The Failing Hours

Even his friends can’t stand him?

“What the hell kind of dig is that?”

“It wasn’t a dig,” he deadpans. “It’s a fact.”

“You are such a dick.”

“Maybe, but I’m not the one sitting here ignoring his girl that’s a “friend” or whatever you want to call it. You are.”

I realize I am, in fact, still ignoring Violet, who is standing at the table looking perplexed. Maybe even a little hurt.

God I’m a douchebag.

I know this.

But I can’t stop. I can’t take the words back—not in front of my friends. I’ll be damned if I apologize to her in front of them. In fact, I can’t remember a single time when I’ve apologized to them for my bad behavior. Not a single damn time.

Oz turns his attention to Violet, shooting her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

Her hazel eyes regard me, unflinching. “Zeke, are we still doing something later?” Her voice is steady.

“Nah. We’re good.”

Her head bobs up and down unhurriedly, eyes narrowing in a decidedly un-Violet-like way. “I see.”

No, she doesn’t see.

It takes several seconds for Violet to collect her thoughts and speak again. When she does, the words come out halted and ineloquent.

“I-I…” Deep breath. “It was g-good seeing you guys. I-I have work to do, s-s…I sh-should should…”

“See ya.” I force out those two words, affecting a bored tone but wanting to take those back, too. Don’t fucking listen me, please, I want to shout. I’m a clueless fucking moron!

I should be ashamed of myself.

Shouldn’t let her walk away when she spins on her heel, the soles of her worn brown boots needing replacing as much as Kyle’s shoes did.

We watch her scurry away like a spooked rabbit. Her hip hits a table a few feet away and I wince as she rubs her side, rounding the corner, disappearing into a back room. I make note of it: private study room number four.

“Wow.” Rex fills the silence. “Man…”

“You really are a heartless prick,” Oz finishes for him, pushing away from the table to stand. He shuffles his shit around, throwing his laptop and books in his backpack, the loud metal teeth zipping closed. His hand goes up, motioning toward study room number four. “Are you just going to sit there? Or are you going to follow her and beg her to overlook your stupidity?”

“Wait Ozzy, where are you goin?” Confusion fills Gunderson’s voice.

“Leaving. I can’t sit here and watch him self-destruct. Dude needs alone time to think about what a fucking bad move that was.” He hefts his bag onto his broad shoulder. “You’d be wise to come with me, Rex. Leave him alone to his own miserable company. That’s obviously what the poor sod wants.”

Poor sod? Poor sod? What is he, British?

“What’s a poor sod?” Rex rises, packing up his shit.

Good. Who needs them?

“It’s another way to say sorry ass motherfucker.”

“Really?” Rex sounds intrigued. “Where’d you hear that?”

I hear Oz shrug, their deep voices trailing off as they depart. “James and I were watching Love Actually last weekend…”

I sit, gazing toward the study room Violet disappeared into, willing them both to hurry the fuck up and leave.

So I can finally follow her.

Violet

I manage to make it all the way to the study room before tears sting my eyes, flowing out like a dam that’s been broken. I wipe them away with a trembling hand, swiping angrily at my own cheeks.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I repeat, cold hands bracing my cheeks to cool them off, to salvage whatever composure might be left inside my broken heart before heading back out and finishing my shift.

How embarrassing.

Why would he do that to me?

What is wrong with him?

I don’t understand.

Of all the people in this world to develop feelings for, why did it have to be him and his foolish pride?

Suddenly I’m seeing what everybody already knew: Zeke Daniels is a heartless, cold-blooded jerk. Callous doesn’t begin to describe his treatment of me just then. The cold, unreadable expression—he couldn’t even look me in the eyes, the coward.

Well the joke is on me, because I thought…

I swipe another tear with my sleeve.

The bracelets circling my wrist jingle, an unfriendly reminder of an amazing evening we had. I do my best to tug the stupid sunflower bangle off my arm, yanking at it, tears still blinding me.

The jerk.

I tug.

Jerk.

Tug again and again.

Jerk, jerk, jerk.

A brisk knock at the door has my spine stiffening. Zeke’s face appears in the narrow window of the study room, doorknob turns as he pushes his way into the small, square space, not waiting for me to invite him in.

Rude.

“What do you want? I’m b-busy.”

Clearly I’m not busy doing anything but crying and pulling his stupid, beautiful bracelet off my wrist and he knows it. He enters cautiously, coming to a standstill on the other side of the long, wooden table. His thick arms fold across his chest.

“Violet.”

My chin goes up haughtily, fingers swiping at my cheeks. “I said, what do you want, Zeke?”

“I… Fuck, I don’t know.”

“Obviously.” The sarcasm in my voice is hard to disguise.