Page 61 of Breaking Away

Instead of doing that for another night, I’m going to prom.

Fuck.

I don’t want to be here. I have a hard time speaking to people, even when they start the conversation. Crowds make it worse. I don’t say the right things, my face doesn’t make any proper expressions, and I would rather just be alone.

Alone is safe. Controlled.

A state of being I would do anything to find, but rarely get. My dad drinks. Sometimes he quits and sometimes he springshis relapses on me. The only solution to his misery that I’ve found is directing his focus to my future career.

I should be grateful that I’m his cure.

Instead, there are days I wake up not being able to breathe. Pressure wants to collapse me, but I can’t let it. I have no choice but to be strong.

Today, I just had to get out of my house. If I didn’t, I’d scream at him. And then… he could drink again…

See the issue?

At my high school, I get out of my truck. I’m adjusting my cuffs as I stride through the parking lot. The corner of my eye catches a flash of pink. Not just any pink. A very specific dark-pink hair that makes my entire body sing—and then cramp with dread. It’s fucking whiplash. The sight of Kavi Basra is doubly an invisible punch to the sternum and a kiss on the heart. It’s why I have to fucking avoid her. She’s fucking dangerous.

Get out of here right now, Dmitri.

I’m about to turn on my heel and march back to my truck when I spot her wobble. My head snaps in her direction. Big mistake. From afar, the dress she’s wearing drains my body of oxygen. I rake my eyes up and down her, telling myself it’s in my head. She’s not lovely, beautiful, or singular. We’ve never been friends or even proper acquaintances. There’s no logic to me feeling like she could brighten even the darkest hole…

When Kavi sees me, her hand goes to her stomach. Smudges of makeup have melted around her eyes.

“You look like shit.”

Her mouth drops open. Kavi laughs and then curls into her stomach.

The blood in my veins freezes. She’s shaking.

I’ve already started rushing towards her. I don’t slow down but scoop her up before she can hit the ground.

"I'm about to throw up," Kavi cries out, twisting in my arms.

I walk her to the bushes and gingerly lower us both, so I’m kneeling on the concrete and holding her. I hold back her hair as she throws up. It doesn’t take long for her to finish, but when she does, she’s mumbling apologies that run into each other.

The sound of them?—

“I don't care to hear your apologies, Basra,” I bite out. “Stop giving them to me.”

“But I ruined your prom?—”

“Don't care, Princess.”

Her breath hitches.

Fuck. Did I just call her my princess?

The endearment has lived in my head since I first saw her, but it never comes out. I’ve never allowed it to be spoken.

Pink.Pretty. Princess.

The first time I saw Kavi, that’s what my internal thought processes vomited. For a guy who hates communicating more than a few words, my brain sure was hung up on alliteration that day.

Back to the night of prom, bleary brown eyes rise to meet mine. I brace myself, ready for her to call out my slip-up, but then she clutches her belly again, moaning.

“I need to go home,” she whispers.

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