Page 47 of American Beauty

“No. Enough of this bullshit.”

She tosses the remote onto the chair like it personally offended her. “You’ve been lying here like a corpse for weeks, binge-watching your ex on YouTube like you’re getting paid bythe hour. Your hair looks like it lost a fight with a squirrel. Your skin is so pale I could cast you in a vampire flick without makeup. And when’s the last time you brushed your teeth? Be honest. I can handle the truth.”

I don’t answer.

“Exactly.” She grabs the blanket and rips it off me. “You stink. I’m talking medically concerning levels of stink.”

I recoil like she’s yanked off my security blanket. “Violet, stop.”

She doesn’t. She grabs my arm and hauls me up. I’m so weak, I can’t even fight her. My body flops forward like a rag doll.

“What’s the point? Everything I love is gone.”

Violet’s face softens, but only a little. “You’renot gone.I’mnot gone. And you don’t get to disappear because he did.”

She shoves me into the bathroom and turns on the shower. “Bathe. Now. Or I will scrub you myself, and I promise youwill notenjoy it.”

The door closes behind me, and I stand motionless for a long time, staring at the tile like it might give me answers. To be clear, it doesn’t.

I peel off Alex’s oversized T-shirt I’ve been living in, step out of my leggings, and reach up to touch the diamond pendant hanging around my neck.

My fingers close around it, and for a second, I can’t breathe. It’s like tearing open a wound I’ve been trying to pretend had healed.

I stare at the pendant and the way the diamonds catch the light even in this dim bathroom. It still looks beautiful. It still looks like hope. But it’s not. Not anymore.

Alex… it’s beautiful. I’ll never take it off.I meant those words. But how was I to know that things would go this way?

My chest aches as I unclasp the chain, like I’m letting go of something precious.

Because I am.

This hurts. And it’s not closure, but it’s a beginning. A crack in the armor I’ve wrapped around my grief. The first step toward accepting that our forever isn’t happening.

Hot water scalds my skin when I step into the shower, but I don’t flinch. I stand there, letting it burn, letting it rinse away the pieces of myself I no longer recognize.

I wash my hair. Shave my legs. Brush my teeth at the sink.

Who is this hollow-eyed girl in the mirror? I don’t recognize her.

I shuffle out of the bathroom in clean pajamas with wet hair clinging to my shoulders. The steam did something to my brain—shook a few cobwebs loose. I’m still hollow and exhausted but less like a ghost.

Violet’s in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, standing over my panini press like it’s a power tool. The aroma of melted cheese and toasted bread fills the air as she glances over her shoulder, a relieved expression on her face as I pad in on bare feet.

“Well, look who survived basic hygiene.”

I grunt something that might be a thank-you and sink onto the barstool, pulling my knees up to my chest.

She plates a grilled cheese cut into two triangles, sliding it in front of me. “With Wickles pickles, the way you like it. Eat.”

My stomach twists at the sight of food. “I’m not hungry.”

She crosses her arms. “Well, I don’t give a damn. You’re eating it anyway. You look like someone photoshopped your body smaller and forgot to adjust your head.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She points at the plate. “Chew. Swallow. Repeat. That’s how it’s done.”

With a sigh, I pick up half the sandwich and take a bite. My stomach clenches like it’s not sure what to do with actual food,but the buttery crunch hits my taste buds and something in me stirs.

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