Page 96 of Cruel Dreams

It seems they’ve fallen into a quiet routine of their own, and I’m happy for Zarah, that her fog, though albeit still slowly, has kept lifting. Her eyes look a little clearer every day, but Zane hasn’t told me too many details about her progress or how much medication she’s still prescribed.

A low, relaxing melody tinkles in my ears through earbuds attached to my phone. My therapist, the same woman Banks connected us to last year, though my mom and dad don’t attend very many sessions with me anymore, recommended listening to soothing music. It helps me relax, reminds me to breathe.

Sometimes I like to sit and listen to the waves crash, the seagulls squawk, the children yell, as it’s a music of a different sort, but today, while my dad plays golf without me and my mom and one of her friends are shopping, I listen to music and go through the exercises my therapist encourages me to do. They mostly entail writing lists, like the pros and cons of going back to King’s Crossing versus staying in St. Petersburg and reminding myself that the world won’t end because of my choices. That’s not so simple to do. I don’t care about the world, just my life.

My ringtone interrupts the music, and I click the button in the earbud’s cord to answer the call. “Hello?” My phone is in the pocket of my shorts and I don’t know who’s calling me. I hope it’s Zane—it’s been a while since we’ve spoken.

It’s not, but she’s the next best thing.

“Hey, Stella,” Quinn says, her voice light and happy.

“Quinn.” Her call is very welcome. She and I haven’t talked much since she enrolled in fashion school in New York. She’s so busy interning, schmoozing, and attending classes and seminars, I don’t want to be a bother.

“How are you doing?” she asks.

“Good! Tell me about New York.”

“Nope. You go first. How’s Zane doing? How are wedding plans?”

I pause. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked for a while. I called him a few days ago, but he was on his way to a meeting and only had a couple of minutes. He sounded good. Happy. Working hard, like he always is.”

“What do you mean you haven’t talked to him in a while? Aren’t you in KC?”

“No, I’m still in St. Pete.”

“Holy shit. Stella, it’s been almost a year.”

“I know.”

“When are you going back?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What the fuck do you mean, you’re not sure?” Quinn demands, and I wince. I always feel like an indecisive slug whenever I talk to her.

“I don’t know what Mom and Dad would say. They love having me here.”

“Of course they do, but Zane’s waiting for you. I thought you guys were going to get married.”

“We were. We are.”

“That’s kind of hard to do when you’re in Florida and he’s in Minnesota.”

Her blatant disapproval annoys me. She always has all the answers. I get tired of her sometimes, constantly thinking she knows best.

“How am I supposed to choose?” I snap.

That’s the crux of it. How can I choose between my parents and Zane?

How in the hell can I tell my mom and dad I don’t want to be here, that I don’t want to live with them after it took my whole life for us to find each other?

And Zane? How can I tell him goodbye forever when it seems all we’ve done for the past six years is fight to be together?

The choice is impossible.

“Stella, you’re so stupid,” Quinn says, and it’s the nastiest thing she’s ever said to me.

“You don’t need to talk to me like that. If you’re going to be a bitch, we can say goodbye.”For good, I add to myself. I know she put up with a lot of shit after I escaped Ash’s, but she’s also working her dream job and she wouldn’t have that without Zane.

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