Page 38 of Choices

“I’m sorry…” he says, but it’s not enough.

It’s. Not. Enough.

Say something else.

Make this better.

Take it back.

“I’m really sorry, Kit…”

IT’S NOT ENOUGH!

My breathing is labored. I’m drowning, breaking into pieces in front of him, giving him my final breaths.

No.

Gathering the last scraps of my dignity, I still myself and spit out, “Your sorry means nothing. You. Mean. Nothing.” Marching to the bedside table, I take the glass and hold it up as I pass him, grabbing the door handle. “You don’t deserve the fish. And you sure as fuck never deserved me.”

He grabs my wrist to halt my departure, his blue eyes doused in electric fire. “Tell me you hate me, Kit.”

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I summon a calm I don’t feel and jerk my arm free. “I don’t hate you anymore, Cutter. I pity you.”

Now, it’s over.

As I stand at the threshold of the club bar the perpetual dull ache in my stomach, like knowing something bad is about to happen, expands to my chest, a weight of dread crushing down on me. Despair and grief seep into my bones at seeing Cutter standing there with his hand clasped in hers. My stomach growls, but I’m not hungry. Food fuels the living. I’m barely surviving.

“Cutter has an announcement!” Dad informs the room, nodding in their direction. I hold my breath, gripping the doorframe so tightly, my nails splinter under the pressure. I’d managed to pick myself up from the bedroom floor, my eyes swollen and red with the ocean of tears I shed since learning about Claire. Now, all I want is to be back in my room, hiding,dying alone. But the fish needs food. I’ll let myself starve, but not him. I need him.

The phantom wound in my chest pulses. Stab—stab—stab. Everyone is focused on Cutter, all laughter and smiles. Do they not see me over here, a shadow of who I once was?

Heartbreak is loneliness wrapping its hands around your throat until every inhale feels like swallowing glass. I’m invisible and everyone I care about is blind to my torment.

Cutter’s brow crashes as he finds my gaze across the room. Tears burn the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to cry.

Not in front of him.

Never in front ofher.

I track the gulp bobbing in his throat then fixate on his lips as he says, “We’re getting married.”

The world stops spinning. My legs threaten to buckle beneath me. The little speck of hope still alive inside me drains away like the tide receding. In an instant, all our memories flood my mind, all the laughter, intimacy—it’s too much for one heart to bear, and mine bursts like a balloon. I’m sure the rupture can be heard throughout the room, yet no one says a thing. My body folds over on itself without warning, the air fleeing my lungs.

Forcing myself to turn away, I propel forward, leaning on the wall for support as I make my way back down the hall. Confusion, anger, and sorrow battle for dominance in my mind until I focus on the one thing I need: acceptance.

He’s marrying her.

He thinks the grass will be greener with a club slut than with me. Maybe the grass will be greener when it’s my sorrow watering it.

PART TWO

THE PRESENT

CHAPTER 14

EMPTY

NOW

---