Page 93 of Crushed By Love

I can’t look away.

Because it’s Ethan—he’s my weakness, pulling me right back into his gravitational field. It’s been twenty-one months since I’ve seen him. Twenty-one months of hating him and missing him, of wishing I’d never met him while also reminiscing of the day we did. Two years ago, on a May day much like this one, I saw him for the first time and everything changed.

I hate him for the hold he has on me, for the way my entire body turns toward him without even thinking about it. That even after two years, being near him makes my heart squeeze as if he’s responsible for the blood pumping through my veins. But most of all, I hate him for taking my heart and breaking it into a million little pieces.

He turns, our eyes meet, and the world fades.

It’s as if we’re the only two people here. His mouth slackens and he’s staring at me like he’s staring at a ghost and all I can hope is that I’ve haunted him as much as he’s haunted me. Please, God. Please let me be not some insignificant hook-up from his past but someone who actually takes up space in his mind.

Our gazes stay locked as if in a stand-off. It’s like we’re counting down from ten. Who is going to pull the trigger first? I don’t move and he doesn’t either. It’s just the two of us and our shared history between us. It’s like an invisible force, like ghost hands twisting around our necks, threatening us. Do not move. Don’t even breathe.

I won’t be the first to look away, but I don’t want him to be the first to do so either.

Like always, he disappoints me, breaking our eye contact and turning toward his father and whoever this new woman is. Amelia and Gregory are right there, right in their faces. The confrontation appears to escalate. Bodies tense and voices become clipped. I can’t hear what anyone is saying, but I can imagine it’s something like what are you doing here? You weren’t invited, followed by something else like actually I was invited because I bought a gazillion dollar boat that’s much bigger than yours.

Ethan speaks, his eyes pinned on my uncle, and Cooper shakes his head in frustration.

I can’t do this.

I. Can’t. Be. Here.

I don’t know where Sybil is, I don’t know where the bathroom is, I don’t have anyone to talk to, there’s nobody to save me from this moment. Like a coward, I flee the scene, heading in the opposite direction of the party, which happens to be the docks.

Twenty minutes later and I’m walking up and down the maze of them, my body finally starting to relax after fighting off a panic attack. I’m on anti-anxiety medication now, something my psychiatrist says I may need to take for the rest of my life. I only take a low dose each morning because I don’t tolerate the side effects well, so it’s not enough medication to stop the panic attacks completely. But it helps, and with the tools I’ve learned in therapy, I can usually stop an attack if I catch it early.

The doctor says I have generalized anxiety disorder. I live with it and have every day since I can remember. I don’t know if I was born with it or if I developed it, but my psychiatrist and therapist have helped me come to accept this as a part of myself. Some people have poor vision, some people struggle with autoimmune diseases, with chronic pain, or other invisible illnesses. Me? I have a tense snake coiled in my chest, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. So I’ve become a snake charmer, learning the art of keeping that snake from lashing out and sending my nervous system into fight or flight.

This is one of those snake-charming moments.

There are so many docks here, each with a dozen slips filled with rigs bigger than the last. I know I shouldn’t be wandering among them. It’s not like I have a boat, and this area is not why my family brought me to their party, but I can’t let myself think about that too much. Being here is better than going back there, and it’s far better than seeing the Kings again.

I stop, close my eyes, and take in long steadying breaths because I know what has to come next. I can’t run away forever. I’m going to have to go back before my family comes looking for me. I’m still close enough to the party that I can hear occasional wisps of orchestra music floating through the breeze like champagne bubbles. It’s not like I’m lost. I’ll be able to make my way back there in a few minutes, even if I’m not quite ready.

I run my sweaty palms over my dress and wish for the umptheenth time that I had brought my phone tonight. I don’t carry it everywhere at the suggestion of my doctor because smart phones are proven to increase anxiety and that’s very true for me. Sometimes I consider going back to a basic flip phone. Isn’t it funny how the things you want so badly sometimes become the things you hate the most?

That’s proven true with people too.

So I don’t have a phone and now my fingers are itching for the distraction I can hold in my hands. Not to mention, I need to contact Sybil. If I could text her, she could let me know when it’s time to head back. I wouldn’t have to return to the party at all. The Kings and Laurences are all back there trying to exact revenge on something I still have yet to understand.

I just hope they’re not talking about me.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

It’s him . . .

Relief. Unease. Concern. Familiarity.

All the emotions crash through me at once and I’m not sure if it’s the rough timbre of his voice that is making me feel these things or if I’m picking up on his emotions too.

Ethan. His voice is exactly as I remember it. I know that voice like the back of my hand. It’s the voice that haunts my dreams, that refuses to let me go, that I’ve been simultaneously dreading and secretly wishing to hear again since he last said goodbye.

Goodbye, Juliet.

Of course I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him. I don’t have to move. Don’t even have to breathe. It’s him and he moves closer.

“We should talk,” he rasps, and it all comes rushing back.

The pain. The betrayal. The love gone wrong.

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