Page 84 of Crushed By Love

No wonder he always seemed so emotionally shut off from me. He still had emotions, but he had them for someone else. I was nothing but a confusing stand-in.

I think back to the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, realizing that I was never his Juliet. I was Rosaline. Romeo had thought he was in love with Juliet’s cousin Rosaline, but that love was nothing compared to the love he had for Juliet. He was willing to do anything for Juliet and in the end that’s what got them both killed.

It’s best that I remove Ethan from my life entirely.

Too bad I can’t seem to get him out of my head. I keep seeing the photograph of them together over and over again, keep picturing her handwriting across the bottom.

Cooper had said Ethan and Sybil grew up together, that they had dated for years, that they were briefly engaged before the breakup. I should’ve known he wasn’t done with her.

By the next morning I’m feeling good enough to go explore my new campus. I wander around aimlessly at first, but by the time I get to the library, the excitement finally reaches in and takes hold of my broken heart. It doesn’t put it back together yet, but the prospect of my future is enough to hold the pieces together.

The University of Massachusetts is a good school and I’m going to make the most of it here. I can already picture myself studying in this library. It’s the tallest building on campus and the inside is renovated to be comfortable for students to spend hours studying. I find the computer lab floor and it has so many machines lined up that I’m certain I’ll never struggle to find an open seat. Tomorrow after I move into my dorm, I can get my student ID card and I’m coming right back here first thing.

I’ve been cut off from the world. It’s been months without internet or even any real spending money. It’s going to be amazing. I’m going to be able to focus on school and really make something of myself here.

After my campus tour, I plop down in a shady piece of grass and people watch for hours. There aren’t a lot of students here yet, but come tomorrow this place is going to be packed with my new life and the people who might fill it.

Finally feeling better about everything, I head back to the hotel. I vaguely note the police cars out front and the two cops waiting in the lobby on my way inside. But when the desk clerk points at me, I startle, my entire body prickling with urgency. The police turn to me and I drop my head down. The tile is black and polished and cold. I wish it would swallow me up.

It’s nothing that the police are here. Surely, it’s nothing.

“Are you Arden Davis?” one of the officers asks.

I’m glued to the spot as I look up at the tall man, noting the holster with the gun and baton on the way up. “Yes.” My voice shakes. I hate that I sound guilty. But what could I possibly have to feel guilty about?

“We’d like you to come with us,” the second officer commands. This isn’t an ask. There isn’t a “please”.

“Why?” My voice is wavering. I don’t want to go anywhere with them.

“We have some questions for you. We can ask them here or at the station.”

People are staring at me now. The hotel clerk has his nose lifted in clear annoyance, like how dare this be happening in the middle of his pristine lobby. He gives me a hard look, as if challenging me not to comply with the police so he can escort me from the premises himself.

“I don’t understand,” I mumble, but I do as I’m told and follow the police out the revolving glass doors and back into the hot August afternoon.

The second we’re out of the lobby, the police drop any semblance of politeness.

“Arden Davis—you are under arrest for trespassing,” he’s saying more words after that, talking about my rights, about lawyers, and about what’s next.

I’m sinking. Down. Down. My eyes are full of tears. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. How is this real?

“Please make this easy on yourself,” the second cop says in a pitying tone. “We don’t have to cuff you. You’re not going to jail. If convicted, it’s a misdemeanor, not the end of the world. But we need you to get into the back of the car and come with us to the station.”

I’m numb as I climb in. It’s even hotter in here as the car has been sitting in the sun. The seats are hard plastic. They stick to my thighs. The cops climb into the car and talk about lunch as they drive me away from the hotel. How can they discuss food when my life is falling apart?

Did Ethan do this? He must have. He was the only one who knew I was squatting at the beach house. Either he called the cops himself or he told his father and Conrad took care of it. Either way, Ethan’s the one to blame.

But so am I.

Because I did stay back in that house even though I knew I wasn’t welcome. But Ethan made a deal with me, he was going to cover me. I held up my end and stayed through the hurricane. He got what he wanted, got everything he wanted. This can’t be happening.

The business card.

I slide my hands into my shorts, frantically looking for his card, but it’s not there.

Because I threw it away.

I never intended to speak with him again.

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