Chapter thirty

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It's a quarter past 8.

15 minutes after 8.
15 minutes of silence since my dad came home from work.

Over the past few weeks, their fights have turned into passive-aggressive silence. The house feels eerie. Walking around in a house filled with frustration feels like walking around in a minefield. My body always preparing itself for impact, my mind never at ease. So I've been avoiding being at home and whenever I leave the house I play pretend. When I hang out with Lucie and Brooke, I put a smile on my face and pretend. When I meet Colin at the top of Vesuvius hill, I push my emotions down and don't talk about the thoughts that haunt my mind when I'm alone.

I play pretend because I've discovered that pretending something doesn't exist creates a door inside my mind behind which I can lock away everything I don't want to think about.

So I smile and pretend when I'm not home.

When I am, I lock myself in my room and wait for the mine to explode.

It's been 15 minutes and the house is still silent. Maybe they've waved the white flag. Maybe tonight is an evening like we used to have them when I was 10. A movie playing on the tv, a big bowl of popcorn, and our little family snuggled up on the couch.

I fill my own heart with hope, I poison my mind with dreams of what could be.

I open my door and head downstairs but my feet stop halfway down the staircase when my mother's voice breaks the silence in our house.

"There's a job offer in New York." I sit down on one of the steps. New York? I cross my fingers as I cover my face. I don't want to move again. Please, please, please, don't let us move again. I've just opened my heart to a real friendship. I don't want to give up the sleepovers at Brooke's, the way Lucie's ridiculous jokes make me laugh, or the endless conversations with Colin. I don't want to move away from any of them.

"That's pretty far." It's not pretty far, Dad, it's too far.

"It's not that you've cared before when you accepted job offers." I can imagine the clenched jaws and eyes burning with rage. It's so quiet that I can hear a conversation of a couple walking past our front door. I want to stand up and say something before the ticking of the clock gets overruled by screaming voices. My throat closes. Nothing comes out. Maybe it's because I'm scared to intervene or maybe it's because deep down I know their pause resembles someone who stepped on a mine and is waiting to remove the pressure so that the explosion can swallow us whole. It's too quiet. I'm scared.

"If you want to say something you might as well be completely open about it instead of jabbing me with snarky comments." My father's voice is harsh.

Please stop. Please, please, just stop.

"I've decided to take it, the job." My eyebrows shoot up, and my head snaps in the direction of the kitchen.

No, no, no. I don't want to leave. Don't make us leave again, mom.

"Don't you think that's something we ought to discuss?"

"When should we have discussed it? You're barely home. And whenever you are, we fight. That's all we do these days. I've had enough, George. I've given up everything for you and you don't even realize it. I moved to god knows where. I restarted my life, time and time again because you accepted the new job offers time and time again and each time would be the last. Each time would be the final time. 'I have what I want now' but it is never enough. It isn't. For you, it is never enough and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of pushing my own goals away to make place for yours."

"Clara." He calls her name as if it hurts him.

"Don't Clara me, George. Don't you fucking dare Clara me. I've had enough!" The pain in my mom's voice makes my body shiver.

"Don't blame me for the decision we took together," he shoots back. "We build this life together. Every decision I made was one I talked to you about. Every job, I asked you, and every time you said it was fine. You can't blame me for something we both agreed on."

"How do you expect me to crush your dreams?"

"I expected you to be honest. You could've talked. You could've communicated to me that you weren't happy with cutting back your working hours. I wanted to work my way up in the company, yes. I wanted to make a name for myself, yes. But I never expected you to make any sacrifices. You did that yourself. You made those decisions yourself."

"You gave me no chance."

"Then what about every day, every hour, every minute we were together for the last 17 years? You could've talked."

"What? When I was alone at the dinner table? During the short mornings? Did you want me to ruin the little time we had together? Because I sure didn't. I wanted you to be happy, I didn't want to hold you back from your dreams but it made me into a person I do not want to be, George. I feared becoming this. I never wanted to be a housewife, I never wanted to live god knows where. I never wanted this because I loved my job, my career, loved the city."

Their conversation goes on but I don't process any of it. All I hear are her words. Again. And again. And again.

I never wanted this.

I'm paralyzed. My head is spinning. My heart is breaking. She never wanted the life she has. We don't make her happy. We aren't what she wants.

I blink a few times as my train of thought makes me realize she doesn't want all of us to move to New York. She wants to go alone. My mom wants to leave our family.

Good gracious, New York. I don't know how many miles there are between the big city and our home. I only know it's a lot. Maybe the flight connection between New York and Arkenshaven is good, making it easy to visit. Would she even want me to visit? Will she visit my dad and me? I'm not sure anymore she'd even want to.

I feared becoming this. I never wanted to be a housewife, I never wanted to live god knows where. I never wanted this.

Was every love confession of her a lie? Why would she suddenly leave? Why so far? Am I the reason? Don't we make her happy? Don't I give her enough love? Don't I do enough to make her proud? Am I not enough to make her stay?

The questions are screaming in my head. They're deafening me from every best-case scenario. They spark the fear inside of me. 4 letters, 1 word. Fear. An emotion created to keep you safe from danger, from anything that might hurt you. It seeps inside my veins and imbeds itself inside the roots of my existence. It takes over.

I think about fighting. I think about confronting her with her own words. Showing her my tears so she could see how they cut right through me. But then I think about the damage the confrontation could cause. I stand up and run out of our house. I slam the door shut trying to erase the brutal yelling out of my mind, trying to shove them out as hard I shove the door. But it doesn't help.

