Harper's Rules 1 & 2

Chapter 23: Harper

As soon as I got back to my dorm room, I slammed the door shut so hard that the handle rattled while I sunk to the floor. The softness of Li's fluffy rug threaded in between my fingers as I palmed them flat and banged the back of my head against the door.

In a horribly cliché position, I hugged my knees into my chest, tucked my chin inward, and cried. Sharp, loud barks of sobs cut through the walls of my restraint, seared my ears, and faintly echoed off our room's walls. The tiny space squeezed tighter on me when I lifted my tear-soaked eyes and saw...

The walls.

Like always, Jake's posters' eyes found mine. Even blurred through hot tears, the flash of confidence in them and slight upcurl in the corners of his lips taunted me.

The old me would have torn them down by now, shredded each one into an infinite number of pieces, then either spread them like cremated ashes into the dumpsters or -

Fuck, I can't even think about trash dumpsters anymore.

My shoulders shook as large sobs escaped and ravaged my body with tremors. I squeezed my eyes closed, rested my forehead on my knees, and choked out dry coughs of breaths. Wet tears rose up and rolled tiny rivers over my cheeks.

Double fuck, I've never felt like such a liar in my entire life.

We're not just fuck-buddies. He's... so amazingly different from but still the same dark-eyed kid who stole my first kiss.

Fuck, I wish I was the same, starry-eyed girl again.

That asshole had teased my feelings out of me and I'd fucked it up again. My gut reaction of self-preservation vomited out misdirected blame that shifted from Jake hadn't done enough to pushed him away for trying to bring us closer.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew my excuses were pathetic bullshit.

No, I was pathetic.

So, I cried.

I cried since now... I cared, deeply... too deeply. I wanted what he offered. My heart pinched at the idea he had that strong of feelings for me, even though I didn't deserve them. I wanted the tiny little bubble world Jake and I created the past few months, surrounded by the protection that the warmth of him wrapped around me offered, but it wasn't realistic.

I'm not the girl he thinks he wants anyways.

For entirely different reasons but just like at fourteen, I was a hot mess of a heart broken over Jake Harrison. Hot, huge, ugly tears rolled over my cheeks, dripped over my chin, and dampened my shirt. Again, like too many damn times lately, I sat, crumpled over and weak.

I hate this. I don't even recognize myself lately.

I wasn't beneath admitting that Jake was a better person than me. He absolutely was. At this particular moment in our lives, Jake had battled his demons and conquered them. He knew exactly what he wanted for his future, mapped out how he was getting there, and fuck, he was almost there.

The thought he wanted me with him simultaneously soared my heart and scared me shitless. While I found the fangirling attention annoying, both from the football and personal sides, I wasn't afraid of the publicity side of his life. I wasn't even bothered with the personal sacrifices associated with dating a publicly recognized athlete. And even though I joked that WAGs were a living incarnation of absolutely fake, brainless, conniving snakes, they weren't really.

What I couldn't deal with was the image of Jake with my brother. It wasn't that I didn't want Jake in that part of my life but I myself couldn't be in that picture.