Page 10 of The Hang Up
I set the pen down and stare at the page.
It’s not perfect, but it’s honest.
Now all I have to do is find the courage to give it to her… and hope she reads it.
FIVE
Lena
I wake up with a knot in my stomach and a scream caught in my throat.
The dream still lingers, warm and sweet and entirely unwelcome. It was one of those dreams that felt too real, the kind that clings to your skin like honey, sticky and impossible to shake. Holden was there, smiling at me like he used to. His hand brushing my cheek, his lips whispering “forever.”
It made my chest ache in the worst way. I hate him. I hate that even my subconscious won’t give me a break. As if I haven’t been carrying enough lately, now I have to carry this, too.
I groan and throw off the covers, blinking up at the ceiling of my tiny, too-hot bedroom. The fan clicks as it turns, the steady whirring a little too loud this morning.
The ache behind my eyes tells me I didn’t sleep nearly enough.
I pad down the hall, my socked feet silent on the hardwood floor. The smell of menthol ointment hits me before I even reach the kitchen. My mom’s already up, sitting at the table with a mug of tea, her knit shawl draped around her thin shoulders like armor.
“You’re up early,” I murmur, forcing my voice to sound soft, pleasant. Not tired. Not frayed at the edges.
She grunts, not looking up from her crossword. “Didn’t sleep much.”
I nod, moving toward the cabinets to grab a mug. I already know the rest of her pills are sitting on the counter, lined up neatly beside the toaster. Morning meds, mid-morning meds, afternoon meds. Her life measured in tiny doses and prescription bottles.
“Did you eat anything?” I ask, glancing at the untouched plate of toast beside her.
“Not hungry.”
“You have to eat with your pills,” I remind her gently.
Another grunt.
I don’t push.
I make myself a cup of coffee, standing by the sink as I sip it, letting the heat burn the bitter taste from my mouth. It doesn’t help because he’s still in my head.
Holden.
His laugh, the one that lit up entire rooms. The way he looked at me like I was made of stardust and magic. The promise he made in the letter I’ve stupidly kept for too many years.
You’re it for me, Lena. You always have been. You always will be.
What a joke.
I scrub a hand over my face and pour the rest of my coffee down the sink. The knot in my chest is growing, twisting tighter with every second. It seems like no matter where I go, he’s there.
I saw him at the hardware store yesterday when I was picking up supplies to fix the leaky faucet in the bathroom. He was standing in the next aisle, holding a bucket and talking to some old guy about water sealant. I ducked behind a shelf of paint cans like a coward, my heart thundering in my chest.
Two days before that, I spotted him near the lake, walking with his hands in his pockets like he wasn’t the embodiment of my heartbreak. He paused to look out at the water, and for a second, I almost stopped, too. Almost asked him if he remembered all the nights we snuck out to sit on the dock until the sun rose.
And there was the time I saw him talking to Wade outside the diner. The two of them were laughing like they were still kids, like nothing had changed.
But everything has changed.
I’m tired of feeling haunted. I’m tired of seeing him everywhere. It’s like the whole town is conspiring against me, throwing him in my path at every turn, daring me to break.
