Page 20 of Those Heartbreak Scars

“Are you going to answer that?” Everett asks.

If I answer it, and she mentions Gray, I’ll have to tell her that I saw him at dinner. And she still mentions him a lot. Because she worries about how he is doing while she’s so happy. EJ refuses to tell her anything more than Gray is alive.

I wish she didn’t feel guilty for being happy. I wish I didn’t feel guilty for my indiscretions. But here we are. If I answer this call and she mentions Gray, and I tell her that I saw him at dinner, she’ll want to know how he is. And I’m not sure I can answer that question in my current state without my voice giving me away.

Indy will know something is up. Everett will know something is very wrong, and then I’ll have to come clean about what really happened while he sat patiently waiting at the table for Gray and I to stop fucking in the bathroom.

He’ll change his mind about letting Gray represent him, and it will be all my fault when he misses out on the sponsorships and opportunities he really wants. As ill as I am over my behavior, Gray and I are nothing. It won’t happen again. So maybe I don’t need to tell Everett and ruin something that could be great for him. “I’ll call her back.”

The call shuts off and a notification comes through to let me know I missed it. It’s followed by a message from Gray.

Gray: What’s your address? We need to talk when he leaves.

No, thank you. I have nothing to say to him. Nothing I want from him. I drop my phone back in my clutch and stare out the window at the lights of the other cars and the fine drizzle that has started. It suits my mood entirely too well.

“Want to get some dessert?” Everett asks. “If we buy strawberries and whipped cream, and I eat them off you, I don’t think my nutritionist will kill me for going a little off plan.”

“I don’t really feel like dessert,” I say. “I don’t think that fish was good, after all.”

Liar. I close my eyes. The breath that I draw in tastes sour and dirty. Did Indy feel like this when she realized she and Theo were into each other? Or is it because I’m the slut Gray and I whispered about while he fucked me?

Why didn’t I hate that in the heat of the moment when it fills me with so much shame now? I’m an idiot, that’s why.

Gray was clear that anything between us is a mistake. He was transparent that he isn’t over Indy. Still, I went there in Positano. And again, tonight.

“Okay, we’ll watch a movie or something,” he says.

“Actually, I think I’m going to have an early night. If that’s all right,” I say when he turns into the street my flat is on. “I have to work in the morning.”

He pulls the car over and turns off the engine. He looks like he wants to say something for a long pregnant pause, before he climbs out of the car and jogs around to open my door so that he can escort me to my stoop.

Hands in his pockets, he waits for me to unlock the door. “I’m sorry I moved too fast. I don’t know what I was thinking telling him you were my girlfriend when you made it clear you’re not ready for that.”

“Everett.” I don’t want to hurt him.

“But I did mean it. I want you to be my girlfriend. I want other guys to know that you’re with me,” he says. “Because I really like you.”

“I know. And I like you too. But I can’t—"

“We’ll take it slow. As slow as you want.” He pecks me on the cheek. “I know you’re wary after what happened with your professor. But I promise, you don’t need to be. Just say you’ll let me call you my girlfriend.”

“Everett, that’s not—”

“Don’t say anything now. Give it a couple days.” He jogs toward his car. “We’ll talk later.”

I should end it. I should tell him that I’m incapable of the kind of relationship he wants from me. I’m a screw up. In love with someone who will never love me. A complete twat.

The moment I close the door the wall I’ve put up between me and the rest of the world all night starts to crumble.

My emotions are a tidal wave and that along with the overwhelm of so many sounds and sights and smells brings me to tears.

I put my phone on silent and head up to take a shower, where I wash away the remnants of Gray’s cum from my thighs with my forehead pressed to the cool tiles while I rock side to side. It is exhausting sometimes trying to be the person people expect that I’ll be. To keep my idiosyncrasies under control and use the right words with people. To not flap my hands like a bird trying to take flight. Or wiggle and hum while I eat. Or offend them with my questions. Or come across rude. Or say the wrong thing or be too blunt. I’m too awkward. And too me not to mask around people. It’s so damn exhausting trying to be human.

Eventually I crawl out of the shower a more numb, almost comatose version of myself. I go through my haircare routine and wrap it up, then dress in my pajamas.

I still have that salted caramel and pretzel ice cream stashed in the freezer. My mouth waters as I prowl out to the kitchen.

Switching on the light, I find Dove sitting on the cold tiles, her back against the washing machine. Her mascara is smudged, the skin around her left eye is puffed up and shiny.

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