Page 37 of Choices

“Kit.” The cautious, almost soft way he says my name fills my bones with lead. Guilt. That’s fucking guilt in his tone.

“What did you do?” This was always going to happen. But so soon? And with her—HER!

“We need to talk,” he says, but I’m not sure which of us he means. “Claire, go get some food or something, yeah?”

“Okay,” she murmurs, pushing the covers from her body. Her fingers cling to a towel that gapes, showing too much skin.

Snatching a t-shirt from the dresser on her way past me, I have to fight every instinct screaming to tear her hair out. She drops the towel without shame and drags the fabric over her body before scooting out the door.

Silence weights down the room, making my limbs feel too heavy for my frame. “Did you seriously fuckher?” Anger, disgust, and raw heartbreak spew into every word I speak.

This is the end.

“It’s complicated, Kit,” he says to my back.

Whipping around to face him, the bowl in my hands flies across the room before I even register throwing it at him. Clear shards shatter on impact, water raining down the wall beside his head. Our poor goldfish flops at his feet, just like my withered dying heart.

He broke me.

He finally did it.

“Christ, Kit.” He scoops the thing up and searches the room, his eyes landing on a glass of water beside the bed.

Is that the water Claire needed after he fucked her into exhaustion like he did me two nights ago?

He dumps the little guy into the glass, and it bobs around in the small confines, trapped, butting against the same resistance over and over. A perfect metaphor. It’s almost comical.

Don’t let this be real.

“All I wanted was you,” I say, defeated, my chest deflating. “I gave you all of me, and you chewed me up and spit me out like gum that lost its taste.”

“It’s complicated, Kit. A lot of moving parts.” My heart can’t take it.I’m dying.He won’t look at me, his hands shoved into his pockets, head bowed.

Spineless bastard.

“No,” I scoff. “Just your parts moving inside her.” A wave washes over me, dark and endless. Everything I’ve ever wanted is slipping through my hands like sand.

He’s right.

I do deserve better.

“She’s pregnant.”

My knees almost buckle, his words wrapping around my throat, choking the life from me. No. He’s wrong. Joking. This is not fucking real.

“I didn’t fuck her last night. It was weeks ago. I was drunk.”

“Shut up,” I stammer, clenching a hand to my chest.

Stop speaking.

“Kit…”

“Stop.”Killing me with a knife. How Harvey’s girlfriend chose to end him was less brutal than this.

Pain compresses my chest. There’s no air.

I’m dying.

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