Page 75 of Broken Bonds

Me: Believe me, I’m okay.

It was official—I was the worst liar. Iwasn’tokay. I was freaking out and panicking, and it felt like the end of the world all over again. But I didn’t want her to worry about me because, in a few months, Iwouldbe okay. She had been sleeping on the floor in my room for numerous nights now, and I wanted her to sleep in an actual bed for once.

Amber: Call me anytime okay?

Me: Deal.

Putting my phone down, I stared out the window at the trees whizzing past while Mom still talked to Dad. I was only able to dissociate for a couple of minutes before my phone vibrated once and then three more times in my lap before I got the chance to read the texts.

Mr. Asshole: You didn’t tell me what happened.

Mr. Asshole: Ryan is freaking out along with your dad.

Mr. Asshole: Why haven’t you said anything to me?

Mr. Asshole: Are you okay, Celine?

I saw the three dots forming on the screen as he typed out another message, so I quickly typed out one so he’d stop freaking out. It was only making me feel worse.

Me: I’m okay.

Mr. Asshole: Bullshit.

His response was instant, and I briefly wondered how much he heard of my parents’ conversation. Just the thought made me wince. If he overheard them, then he was getting the raw, unfiltered version of it all.

Me: I will be okay.

Mr. Asshole: Don’t shut me out.

Me: You don’t need to be dragged into this mess.

Mr. Asshole: What mess ,Celine?

I could practicallyfeelhis rage bleeding through his messages, leaving me to contemplate my next words, to choose them carefully. He didn’t need this stress on top of everything else he was dealing with.

It’s for the best, I kept telling myself.

Me: I’m going to be out of commission for a few months, Ace.

Mr. Asshole: What are you saying?

Me: You suggested ending whatever this is a few days ago. I’m agreeing with you.

Mr. Asshole: Why are you pushing me away?

Me: Because I’m going to be having surgery next week, and then I’ll be stuck to a bed for weeks. The recovery time is three to four months.

Mr. Asshole: What does that have to do with us?

Me: I’m just going to be dead weight.

Mr. Asshole: I’m not him, Celine. I’m not your fucking ex.

Me: Let’s be friends and try a relationship in a few months.

Mr. Asshole: I’ll see you later.

I winced at his last message, unsure of what that could mean. But instead of responding, I just locked my phone with a soft sigh. My heart raced as we entered the driveway, Mom finally ending the call with my dad. She got out of the car quietly, coming to stand in front of my door with my crutches. Helping me inside, she got me settled on the couch with my legs raised on pillows with ice packs.

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