Okay, here's chapter two! :)
Chapter Two
The Ethics of Journalism
“Splitting apart, it’s getting’ harder to tell what you want.”
TWO YEARS AGO:
“Hey, Leah? Leah. Lee-ahh? Helloooo? Earth to Leah. Leah!”
I tore my gaze away from my laptop. “Huh?”
My boyfriend, Nick, was standing in front of me with his arms crossed, an irritated expression on his usually relaxed face. I raised my gaze to meet his and did my best not to roll my eyes.
“Yes, Nicholas?”
“Didn’t you here me calling you the first fifty times? I’ve been calling your name for like, ten minutes now,” he complained. This time I did roll my eyes.
“Yeah, I doubt it’s been ten minutes, Nick,” I replied with a scoff. I returned my attention back to the computer screen. “The Ethics of Journalism” were the only words typed on the otherwise blank document. And that was just the title. I sighed. 500 more words to go.
“Do you have to take that thing with you everywhere you go?” he asked moving towards his closet and yanking one of the doors open. He was in one of his moods. It was evident by the snippy comments he made every two minutes and the irritating way he rolled his eyes at practically everything I said. He seemed to fall into a kind of irritated state more and more—especially whenever we were together—and he wasn’t exactly one of the easiest people to get along with whenever this happened. As a result, we almost always ended up fighting.
Not tonight, I thought to myself. I was NOT in the mood.
“What thing?” I said, trying to figure out where the heck I was going to come up with 500 words about the ethics of journalism. There were no ethics in journalism, as far as I could tell. Just look at the tabloids for crying out loud.
“That thing,” he said, nodding towards the laptop sitting on the bed next to me. He began pulling out different shirts and holding them up against himself in the mirror. He hung one back on the rack, threw one on the bed, and pulled another one out.
“Yes, Nick. If I plan to spend every waking moment of my free time with you AND graduate high school with at least a B average, then yes, I have to take the laptop with me everywhere,” I replied, doing my best to keep the irritation out of my voice. He rolled his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time that night and pulled out another shirt.
“What are you doing?” I asked after a few minutes of silence. Anything to break the silence.
“Picking out a shirt.”
“I see that Nick, but why?” I replied, drumming my fingers against the keyboard impatiently. What was his problem? He was the one who had begged me to come over that day, KNOWING I had a paper due Monday, and now he was acting like I was the one in HIS way.
He turned to look at me. “Because we’re going out tonight.”
I snorted. “We don’t have plans for tonight.”
He rolled his eyes again. “Well no, not us, as in me and you. But the whole family is going out to eat. You know, to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
He sighed impatiently. “The release of our new CD, Leah. Jeez, what is with you forgetting everything lately?”
“Okay, first of all, I haven’t been ‘forgetting everything lately.’ Second of all, you don’t think it would’ve been nice to, I don’t know, tell me that we were going somewhere tonight? I mean, I’m not even dressed in the right clothes to go out tonight, Nick,” I said, pushing the laptop aside and standing up. I pulled out my backpack and shoved my laptop inside. Where were my shoes?
“What are you doing?” he asked. I dropped down on my hands and knees and tried looking under his bed to see if maybe they had gotten kicked under there. “I’m going home.”
“Why?”
“To go get dressed, Nick! Do you honestly think I’m going to go out looking like this?” I said. I was so tired of him at that point. I found my shoes and put them on, then stood up and grabbed my keys.
“I don’t see anything wrong with what you’re wearing, now,” he replied, turning to face his closet again. I scoffed. “Oh yeah, Nick. A pair of ripped up jeans and a hoodie is a really great outfit to go eat at a fancy restaurant in. Especially if my boyfriend is going to be looking nice. What on earth was I thinking?”
“Glad you see things my way.”
I pursed my lips. “You know what? I’m not going tonight.”
He stopped his sorting. “What? Why not?” he asked, confused.
Because you’re being a complete idiot. “Because I desperately need to get this paper done, and going out tonight wouldn’t help things at all.”
