We've Met Before

11 - Closet

KAIA

    I thought coming to school would be easy. That it'd be a mental reset from what happened Friday night.
    But it wasn't.
    I spent all of Sunday wallowing alone in my room. Cade called once and I didn't answer. I just needed some time by myself, some time to think, and feel.
    I woke up groggy, and feeling like hell had stomped and burned me over. I wonder if this is what a hangover feels like.
    Is there such thing as a placebo hangover?
    "Has anyone seen Elliot today?" I ask the lunch table, playing with my carrot sticks.
    "Yes, He walked with me after third period." Jane responds, taking a bite out of her chicken tenders.
    I waited for Elliot after second period and to no avail, he never showed up. I thought maybe he missed school, or that maybe he had left early, but I guess not.
   Is he mad at me? Did I do something wrong?
   I stared at my uneaten food, watching it loom over me like a dark cloud. I don't feel hungry, I don't feel anything.
   Maybe this is the pattern I'm meant to live in. Cyclical, never ending, always going.
    I hadn't talked to my mom since Saturday. There were no large ostentatious breakfasts. There was just silence, which was sorely appreciated.
    Cade and I locked eyes in the hallway. He had Dean, Luke, and Evan on either side of him, all of them towering over the entire student body.
    It felt like watching royalty preside over their subjects. Spending so much casual time with Cade over the years made me lose sight of how powerful he is in everything he does. Sometimes I forget he's bound to be in the NFL, and that everyone clings to his arm.
    Whether it be for social acclamation, or for sex.
    It's no secret that Cade Steele gets around.
    He seemed to always have a girl in his bed, but he's never actually dated anybody. I assumed for a really long time that it was because he was too focused on school and football. That most of the girls he spent his time with were all just distractions for grueling school weeks.
    But it's so much more than that.
    He's so much more than that.
——
    The rest of the week washed away excruciatingly slow. I barely talked to anyone, barely interacted with anyone, and barely escaped my head.
    I didn't see Elliot for the rest of week, even though I know he was at school for the entire week.
    I found a new passion for crocheting, and I'm terrible at it, but that's okay.
It's Friday now, and I'm encapsulated inside the maintenance closet of all places. I was going to head into the bathroom, but I don't trust myself to walk into the right door anymore.
I was in the middle of class when I had a sudden change in feeling, in emotion. I felt my throat collapse, my ears go numb.
And I'm now subsequently crying in the middle of mops and dusters.
I try to hold on to something. A shelf, a wall, the floor if I have to, but instead I cling to my chest. I grab a handful of my t-shirt, hoping that if I pull hard enough, air will finally enter my lungs.
I touch my face, below my eyes, to check if I've broken a tear.
I seem to need other people to inform me that I'm crying nowadays.
Every breathe feels suffocating. Too much air, yet not enough all at once.
I do the only thing that might calm me down.
I call Cade.
He's in class by now, and he probably can't answer, and he's probably tired of dealing with me, and he probably doesn't have the headspace to either.
"Please pick up," I whisper to myself, shutting my lids harshly. My eyes start to burn and I can for once feel my tears roll down my face.
The call goes straight to voicemail.
"Please leave a message after the tone..."
I swallow. "Hey," I inhale a large sob, "Please call back when you can..." I scoff at myself. "Fuck, I'm inside the maintenance closet and I just—" This is so stupid, "I just, I don't know. Just ignore this. Sorry. Bye."
I hang up and press my head into the wall.
I can't believe I just sent that. I cringe internally and feel more tears gather around my eyes.
What is happening to me?
I lower myself into the ground, and begin sobbing into my knees.
I'm so angry. I'm angry at myself for letting myself get drugged at a fucking birthday party. I'm angry at myself for letting people worry over me. I'm angry at myself for breaking down in the middle of a cleaning closet. I'm angry at myself for calling Cade.
My tears are brought to a halt when a loud pounding bangs against the wooden door of the closet.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I shuffle upwards.
Holy shit. Is that the janitor?
"Kaia! Jesus Christ, Kaia! Kaia, please open for the love of god!" Cade's voice rings through the closet.
