Heat

I’d flung myself off a cliff, trusting that he’d be there to catch me, but he let me fall. I hadn’t realized until that moment how completely I’d trusted him. I was so stupid.

I felt my heart slow and sputter, thump and crack. The dam broke and gave way to a flood of bitter tears.

I mimicked his stance, crossed my arms over my chest and lifted my chin, hoping the posturing would give me the bravery I needed even as fat drops of saltwater spilled from my eyes.

“You’re wrong, Martin. There is something I can do.”

Martin became very still, quiet. His eyes cut to mine and they were sharp, focused.

“I’m breaking up with you.” I made no move to wipe away the wet tracks because…what was the point?

“Kaitlyn.” My name sounded like a plea and an accusation. I firmed my jaw. He shook his head. “Don’t say that.”

“What other choice do I have?” I was screaming at him, my anger reaching a boiling point. “If we break up then this goes away, there is no bias because we’re not together.”

“But we’d…what?” He searched my face. “We’d see each other in secret?”

I stubbornly shook my head, feeling the physical effects of misery. Yet grim, soothing resolve crept its way up my spine, wrapping my heart and mind in a blanket of numb certainty. He must’ve seen something shift, some change in my expression, because he rushed forward and gripped my arms.

“No…no, no, no. That’s not going to happen. You are not doing this.”

I released a pained breath that sounded more like a sob and looked at the wall over his shoulder, sniffling. Tears fell freely and I barely felt the cold trails they left on my cheeks. This desolation was like bee stings on every surface of my skin, my stomach rolling and clenching. I felt like I was being torn apart.

When I responded, it was without emotion, because I already knew what his answer would be. “I don’t think I really have a choice here, unless you can think of another solution.”

“You’re just going to give up? Just like that?”

I twisted out of his grip, walking backward several steps, and spat at him, “You make it sound like this is easy for me. This isn’t easy. You won’t give up your fancy satellite plans and I can’t let my mother suffer because of your father’s lies. You’re asking me to choose between right and wrong. I have to choose right.”

“That’s bullshit!” I winced because his voice was loud and severe, his eyes flashing, his expression livid as he closed the distance between us and jabbed his finger in my face. “If you don’t want to be with me then own it. Don’t blame it on some higher cause. You own it!”

“I do want to be with you! I lo—” I turned, covered my face before he could see it crumple, and walked three steps away, biting my tongue.

This was madness. I thought we loved each other, and yet…

Reason reared its affable head and politely suggested to me that one does not fall in love with a person over the course of a week. What I was feeling was the infatuation of newness; it was his smile and the way he touched me and the way he looked at me.

Love was lasting. Love finds a way. Love endures.

But we’d had a week. One week. Only a week.

“A beautiful week,” I said through my tears, not immediately realizing I’d spoken out loud.

“What?”

“We had a beautiful week,” I whispered, as I finally wiped the wetness from my face and dropped my hands, reason reminding me that just because I didn’t feel calm, didn’t mean I couldn’t be calm.

I would be calm.

I would not be hysterical.

I would walk out of this room, walk away from him, and never second-guess the decision, because it was the right thing to do.

Therefore, I lifted my chin, mentally preparing myself for what came next, and dug deep for courage. “I’ll always remember it. I’ll always…think of you.”

My vision blurred again. I needed to leave before more tears fell, because once I really started, it was going to be an epic sob fest. Multiple boxes of tissues were going to be used.

He spoke through clenched teeth; I knew he was furious, but he also sounded desperate. “I swear to God, Parker, if you leave, if you do this then that’s it. I swear, I’m done. I can’t forever be trying to prove to you that what I feel for you, what I want from you is real.”

“I believe you,” I said without turning around. I couldn’t look at him. I needed to leave. I wrapped my arms around my middle and after a short pause, walked to the door.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, his voice roughened with an edge of desperation. “Now I am begging, please don’t do this. I love you.” He exhaled this last part, the last word ending abruptly like he’d swallowed it, like it’d cost him.

A shock passed though me, his words were physical, possessed the ability to electrify the air, reach out to me, into my chest and squeeze my numbed heart. My steps faltered, my shoulders curved forward, and my arms held me tighter. I felt as though I was holding myself together. If I moved my hands I might shatter to pieces.

I turned, tried to gather a deep breath but found I couldn’t, the pain was too sharp, too acute. I met his gaze directly; the force of it, the pleading and prideful ferocity nearly knocked me over.

“Then help me,” I begged in return. “Please help me find another way. I don’t want to do this. Help me fight your father.”

His eyes were despairing, tortured as they moved over my face. He pleaded, “We can see each other in secret.”

“No. Someone would find out, and then it would make my mother look even worse.”

“He will cut me off, Parker.” Martin shook his head, pain and frustration and helplessness casting a contorting shadow over his features. “I can’t go against him, not yet.”

I released the breath I’d been holding. My voice was watery but firm. I shrugged, then said, “Then…I guess this is goodbye.”

CHAPTER 14

Atomic Weights

I couldn’t stop crying.

I just physically could not.

I hurt. I hurt so completely. And every time I closed my eyes I saw his face and I hurt more. I was choking on it, asphyxiating, drowning in it.

I was not this person, or at least, I’d never been this person before right now. I was calm and detached; I abhorred drama. I never understood girls who cried about boys. But I did now. I totally freaking got it. I had no control over this agony, I had no choice but to feel it, all of it, and it sucked.

So I buried myself under my covers and cried like it was my job and I was hoping for a promotion. I cried until my pillow was soaked and the only thing that came close to the hurt in my heart was the throbbing in my head.

And this is how Sam found me that night after breaking up with Martin.

She paused when she opened the door to our room, the light from the suite area spilling across my bed, and I met her eyes as they scanned my splotchy, swollen face. The corners of her mouth turned down as she pressed her lips together.

“Anyone die?” she asked.

I shook my head and pressed my face to the damp pillow, my words muffled, as I responded melodramatically, “No. But I want to.”

“You want to die?”

“Yes, I want to die.”

“Why?”

“We broke up.”

Aaaaand more crying. I hiccupped on a ragged sob.

“Well…shit.” I heard her sigh, then say gently as she rubbed my back, “I’ll be right back with stuff for ice cream sundaes.”

The door clicked shut behind her. So I cried and wrapped myself in the chaotic thoughts that had plagued me since leaving Martin.

Maybe I was being selfish.

Maybe Martin’s revenge was more important than my mother’s reputation and providing affordable Internet service to millions of people.

Maybe we could see each other in secret and no one would find out.

Maybe we were just taking a break for four months and we’d pick right back up once his master revenge plan was set in motion.

Maybe I was turning into a pathetic creature grasping at straws because I missed him with every cell in my body and the thought of never seeing him or talking to him again made me want to light myself on fire.

Not actually light myself on fire, but do something drastic because I just freaking hurt so very, very bad.

And it had only been five hours.

Sam returned sometime later while I was in the middle of replaying my conversation with Martin in my head for the hundredth time and therefore second-guessing my decision for the millionth time.

She flipped on the light, making me groan, wince, and wish more fervently for death.

“Katy, take the pink pills by your bed and drink some water. You’re probably dehydrated.”

“What’s in the pink pills?”

“Ibuprofen.”

I struggled to sit up, reached for the pills, and started to cry. “Okay,” I said through my tears, “I’ll take the pills, but nothing will ever make me feel good ever again.”

Sam tsked sadly and I heard the clatter of dishes and spoons, the rustling of a plastic bag, and the sure sounds of an ice cream sundae being prepared. After I finished taking a gulp of water and Sam tossed me a new box of tissues, she placed the bowl in my hands.