Casual Cruelty

A hand rests against my chest but I wish that it would punch me instead.

No… I need something more effective than that. Knocking me out might be a good alternative.

Anything to get me out of this situation.

“This?” Jesse wags a finger in between our faces. “What are you talking about? We’re not dating.”

Forget me getting punched. I might just kill this girl.

“What?” I laugh, looking around the car with a shocked smile I can’t hold back. What is she even saying…? She must be joking. She’s talking as if she hasn’t been holding me in her arms for the past hour, cradling me and kissing me and worshiping me like some sort of goddess. Who cares about an hour, this has been going on for months! She’s joking. She has to be.

My mind races with a million thoughts as my heart pounds hard, hard, harder. I don’t know what to say. I’m in her lap in the front seat of her car and our limbs are tangled together and I feel so cramped and the world is collapsing and I can’t do anything but stare at Jesse. My hands are on her shoulders. I forgot they were there but I notice because she looks at them with those stupidly gorgeous hazel eyes of hers, as though she didn’t just ruin every moment our souls have spent together, and all in the grand total of three words.

We’re not dating.

I don’t say anything else to her so the silence only grows. Wow… The rest of the car is suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. Was that splatter of bird poop always in the corner of the back window?

We’re not dating. 

My tote bag rests in the back with my water bottle inside. I can see it from here. Everything feels hot and I want to reach for it, but I don’t.

We’re not dating. 

Is she crazy?

We’re not dating.

“Are you okay?” she asks. My head snaps to her and my hair flies with the motion, thick strands of brown that I can hardly see in the darkness. She sees them—of course she does, she always complements my hair—and lifts her hand from my chest to touch them, to touch me, but I smack her hand away, tucking my hair back.

“Jesse,” I start. My teeth are grit together.

“Sorina?” she whispers. Why does my name sound so pretty from her lips? I close my eyes.

“What do you mean we’re not dating?”

I open my eyes, and for the first time since we started this conversation, I get the satisfaction of seeing a bit of concern on her smooth face. She scrunches up her nose and leans forward, leans into me, reaching for the dome light and smashing her fist into the broken thing until it turns on. Once it is, she sighs and flops back, sticking her hands behind her head as she looks me up and down.

“You thought we were?” She smirks and it feels like a stab. “What happened to no attachments?”

…What? I can’t believe it.

“You can’t be serious right now,” I say. I hate that my voice trembles. I hate that she’s so calm. Everything is worse now that her face is illuminated because I can see every detail. Her shrunken pupils, her mess of black curls, the smears of lipstick I’ve left on her face.

“I mean, we hang out for fun and stuff,” she replies. Of all the times for her to act nonchalant, this has to be the worst.

“Fun?” I repeat, my voice rising. “Is that all I am to you? Just a game?”

Jesse shrugs and I think I might attack her. “You’re overreacting. We never had a talk, never defined anything. It’s just been… casual.”

“Casual?” The word tastes bitter on my tongue. I feel a rush of heat behind my eyes, but I blink it back, refusing to let her see me break. I can’t believe I let myself fall for her, let myself believe in a lie.

“Yeah—”

“You let me eat with them,” I interrupt.

“What?”

“You invited me to your house and you let me eat with your parents.”

I’ve thought about that day so often that it flashes through my mind in an instant. Jesse had seemed so different at dinner—attentive, affectionate. She kept her hand on my knee under the table, squeezed it whenever her parents said something particularly embarrassing. It felt strange being under their roof. 

I was sitting at a dining table with fewer chairs than mine, eating food a lot less spicy and a lot more raw than I was used to. I laughed with Jesse’s mom and realized that they share the same smile. I shook her dad’s hand. I was invited into their lives, even if just for a few hours. It felt intimate, meaningful. 

How could she think that was casual?

Was it casual when we shared her bed afterward, I wonder? 

I helped them clear the table and clean the dishes and after thanking them for dinner a thousand times, Jesse was inviting me to stay the night.

“Please! I swear they won’t notice anything! They didn’t at dinner,” she giggled. I rolled my eyes at her in the shadows of the hallway outside her room, shaking my head. My hands were in hers.

“It doesn’t feel right…” I started to say, but she cut me off with a feigned gasp and made a show of looking around, eyes as wide as they could go.

“Doesn’t feel right? Is it the atmosphere?”

I snorted and in my moment of weakness she took the opportunity to drag me into her room for the first time, but she didn’t give me the chance to look around. The door was shut and then her hands were around my neck, pulling my head down to hers.

“Still not right to you?” she muttered.

I couldn’t speak then. Not when her hands were so soft and her room so dark and her lips so close to mine. When I responded, it wasn’t with words. I made the mistake of being consumed by the moment, of allowing myself to get attached to the kisses then and every kiss up until now. 

I know I was a fool, but I allow myself to sink into the memory one last time. The honest feel of her mouth on mine, the way her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. At the time, there was no doubt in my mind that what we had was real, that the connection between us was undeniable.

Now, from the way Jesse struggles to come up with a response to me, my memories feel like a cruel joke.

“Say something,” I say. I stare at her. She opens her mouth and closes it again.

“Say something!” I try shouting and still get nothing. She looks away from me and out the window so I’m left staring at her hair, dark tangles that become blurry with my tears.

I start to punch her. My hands feel weak and my chest feels heavy but my fists pound against her shoulders as I lean over her, left abandoned in her lap.

“Anything,” I beg. I stop my half-hearted assault and grab her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me.

I’m taken aback because there are tears in her eyes too.

We stare at each other, eyes roaming, mouths slightly open, but mine turns up into a smile and I begin to laugh. Hearing myself chuckle is so unexpected that I laugh even harder. My chest goes from heavy to light as I start to wheeze and grab at my stomach, wiping at my tears as I back off Jesse’s lap. 

She looks stunned. I revel in it. 

Her hands are reaching for me but mine are already on the car handle. When I’m done stumbling outside, I turn back to give her one last smile.

“Go to hell,” I laugh, and before she can finally, finally say something, I slam the door.