It's desperate, anxious, distraught.
I place my hand onto the knob and open it slightly. Cade doesn't wait for me to open it fully, because he saunters in immediately, panting as tired.
Did he run here?
He immediately embraces me into his chest, patting my hair against my head.
I break down. Sobbing into his football jersey, which I'm now realizing is sweaty.
He was in practice.
"What's wrong, Kai? Tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours."
I can do nothing except cry.
Cade whispers gentle hushes, and quiet reassurances.
——
I have no idea how long I spent huddled between his arms, but I took a nap. I wake up nestled in his shoulder, laid down beside him, listening to the hums of his pleasant snoring.
I'm having a reminiscence of sorts. This moment feels like the beach, and the sun. This feels like Cade. Purely, authentically, unalloyed Cade.
I lift my head slightly, watching him sleep.
His lips are parted slightly, and his hair is still slightly damp from his practice. His chest heaves slowly with every breathe.
He slowly opens his eyes, a smart smirk layering his lips.
"Didn't know I was talking to a stalker," His voice is gallant as ever. He stretches the end syllables lazily.
I flush and dig my head back into his shoulder.
"Gettin' all shy on me now?" He brings his fingers underneath my chin and lifts my head to look at him. I can't help but grin, as much as I try hiding it.
"What time is it?" I ask, rubbing my eyes with my knuckles.
"Late," he snorts. "Coach is probably going to slit my throat tomorrow."
I swallow, feeling a knot gather inside my throat.
"Sorry."
He stares at me, the same way my dad used to when he was mad at me. The sort of caring stare you can only give to someone you love. "You should be sorry." Is he mad? "I need you to start telling me things, to start letting them out. I don't like it when you have to deal with things on your own."
    "I know," I whisper.
     He suddenly hauls me on top of him, earning a yelp from me, one of my legs rests on either side of his lap. He grips onto my thighs, his thumbs grasping onto my skin like he can't afford to let go. Like it's the only thing keeping him attached to earth.
     He lifts his head towards my own, bringing his lips to my ear. His teeth graze my ear lobe as he begins speaking.
    "I need you verbal," He whispers. I suck in a breath, holding onto his every word... clinging. "I need to hear you trust me, feel you trust me."
    His hands lightly lift the bottom of my shirt, just enough so he can dip his fingers along my waist. His cold fingers bring chills to my skin as he grazes each pad slowly, and slower. I feel ignited.
He brings his fingers along the curve of my torso, inching closer and closer to the bottom of my bra. I lean into his touch, a quiet plead for him to keep going.
But he doesn't. He stops there.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. Sincere, honest, genuine.
   "I wish I could have you all the ways I want to have you..." he pauses, "But I don't deserve that right now. I can't forgive myself, and you aren't selfish enough to forgive me either."
    I feel myself melt into his neck, feeling my lips, my breath, my body have a mind of its own. I feel my mouth ruminate the curve of his neck. A groan leaves the depths of his throat, and I can feel the vibration through my lips.
"I was at practice when I heard your voicemail," his voice echoes in pants. He suddenly digs his fingers into my hips, his nails aching into me. I moan at the feeling. "I ran, and ran, and ran to find you. I felt so helpless listening to you, and the anguish in your voice. I just want you to feel good. I want to make sure that nothing, nobody, ever hurts you."
I close my eyes.
    I open my eyes.
    I lift my head, feeling dizzy.
I stare into him, our eyes locked in competition. Who can observe the other the best, who can gauge into each other's head the deepest. I want his disheveled-ness, along with his clarity. I want his heat, along with his cold. I want his head, along with his body.
I want Cade Steele.
I've wanted Cade Steele since summer, since the beach, since the salt.
We've met before, but it all feels increasingly different now.
I lift myself off his lap, brushing my leggings off. I extend a hand to him, and he holds onto me to get up. I feel drunk on adrenaline. He opens the door for me scurrying me out the door. He looks left, and then right for people, and we both run down the hallway.
I'm giggling, and he's chuckling. His legs take two strides to run the same length it takes me five. We both stop at the corner of the hall. Breathless.
"I'll find you, every single time." He breathes, and he leaves.