. I don’t want to think about the whys of it.

I loved a boy once. He moved to Texas for college. Do you still see him? Email him? Text him? SA is poking a little hard. Another text comes in. Never mind. I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to think about you with him. Then, What was his name?

I scoff. “Yeah, my neighbor Camilla has these cute twinkle lights up around her bed. I haven’t had time.” Or the money to burn. “Trust me, this is plush compared to my room at the home.” He turns to face me. “A girl like you deserves pretty things.”

I like this side of him. “You participate every year?” “Nope. This is for you.” This is for you.

I shake my head. “You are crazy. Fine, fine, let me change.” I march over to my dresser, pull out a pair of leggings, and pull them on over my shorts. When I turn around, he’s watching me, eyes low and heavy. “This work?” He clears his throat. “Anything works on you.”

“Fine.” “I’m not giving up Tulip. I like it very much.” “Didn’t say you had to.” His gaze lands on my mouth. “Good.”