“Fuckin’ hell, Leah, I was put on the spot. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“You weren’t thinking straight,” I repeated with scepticism.

“That’s the truth.”

“And if someone asked you again what I was to you, what would your answer be?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He shut it back and readjusted his stance against the dresser, no longer looking me in the eye.

Well, there you go.

“Wow,” I mumbled in shock. “Now that’s the truth, huh? Well, look, I’m not going to start a fight about what happened. I’d like some space tonight to think things through.”

“Think what through?” he demanded, his eyes back on mine, wider than before.

“Just… things,” I said sharply.

“Don’t overthink it, Leah.”

I didn’t reply. I left the room and returned to the bathroom. Shutting it, I threw my towel off and shrugged into my nightgown. Then I sat on the edge of the tub and tried to avoid addressing the ache in the pit of my being.

What were my options? That looming depression formed like a cloud over my head once more. My patience was depleted. I thought time would help bring us closer together, that he’d look at me one morning and tell me I was it for him. That day wasn’t coming.

Forget it.

I had to focus on other things. Like my impending school year at Uni.  Yeah, see, this was more important. Boys were not.

I repeated that mantra over and over again until I calmed down.

He was in his room by the time I returned to mine.

*

I had a lot of space for some time.

The band had been gone for a few days, taking part in gigs in other towns nearby. Because of this, Carter didn’t return until late at night. I was in bed by that point, pretending to be asleep. And every time he stepped through the door, he’d stop and check in on me.

I forced the distance more than I ever did before. I needed to do it as a way to measure just how attached to him I’d become.

The results were disturbing.

He was on my mind every second. I could hardly function without contact. I grabbed at my phone every half hour, fighting the urge to text him and see what he was up to. I felt like a bunny boiler.

“You gotta toughen up,” Melanie told when I opened up to her about it. “You’re attached to him way too much. You need to be your own person.”

She was right.

“How do I do that?” I asked her. “He’s all I’ve ever really known, Mel. We grew up together. I did everything with him. He’s the only person that’s been my constant and…”

“If he’s like a drug, Leah, then you need to go through withdrawal. Keep yourself occupied. Don’t give yourself time to think.”

I followed her advice. My armour went on. Things gradually did change over time, and I worked very hard to detach my feelings when it came to him. I focused on earning the money at the bar, being supportive of the band, and spending time with Melanie outside of work.

The distance I forced seemed to help. It didn’t solve the problem, but it pushed it back so I faced it later. Which was a coward’s move, I know, but it was working fine with me.

When he returned from all his shows, it was harder when he was around. I worked hard in the evenings, running from table to table, avoiding Carter’s like it didn’t exist. He knew something was up, and he tried to make it up most nights in bed. But I pushed him away, telling him I was tired and needed space. He gave me that space and I was thankful he at least respected my wishes.

It was two weeks after that “friend” incident that I found myself leaning back against the wall of the bar, watching him sing a sad song, that I touched on thoughts of letting him go. It hurt too much. In fact, my chest ached and my vision swam, but I questioned the alternative.

I’d be hurt if I let him go, but would having him and not necessarily having him hurt more? If I carried the pain during my academic years, was it going to fuck it up for me? Because concentrating on things other than him these days seemed like the world’s biggest chore. How was it going to be like during an exam? Or studying for that exam?

My mental health could not afford to be fucked. I needed a better life. I wanted to be something, and I couldn’t do that if I was hung up on a guy that viewed me as his fucking friend.

It was a move that made sense to me.

“So I’ve been curious to know your name.”

I jumped and whipped my head to the side. I blinked twice at the man standing next to me before I realized who he was. That dark haired man – the eavesdropper from before – was sidling up next to me. He’d come around a few times since that time, and I only began noticing him because of that awkward moment.

His eyes then dropped to my chest, and I thought he was checking out my boobs until he said, “Ah. Melanie.”

I cringed. Wore the wrong uniform again. I’d hardly noticed after losing a bit more weight lately. “No, no. I’m wearing my friend’s uniform. I’m Leah.”

“Leah. That’s a very pretty name.” He nodded, a sexy smile forming. “I’m Peter.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

Cue awkward silence. Well, maybe just on my end. He got comfortable next to me, indicating he was most definitely not going to go anywhere anytime soon, and we watched the band in silence. I hoped he’d eventually move on and leave me alone. I wasn’t in the mood to socialize.

Distracting me, I spotted a girl jumping and screaming over Carter’s voice. “I want you! Be with me! I want you, Caaaaarterrrrrrr!” she shrilled.

I felt a shudder all the way to my bones. Could you be any more blatant?

“Know them?” Peter then asked, motioning to the band. “Noticed you were around them a while back.”

“Yeah,” I answered. “They’re good guys.”

“They sound great.”

“Only because they’ve poured a lot of hard work the last year into their music.”

“I can tell. Being in a band isn’t easy.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t do it.” Sometimes it stressed me out when they started putting songs together after Carter finished writing one. There was so much that went into it, and it took true talent to weave the sounds in the way they did.