Page 51 of Elusion

My jaw clenches in response to her retaliatory attack. Warranted or not, we aren’t getting anywhere.

“Is that out of your system now?” I ask, my voice harsh.

Her eyes narrow. “I don’t know. Are you finished disappointing everyone now?”

Knife. Gut. Twist. Whatever buttons she wanted to press, she hit them all at once. A fucking bullseye with ammo I supplied.

“How do you expect me to respond to that, Callie?” And I’m really asking because I have no idea. I never have when it comes to her, but now I’m even more in the dark.

She bites her lip for a second before her face returns to an expressionless void. “Walk away.”

“You want me to walk away?”

Our gaze meets, and I wait for any sign of the person who smiled on her way out of my life on Friday. Some evidence of the girl who, up until now, was making my world a more sensible place. But she’s not here anymore, and whoever is standing in front of me nods.

I place my hands on the back of my head, unable to stop everything between us from imploding. “If I walk away, I’m done. I’m not chasing you anymore.”

“I never wanted you to.” Her voice is quiet but resolute. “I told you from the beginning that I wasn’t worth wasting your time.”

An unfamiliar ache cuts through me when I say, “You were worth everything.”

She averts her gaze and steps around me to open the door. Her mind was already made up when I arrived. Hell, she’d probably known long before this, and she only now has let me in on her decision.

The ache intensifies as I do what she asked, what I was always supposed to do. I walk away. Distracted by how wrong it feels, I nearly knock Felicia over on my way out. A drive home occurs, but the only thing that registers is the sensation of my chest compressing and ripping to pieces all at once. It expands a little more with each passing minute, further tormenting me.

Benji stops me in the living room. “You okay, man?”

“Callie ended things.” Reality hits as I say the words out loud, and the all-consuming pain earns a name. “The girl broke my fucking heart.”

Johnny misses the downbeat for the third time. Maybe if he were concentrating on the song instead of whatever girl he’s sexing up off-stage, we wouldn’t sound like complete amateurs. I narrow my eyes at him, warning him to knock off his shit. He smirks, but his eyes stay on the drum kit for the remainder of the set.

Once we’ve packed up and loaded Gavin’s van, I sit down at the bar where the bartender pours me a shot and a beer. Day eight post-Callie progresses the same as day one. Shitty. Any minor detail around me at any given moment sends thoughts of her racing through my brain. I go on with no explanation or insight of what happened to cause her drastic change of mind about us—about me. With little experience in actually caring about a girl, it leaves me wondering how long something like this lasts. Soon enough, the length of time without her will surpass the time with her. Hell, we never even dated, but it hurts all the same.

Johnny lands on the stool next to mine. “Two more.”

I take my shot. “Shouldn’t you be in the restroom with a brunette?”

“Already was,” he says, unabashed by his record-setting hook-up.

Gavin joins us and orders the next round as we drink the last. “Better make tonight count. Next week’s midterms will cut into my drinking time.”

Johnny and I both groan in response.

The night continues on around me. People come and go. Shots and beer appear in front of me, and I consume them. A well-placed chuckle here and a nod there appease my friends. They appreciate the facade after the week of hell I’ve doled out. Each of them has shown far more patience than my fuck-off attitude deserves. The least I can do in return is to not make everyone around me completely miserable for one night.

Another shot slides in front of me, and I toss it back.

“You good, man?” Benji asks.

Absolutely not, but I nod. “I’m good and drunk, a winning combination.”

He slaps a hand on my shoulder. “When do you meet with your dad’s friend?”

I shrug, not wanting to talk about it. Stan Hansen, senior partner at Hansen, Bullshit, and Bullshit—the man to impress for a solid recommendation for law school. Initially, I set up the meeting to keep the parental unit off my ass, but at this point, I have nothing better to do with my future than live someone else’s dream.

A tap on my shoulder sends my stool spinning. Even after it stops, the room continues to move. Two blurry girls take their sweet time morphing into one short blonde wearing a pink sweater with a white collar. The outfit reminds me of something my mother would wear.

“You’re Carol’s son, right?” she says.

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