Page 68 of On the Edge

Mutely, he shakes his head at me. He looks stricken, and I want so badly to pull him into my arms and apologize that I have to take a step backward.Leave. Please leave,I beg silently. I don’t want to waver on this, and the longer he stands there, the less firm I become. I know I’m doing the right thing to protect myself, but it’s hard to remember that fact when Henri’s standing in front of me looking close to tears.

“Atlas,” he whispers.

“No.” I shake my head. “I want you out. I want you to leave.”

At an impasse, we stare at each other. I can see the struggle on Henri’s face, as he wars with the desire to do as I ask and the desire to fight for what he wants. I know him well enough to see the argument in his eyes, even if he’s struggling to put it into words. He’s not good with confrontation—by putting him on the spot, I’ve made sure this is a fight I’ll win.I’ve made him uncomfortable enough that he can’t think of a way to argue back in English.Way to go, Atlas, you piece of shit.

“This is it?” he asks, voice breaking over the words. I nod sharply, unable to trust myself to speak any more. Resolutely, I stare at the wall over his left shoulder so I don’t have to look at his face. “Atlas?—"

“Justgo, Henri.” I’m not looking at him, so I don’t see his reaction to the words. Nor do I see him leave the room.

I don’t hear the front door slam, because of course Henri is too polite to do so. Even so, I can feel the absence of him like there is a gaping hole in my chest. Pressing my palms to my eyes, I swallow down the frustrated scream building in my chest.I hate you,I tell myself vehemently.I fucking hate you.

A noise at the door draws my attention, and I drop my hands, fearing that it’s Henri coming back. Nate stands in my doorway, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his basketball shorts and face unusually serious.

“I don’t want to hear it,” I tell him. He and Henri play hockey together—I can’t imagine being roommates will trump that relationship. He’s not going to be on my side in this.

“You okay?” he asks, and I’m shocked into silence.

“We broke up,” I explain, even though it’s painfully obvious he heard. The look he gives me says I am correct in this assumption. “You don’t have to tell me, I already know I’m an asshole.”

Nate opens his mouth—probably to agree—but closes it again and contents himself with a shake of his head instead.

“Just say it,” I tell him wearily. It’s not as though he can make me feel worse.

“You’re a damn idiot, you know that?” I nod, and hemakes a frustrated noise. “I can’t understand you, Atlas. I really can’t.”

“Might as well not even try.” I can hardly understand myself, let alone expect anyone else to. “Things would have ended, anyway. I just sped it along and ended them on my terms, that’s all.”

Nate’s green eyes snap to mine.

“So, what? You broke his heart before he could break yours?” I stay silent because there really isn’t anything to say to that. “Wow. Well, on behalf of Vas, I’d just like to say: fuck you. But as your roommate and sometimes-friend even though you’re a dick, feel free to text me if you need to talk.”

“Aw,” I try to tease, but it lacks all conviction and merely sounds sad. Mutely, he shakes his head and leaves my room. Not even the wall between us is enough to mask the disappointment radiating from his room.

Nate and I pack our things silently after that. He’ll be the last to leave, driving back to the ranch tomorrow after I catch a flight to D.C.. I can tell he’s frustrated with me, but trying to toe the line as someone who is friends with both of us. Instead of trying to talk, he chooses silence and I’m grateful for it. I realize that I still don’t know who’s supposed to be picking me up from the airport, but I can’t bring myself to care. Maybe they’ll just leave me there, and I can rot on the floor in the baggage claim until it’s time to come back to school.

I textmy dad once I’ve landed and am waiting in baggage claim, but he doesn’t reply. There aren’t any texts from Henri, either, which somehow hurts worse even though I know notto expect any. When my bag makes it’s slow way to me on the conveyor belt, I tug it off and head outside to wait on a bench in the passenger pickup. I should probably call my stepmom, since I can’t get in touch with my dad, but I just don’t care. I feel awful—foggy-headed and achy, like I’m coming down with a cold and not heartbreak.

Heartbreak—Atlas, you piece of shit.Annoyed with myself and my feelings, I desperately try to think of anything but Henri and the devastated look on his face when I’d yelled at him. I don’t deserve to feel sorry for myself. I’m the one who did that to him, and I did it onpurpose. It doesn’t matter that I was only trying to protect myself or how hard the words were to say. What matters is that I said them, and there is no going back now.

A slick little silver Audi pulls up to the curb and the driver taps the horn in a quick staccato. Glancing behind me, I try to figure out who they’re picking up. I’m the only one out here. It’s only when the passenger window rolls down that I see my brother’s face grinning at me.

“Hey!” he yells, and indicates the rear of the vehicle with a wave of his hand. “Trunk is open.”

Stowing my luggage, I slide onto the smooth leather seat of the passenger side. After clicking my seat belt into place, I look over at Ethan with eyebrows raised.

“Whose car is this?”

“Mine,” he says excitedly, hands rubbing the steering wheel fondly. “Do you want to drive it? I’d let you.”

I stare at him, nonplussed. “Yours? You’re seventeen, how the fuck—” Realization dawns and I scoff, shaking my head. “Dad bought it for you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Ethan replies, still in that same giddy tone of voice. He’s too excited to hear the anger in mine. “What doyou think? Mom was going to come pick you up, but I asked if I could instead. I couldn’t wait to show you.”

I take a deep breath, tempering my annoyance so as not to ruin his excitement. It’s not his fault our dad picks favorites, or that he’s the chosen one. It’s definitely not his fault that I’m in a bad mood because I broke up with my boyfriend.

“It’s pretty cool,” I tell him, and he beams as though this is the highest of praise.

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