Page 93 of Frozen Flames

Gone.

In one moment.

I wheel myself backward, but I can’t help stating again, “Ihateyou.”

I rub my eyes, waiting for her to say something.

“We’re done, Harv.” She swallows. “I’m moving out. My dad’s in Seattle, so I’ll be living at home in the meantime.”

I chuckle, a few more tears spilling down my cheeks as I shake my head. My entire upper body feels like someone has poured gasoline all over it. At least she’s moving back to herdad’s place, which isn’t too far from here, while he’s away for work in Seattle.

“You know, sometimes I wished I’d died in the crash,” I say truthfully.

“Harvey, stop! Don’t say that. I think it’s time you speak to someone. Or Claire. You shouldn’t keep everything inside.”

“And right now,” I continue, knowing I’ll be crushing her heart, if she even has one, “I wish you’d died with me.”

It’s a lie. My soul—the good part of me—feels like utter shit, and I despise myself in this moment. But my ego is soaring, flying, feeling mighty and free.

I shrug off any ounce of compassion I might feel when I see her go still, and instead I leave the room.

I feel horrible and gutted after my fight with Gemma, but also relieved.

Is it because we’re finally over and I can let go now? Is it because I couldn’t stand the silence and distance between us any longer?

I have no idea.

I stay out of Gemma’s hair and brood in my room all day while I game.

I want to text Claire and ask if she’s coming to work tomorrow, but I stop myself, knowing that fixing my mess means not creating more issues in my life.

Eventually, I hear a bunch of noise, and then I hear Henrik’s voice. He doesn’t even come and greet me, his own brother.

To make matters worse, when I wheel myself to Gemma’s bedroom doorway, I overhear her asking Henrik if he talked to our parents, and my brother reassures her that they’ll be there for me.

As if that makes me feel better.

They treat me like I need a babysitter. I used to feel dependent in the beginning when it took me over an hour to do something that used to take me five minutes pre-accident, but not anymore.

“Well, look at that,” I finally say to Gemma and her bestie. Henrik’s such a traitor sometimes. He knows she broke up with me—clearly—and yet he’s not even going to ask how I’m doing. “Here to fuck him too?”

I hope that sentence destroys her.

For all the love I had and still have for this girl, she’s hurt me more than I ever thought possible.

“What the fuck, Harvey?” Henrik regards me with flinty eyes. Sometimes I wonder if he would get in Gemma’s pants. I hope he wouldn’t stoop so low, but I never know with Hen.

“Shut up, Hen. What’re you doing here?” I ask, willing to go at him, since I can’t keep fighting with Gemma.

“I’m helping her pack.”

My eyes widen because even though Gemma told me she was moving out, I didn’t think she meant she’d start packingthe same day. But as my frustration turns into panic, I finally notice the boxes next to the door.

“She’s not leaving.”

“I’m pret-ty sure she is.” Henrik twirls his forefinger in the air, signaling the empty room.

I clear my throat, wishing I could deck him. “Gemma, we can fix this. What’re you doing? You’re not leaving me. Let’s talk about this.”

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