Page 61 of Broken By the Bad Boy

Ben draws my stiff frame into a hug and plants a kiss on my forehead. My heart skips a painful beat. I don’t want to believe this is goodbye. It cannot be the end of us. He steps back before I return the hug.

With his thumb, he wipes the tears from my cheeks. “Have a safe trip, Gracie. Take care of you.”

He walks backward. When he reaches the door, his hand wraps around the handle. I shake my head to clear the haze. He hesitates. I don’t know what I expect, but it’s not for him to open the door.

“Benny,” I call out to him. “Please. You promised.”

The door shuts quietly behind him. I stare at the door for so long until tears blur my vision.

He’s gone.

Benny left me.

Twenty-Nine

BEN

On Monday,I caught Gracie staring at me with a sad smile. I asked if she was okay, and she told me everything was fine. On Tuesday, she suggested leaving school to spend time together. I turned it down because I didn’t want to make that a habit for us. She is a great student with good grades and perfect attendance. Now, she’s telling me they are leaving mere hours before they move to another city. The more I think about it and the obvious signs I ignored because I trusted her, the angrier I become. She made me promise not to get mad, knowing that was impossible.

My hands clench in my pockets, and I release my breath slowly. I am okay.

I survived before she came into my life. I will be fine when she leaves. Everyone always leaves. Dad left. Mom moved in with Josef, and I became the second choice. It was only a matter of time before Gracie left. She would want us to continue the relationship, but we know how it would end.

A painful smile lifts my lips when I stop in front of my bike parked beside Gracie’s car. Good thing I suggested coming in our own rides, or I would have been stranded. I kick the bike to life and drive out of this place. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, but she had to ruin it for us.

What’s the point of training, the time at the gym if she won’t be here for the finals? I reach home in one piece and jog up to my room to discard my outfit that partially smells of her. My phone pings in my pocket, but I don’t care to check the caller. It must be her. I don’t want to talk to her.

Tossing my jacket into the closet, I grunt when my toe hits the wall. I hop on one leg to ease the pain. A box falls out of the last compartment of my closet, and the puzzles and silly notes from class tumble out of it. It wasn’t about the puzzle as much as it was about the silly one-liners Gracie scribbled at the back. I sit cross-legged on the floor and sift through them. Picking up one of the crossword puzzles, I flip it upside down and read the single line in her pretty handwriting.

Forget hydrogen, you’re my number one element.

Hydrogen is the first element on the element table. I scoff as hard as I did the first day I received it. Only Gracie comes up with corny lines and makes them sound cute. My chest tightens, and a sob hitches in my throat. I don’t want my girlfriend to move to another city without me.

I push the puzzle into the box and pick another. My hands tremble, and the puzzle almost drops to the floor. I don’t feel like her number one element now. I feel like an expired coupon.

You are sweeter than 3.14! I’ve got my ion you babe.

Laughter escapes me, and a few tears roll out of my eyes. Gracie gave me this in literature class. I had no idea what Ms. Eva was saying, but she kept ranting, forcing me to tune her out. The reminder hurts. I guess I am not as sweet as pie anymore. She no longer has her eyes on me. She has them on New York. I shove the remaining puzzles and notes into the box and dump it in the closet.

My phone beeps. Mom wants to know what time I’ll bring Asher tomorrow. It was supposed to be in the morning, so I could spend the rest of the day with Gracie, but plans have changed. The phone rings before I finish typing my reply to her. I hope she’s not calling to invite me for the weekend.

“Hey,” Mom says.

“Hey.”

I kick my legs out and rest my back on the wall. The silence lingers for too long, and Mom clears her throat. It’s this way with us. She calls and doesn’t know how to lead the conversation, and neither do I. I prefer texting her to avoid this awkwardness. I move to the bed and stare at the ceiling.

A few moments later, she has not spoken a word. I don’t have it in me to be an angry brat today. Since Gracie and I started dating, I have been a bit conversational and friendly to her.

“Mom?”

“Ben.” She clears her throat again. I don’t mean to make her uncomfortable sometimes, but it just happens. And she never stops trying, which makes me feel guilty afterward. “I sent you a text.”

“I was just about to reply,” I tell her.

I adjust the pillow under my head and roll to my side. She might think I’m lying. I ignore her calls a lot. Most times, she calls for the same reasons. To check on me or invite me to her house.

“It’s alright,” she whispers. “Are you coming?”

---