Page 82 of Splintered Hearts

Taking my beanie off, I fix my hair as best I can before brushing my teeth. I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look... human. And happy. This is the most effort I’ve put into my appearance in years, but Noah’s had enough embarrassment for one night. He doesn’t need more.

Thirteen-minute walk.

I can do this.

Keeping my head down and the destination in focus, I try not to let the tightening in my chest bother me. I’ve only left the house a handful of times over the last few years. My mother had chosen this house for us because it was close to downtown, in case we got jobs somewhere. It’s also near the library where she and now Noah work. Easy access for her to help me if I need it.

Which I’ve never accepted.

She’s done enough for me. Why can’t she see that?

Picking up the pace, I start to jog, hoping I’m not a sweaty mess by the time I get there. The brisk air helps a little. My back, however, helps none.

Anger fuels me, though, and I ignore the little zaps of pain lighting up my spine.

The voice from my phone app tells me to take a right. Lights illuminate the busier street. It’s here somewhere. Slowing to a walk so I don’t look like a crazy person, I ignore the stares of some people. Finally, I see a small restaurant with a valet out front, but not having a car, I move past the crowd waiting to be assisted and head straight in the golden doors.

I walk up to the podium, where a pretty woman smiles at me. “Welcome. Can I have the name for your reservation?”

“Oh, uh. I don’t have one.”

She cocks her head, looking me up and down. Yeah, okay, I do not look like a regular, sure. I hate when people judge me because of my ink and piercings. It’s stupid. I try so hard to leash my annoyance as she smiles at me. “Oh, well, I’m so sorry. We’re packed tonight and you need a reservation.” Hearing her, I look through the dimly lit restaurant. Music plays softly through the crowd. “Sir?”

“Sorry, um. No, I don’t have a reservation.” Did he leave yet?It’s only been fifteen minutes between getting ready and jogging here. He didn’t even have his food when he called.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to—”

“My roommate is here.”

She stops writing something on her tablet. “What?”

“Sorry, I know this seems sketchy, but I just ran here because my roommate was having dinner with this douche nozzle, and he stood him up before he even got his food. I’m just—” What am I doing here? This is crazy, right? I look crazy. “I’m sorry.”

“Brown curly hair?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Cute, black crop and cream pants?”

“Oh, yes, yes.”

“Super cute.”

“Uh . . .”Absolutely. “Y-yeah.”

“That guy was an asshole.”

“I just want to sit with him, so he’s not by himself. I don’t have to order anything.”

She clutches her tablet to her chest with a wide smile. “I can take you to his table.”

“Thank you. Thank you. I appreciate that. Wait... Here.” Reaching into my wallet, I grab my card. “Whatever the bill is, charge it to this card, okay?”

She looks down at my hand before taking the card and slipping it into the black billfold. “Roommate, huh?”

“Yeah.” I glare at her and she turns back around, unbothered.

It takes a minute to follow her through the restaurant, but finally I spot him, surrounded by food with an empty glass of wine, picking at a piece of garlic bread. He’s not paying attention, and my heart sinks at his face.

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