Page 103 of The Love of My Next Life
I stay frozen to the spot, my heart pounding in my head. He reaches his bedroom door across the hall when I move without thinking. I hurl the ceramic coffee mug at the wall next to him. It smacks the dry wall with a crash, leaving a giant dent before falling to the floor and shattering into pieces.
I watch him freeze, look down at the shattered mug, then walk into his bedroom and close the door without another sound.
TWENTY-THREE
My eyes trackhim through the house as he moves like a ghost.
He pretends I’m nothing. Like we were nothing. I watch him to make sure he’s real. He’s alive, and I didn’t dream it all up.
It feels like it’s been months. A lifetime. Like we’re not the same as we were before. But when he gets close enough, I still feel that jolt of energy. We’re connected whether he wants to acknowledge it or not.
I’ve been having nightmares. The same one, over and over. Macon’s lifeless body on the dirty floor of that basement bedroom turns into my mom’s as I’m doing CPR. Her face is streaked with mascara and vomit, and she’s gray. I haven’t slept a whole night since the hospital.
I haven’t told anyone. I don’t think Claire deserves to know, and Macon isn’t giving me the time of day. I’ve never felt so alone.
* * *
“Merry Christmas,”Macon mumbles as he pours himself a cup of coffee. I stare at him and don’t speak. The kitchen smells like the cinnamon rolls Drea just put in the oven. She went to her room to take a shower and my dad is wrapping a few last-minute gifts.
Right now, it’s just me and Macon, but it doesn’t last long.
Claire comes and sits next to me. I feel her eyes on my face, but I don’t look at her. I just stare at Macon as he fixes his coffee and takes a few sips. When Macon leaves without acknowledging either of us, Claire sighs.
I swear, every time she witnesses an awkward, stilted interaction between me and her brother, she blows out a breath of relief. It pisses me off every single time. I imagine slapping her after that sigh. She’s taking comfort in my pain.
I stand abruptly and follow Macon, leaving Claire in the kitchen without a word.
“You’re just going to keep ignoring me?” I seethe at his back as I follow him up the stairs.
“Would you be quiet,” he hisses. “Trent or Mom could hear you.”
“I don’t care,” I say louder. He stops in the doorway of his room, one hand wrapped around his coffee mug and the other braced on the door frame. “I’m right here, Macon. I’m right fucking here, and you’re just acting like I don’t exist.”
“That’s because youcan’texist,” he says calmly. “Not how you want to.”
The meaning behind his words burns into my chest like a brand.Nobody. Nothing. Nonexistant.
“You’re just trying to hurt me,” I whisper, and he shakes his head.
“I’m trying to avoid hurting you, but Jesus Christ you just won’t leave it the fuck alone.” He pushes his hair back and sighs at the ceiling. “Have some self-preservation or something, yeah? You’re making this harder on yourself.”
“How can you be so fucking apathetic?” I ask. His words, his tone, his expressions. Everything suggests that I didn’t matter to him. I am the only one in pain. “Doesn’t this hurt you? Didn’t you care at all? Show some fucking emotion.”
“I’m trying not to make a scene.” He jabs a finger at his chest and argues in a hushed voice. “I’m trying to keep from fucking anything else up.”
“And what about me?” I step toward him, my eyes narrowed and my jaw tight. I’m being pathetic and I don’t even care. I can’t stop. “This is fuckingmeup.”
“That’s exactly why we gotta do this!” He points between our bodies. “This is bad for both of us. This is bad for everyone.” He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes through his nose. “Just fucking accept it and move on, Lennon.”
My eyes sting. I don’t want to cry, but I’m so fucking tired and emotionally wrecked. I can’t hold back the tears.
“I don’t want to accept it,” I choke out. “I don’t want to move on.”
His face falls and he takes a step toward me.
“Lennon, please,” he whispers. “Don’t cry, please.” He reaches out and brushes a tear off my cheek, and I lean into his touch. God, I miss his touch.
A step creaks behind us, and Macon drops his hand, taking a step back. He glances over my shoulder and his eyes harden, then he goes into his room and shuts the door without another word.