He scoffed. “Well, judging by the lack of words written on that document, you’re not really getting anything done just by sitting around, either.”
I clenched my jaw. “You know what, I’m so tired of—”
“Of what?” Nick said, suddenly. He turned around to face me again. I shook my head and headed for the door. He walked across the room and stood in front of me. “Answer the question. You’re so tired of what, Leah?”
I stepped around him and opened the door. He reached out and grabbed the door, preventing it from opening any farther. “Move,” I demanded, no longer trying to mask the complete and utter irritation in my voice. If he wasn’t going to be polite, why should I?
“Not until you answer the question,” he replied. Was he actually trying to start a fight?
“I don’t remember the question.”
“Of what?”
“Of what, what?”
“You said you’re so tired – my question: of what? You have absolutely nothing to be tired of. So of what could you be tired? Nothing,” he said. That makes no sense! I lifted my gaze and looked him directly in the eye. Oh yeah, he was stirring up trouble. And you know what? If a fight was what he wanted, fine. A fight was what he was going to get.
“Okay, you wanna know what I’m tired of? I’m tired of your funky, unpredictable, irritable attitude. I’m tired of always having to watch what I say around you. I’m tired of never knowing what’s gonna set you off and just how badly it will set you off. I’m tired of jumping through hoops trying to please you, trying to keep you from exploding at me, at Kevin, at Joe, at anyone, for that matter. I’m tired of trying to adjust to the changes you’ve made in your personality. I’m tired of the new way you’ve decided to handle our relationship. I’m tired of realizing that with every minute of every day, I fall faster and farther OUT of love with you. And I’m tired, SO tired of trying not to HATE you every time we end up fighting.”
By then, I was surprised to find tears streaming down my face. I had wanted to say that for so long. I looked down at the floor, trying to avoid the surprised look on Nick’s face. I knew that surprise would quickly be replaced with hurt. But why should I have cared? I was hurting too. I had been hurting for a long time. Too long. It was at that moment that I knew what needed to be done, and I began to sob.
“Leah…” Nick began. “I—I don’t know…I didn’t think that—”
“Nick,” I said, cutting him off. “Nicholas, we can’t…”
“Can’t what?” There was a hint of panic in his voice. I managed to look up and meet his gaze. His eyes glistened. “I mean, I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t constantly be questioning our relationship and whether or not it’s even worth staying with you anymore. Nick, I know this is probably a really cliché thing to say but… I need time to think.” The words came out in a rush, clumped together, and probably difficult to understand, but by the look on Nick’s face, he had heard them all loud and clear.
“You’re breaking up with me.” The unoriginality of it all killed me. I mean, there I was, telling him exactly how I felt, and it felt like we were reciting lines from a movie. It was just too cliché.
“No, I mean—”
“You’re breaking up with me,” he repeated.
I sighed. “No, Nick. All I need is time. I just need like, I don’t know, maybe a month to just think about whether or not I want to continue our relationship.”
“So you get to make the decision by yourself, and I have no say in it whatsoever. That’s what you’re telling me?” he said.
“Nick, please. I just need a month to think,” I pleaded. Silence. My eyes searched his face for some kind of clue as to what he was thinking, how he was feeling. But Nick was the master at masking his emotions. He face was blank and still as stone. After what seemed like hours, Nick let go of the door and walked back to his closet and continued picking out a shirt.
“Nick?” I said after a few minutes of silence.
He sighed. “Fine, Leah. Take a month. As a matter of fact, take all the time you need.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“Really.”
He walked over to the bed, picked up a shirt, and walked right past me as he headed for the door. He stopped in the doorway and turned around. And I could see it all on his face—all the hurt and pain, the frustration and confusion—it was all there.
“But you know what? Don’t expect me to still be here if you decide to come back.”
And with that, he turned around and left.
The song quoted in this chapter:
Games by The Jonas Brothers.
Comments are lovely! :D
:) Jay.
