Page 40 of Regretting Youu

Chapter Eight

Clara

I left the house as soon as my mother went to her bedroom and slammed her door. I’m not supposed to leave, so I’m sure this will extend however long I’m grounded for, but at this point, I don’t care. I can’t be cooped up inside that house for another minute. Everything reminds me of my father. And every time I look at my mother, she’s sitting quietly in random spots, staring at nothing.

Or snapping at me.

I know she’s hurting, but she’s not the only one. All I did was ask her where Elijah was and why she left the house with Jonah, but she completely overreacted.

Will this be how it is from now on? My father is gone, so now she feels she has to compensate for his absence and be even stricter on me? Who gets grounded from their own living room?

I’m grounded from my phone, so my mother won’t be able to see where I am. I was afraid she’d call the police, so before I left, I wrote her a note that said, “I’m really hurting. I’m going to Lexie’s for a couple of hours, but I’ll be home by ten.” I knew if I threw in the “hurting” part that maybe she wouldn’t be so angry. Grief is a beast, but it’s also a great excuse.

I drove to Lexie’s house after leaving my own, hoping she’d be home, but she wasn’t.

Now I’m sitting in the parking lot of the movie theater, staring at Miller’s truck.

I pulled in because I was thinking how nice it would be to sit in the dark theater for an hour and a half and forget the outside world even exists. But now that I know Miller is working tonight, I’m not sure I want to go in. It’ll seem like I came here on purpose, seeking him out.

Maybe I did? I don’t even know.

Either way, I’m not going to stop going to the movies anytime he’s working, simply because he’s got a girlfriend. I’m also not going to stop going just because I’m worried it’ll be awkward.

I mean, the guy bought me drugs. Can’t get much more awkward than that.

The outdoor ticket counter window is closed, but Miller is inside. I watch him through the glass doors for a moment. He’s wiping down the concession stand counters while Steven, the guy who sold him the weed, sweeps up random spills of popcorn.

The lobby of the theater is quiet when I walk inside, so both of them look up when they hear the door open.

Miller shoots me a small smile and stops cleaning when he sees me. I’m suddenly more nervous than I anticipated I’d be.

He presses his palms onto the counter and leans forward as I approach him. “I figured you’d be grounded.”

I shrug. “I am. She took my phone and banished me to my bedroom.” I look at the menu over his head. “I escaped.”

He laughs. “Final showings started between thirty and forty-five minutes ago, but you can take your pick. Theater four is the emptiest.”

“What’s playing in four?”

“Interstate. It’s an action flick.”

“Gross. I’ll take it.” I pull money out of my purse, but he waves it away.

“Don’t worry about it. Family gets in free. If anyone asks, tell them you’re my sister.”

“I’d almost rather pay than pretend we’re siblings.”

Miller laughs and grabs a large cup. “What do you want to drink?”

“Sprite.”

He hands me the Sprite, then wets a handful of napkins in the sink behind him. I look at him with confusion as he hands me the wet napkins.

“You have stuff,” he says, dragging a finger down his cheek. “Makeup. From crying.”

“Oh.” I wipe at my cheeks. I don’t even remember putting on mascara today. I seem to be going through the motions of life without actually being aware of any of the motions. I wasn’t even aware that I was crying the entire way here. Hell, I’m probably still crying. I can’t even tell anymore. My guilt over knowing I was texting Aunt Jenny the moment she had the wreck, coupled with the gaping loss I feel for both of them, doesn’t feel like it’ll ever go away. The tears that seemed to only come at night are starting to follow me into the daytime. I thought time would make it better, but so far, time has just allowed my feelings to build and build. My heart feels swollen, like it might explode if even one more small tragedy finds its way in.

Miller makes me a large bag of popcorn as I wipe away my mascara.