Page 98 of Sunflower Persona
When I don’t say anything, she scoffs and storms out the front door. The sound of her engine roaring to life cuts through the air, and as it fades into the distance, it takes my heart with it.
She might not realize it yet, but this is for her own good. I’m letting her go because I love her too damned much to have her clip her wings by binding herself to me. That knowledge doesn’t stop the gaping hole in my chest from pulsing in agony.
I never thought heartbreak would be a physical pain.
A scream works its way out of my throat. It’s a mix of all the emotions warring inside me: rage, despair, anguish, frustration, regret. In one swift motion, I swipe everything from the counter onto the floor. The crashing cacophony soothes some of the chaos. Or maybe I find peace in making my environment match my mental state. Either way, once I start, I can’t stop, and in no time at all, my apartment is in shambles.
Broken glass litters the floor, crunching under every heavy step, and anything not bolted to the ground has been upturned. With nothing left to destroy and the pain as intense as it was the second she walked out the door, I turn to the only tried-and-truemethod I know for numbing all my feelings. I grab the unopened “rainy day” bottle of vodka tucked into my freezer, and I drink.
Chapter 31
Kori
Aloudbangechoes around my room as I slam the door shut with more force than necessary. But damn if it doesn’t feel good to get some of this churning, angry energy out somewhere. It hasn’t stopped vibrating under my skin—begging for retribution—since I stormed out of Gage’s apartment.
Outside of the initial shock, I’ve felt nothing but all-consuming rage. I’m sure the heartbreak will come later, but I haven’t had time to process those feelings when I’m still reeling from the audacity.
Ending things is one thing, but trying to play the martyr while doing it…just no.
He doesn’t get to pretend he’s saving me. He doesn’t get to rip my heart out and act like he’s doing me a favor.
I pace around my room with fury driving each step as I play back our last conversation in my head. There are so many things I wanted to say—should have said—that burn on my tongue. The vitriol brewing is so caustic, I’m surprised it hasn’t burned through my lips to force its way out.
“Goddamnit, Daisy, why didn’t you warn me men were cowardice pigs.”
For once in her life, the duck is silent. I roll my eyes and continue stomping around in my tight circle.
“He said he isn’t good enough for me. Can you believe him? If he wanted out, that’s all he had to say. He didn’t have to try to lessen the blow by making excuses for himself.”
A frustrated shriek pours out of my lips when I don’t get any kind of response. Maybe I’ve become too reliant on talking with my real friends. Or maybe this is one problem I can’t work through on my own.
I need to call Evelyn, but if I do it now, I’m going to snap—I can feel it. She was one of the ones who pushed me at him in the first place. Hell, they all did. I wouldn’t be in this position if I had let my crush live on unrequited until it eventually faded away. So as much as my fingers twitch to pick up the phone, I don’t. At least not until the last of the irritation bleeds away hours later.
But nothing takes its place, leaving me a hollow husk of the joyful girl who woke up this morning. I keep waiting for something to fill the void—the agonizing pain of heartbreak—but nothing comes.
It’s with that emptiness I finally call my friend. She picks up after the first ring.
“Kori? Is everything okay?” Her voice is filled with concern.
Mine would be too if the situation was reversed. We’ve only ever exchanged text messages before this. Calls are reserved for emergencies and death—breakups definitely qualify.
“Gage dumped me.” I hate how calm the words come out.
She doesn’t say anything for several seconds. The silence hangs for so long that I check to make sure the line is connected, but it is.
“Evelyn…are you there?” I ask.
“Shit, sorry. Yes. Holy fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m coming over now. What’s your favorite ice cream? Scratch that, I’ll bring them all. And wine.”
“You really don’t have to—”
“I’ll be there in ten,” she says as the line goes dead.
It’s more than I was hoping for, but maybe a good old-fashioned girls’ night is what I need to stop feeling so hollow. That’s what they always do in the movies. Eight minutes later, a knock raps on my door. She’s on me before I have it fully open, hugging me tightly with forgotten plastic bags still in each hand. An icy chill sinks through plastic into my clothes—that one must have the ice cream.
“How are you holding up?” she asks once she lets me go.
“I’m surprisingly okay.” Scarily okay, actually.