Tears are streaming down my face like my eyes are the storm and my cheeks are the lands downing in waterdrops. My heart is pumping, throbbing against my chest, driving my boiling blood through my arteries. My blurry vision lands on my phone screen and I blindly tap on Brooke's name as she was the last person I texted. I start walking, not knowing where I'm going, the only thing I do know is that I want to be as far away as possible from the house that is about to explode. The family, my family, that's about to fall apart. Maybe I should try to save something, try to salvage something from the wreckage we already are. However, I run because deep down I know we are a lost cause.

My phone is pressed against my ear as my other hand is covering my mouth trying to hold back the sobs, trying to hold myself together, but failing miserably.

"Hello, you there!" A thousand pounds fall off my shoulder as I start to ramble whatever comes out first, but I abruptly stop as her voice starts speaking again. "This is Brooklyn Donovan's phone, if you're trying to reach me, you clearly didn't get very lucky. I'll call you back whenever I can, but don't leave a message, because I probably won't listen to it. I mean it, don't spam my message box or I'll haunt you in your sleep." The beep rings through my ears, but whereas the words flooded out just seconds ago, my mouth is now filled with silence. I end the call. My thoughts jump to Lucie and a vision of her laughing with her big loving family displays before my eyes. I imagine them all sitting beside each other around a big table playing a board game and one of the broken pieces of my heart cracks in two. I can't ruin her weekend with her family, I won't. It's not because mine is fighting until the end of days, that I have to tear away Lucie from a loving night with her parents.

So I run. My body moves and I follow. My mind is foggy and with every step I take, my breathing gets heavier. I don't know how long I've been running, but when I come to a stop I'm panting, my nose is running, but the storm in my eyes has calmed down enough to be able to see where I ended up. I ring the doorbell and wait. I nibble on my nails, wanting to run away, to keep everything to myself, yet I don't move. My feet are nailed to the ground waiting for Brooke to open the door so I can have an excuse to not return home.

It's quiet and the longer I wait the more guilt that consumes me. What am I doing here? I don't need to bother Brooke with my problems. I can just run it out. I can scrape my pieces back together, I am strong. I don't need anyone. I don't need a warm hug, I don't need to talk, I don't need-

"August!" My feet stop walking away when I hear his voice. I immediately erase the tears on my cheeks before I turn around to face Colin.

Act normal. Everything is fine. I am fine. I'm good. I'm great.

"I thought I was meeting Brooke but-" He cups my cheeks and stares into my eyes.

"Talk to me." Three small words but their meaning goes way beyond. Talk to me, confide in me, trust me, burden me with your problems. But I don't want to burden him.

"I'm fine." I look away because his soothing gaze is breaking my walls, making me want to collapse in his arms and cry until all my tears have left my body.

"You're not."

Act normal. Everything is fine. I am fine. I'm good. I'm great.

"If you don't want to talk we can just sit in silence. Here, or inside. Or I can walk you home." Home. Do I still have a home if it's merely a house with a broken family? People say home is where the heart is but where is mine? Where does my heart belong? It only hurts when I think of home. Is it supposed to hurt? A home should be inviting, warm, and loving but when I think of mine none of that comes to mind. It hasn't been inviting for a couple of months, neither has it been warm, and whatever love that was left vanished tonight. My home is gone.

I feel Colin's arms embrace me and I hold onto him so fiercely I'm probably squeezing every last breath out of him but I don't dare to let go. I want to feel at home. A warmth. A love. I want to feel as if I'm welcome and wanted.

He invites me in, brings me a hot chocolate, and gives me the time to rearrange my thoughts. I replay the night over and over again in my head until the conclusion falls over my lips.

"I think my parents are getting a divorce." I don't dare to say the rest. I don't dare to say the words that haunt my mind aloud because that would make them part of my reality.

I think my parents are getting a divorce because my mom is leaving us and I don't know if she wants me to come with her.

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head when he asks if I want to talk about it. I don't want to say the words. I will never say them. I can't because the reality of them will hurt me even more and I don't think I can handle that. I haven't even said them aloud and I'm already a wreck lulling myself to sleep in Colin's arms with my sobs.

I don't know how many hours have passed when I wake up lying on his couch. I'm wrapped around him like a koala, my legs tangled in his, my hand on his chest, and my head snuggled up in the crook of his neck. He stares down at me. His eyes look tired as if he hasn't slept one single minute. When he reveals what time it is, guilt seeps inside of me.

"Maybe I should-"

"Stay," he finishes without hesitation. "You should stay. Don't you dare say you're going to leave in the middle of the night when you just cried yourself to sleep." I'm grateful for his words because, in all honesty, I don't want to leave. Partly because I don't want to go back to my parents, partly because I don't want to leave the bubble I'm finding myself in. It's safe in his arms. Sealed from reality, responsibility and pain. It's as if the rest of the world is tuned out.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Even though he's careful when he asks, his question cracks my bubble. My mother's words seep back in. The fight and the possible result of it quickly follow. I shake my head, hoping to shake my thoughts away too.

"Do you want another hot chocolate?" His tenderness warms the coldness in my heart. "Do you want to stay here?"

"Where else should we go?"

"I could set up the guest bedroom so you could sleep in a bed instead of on me." His teasing grin spreads a fire starting from my heart to every inch of my skin. I shake my head trying to communicate I want nothing more than to stay in his arms.

"I'm good," I whisper.

"I'm not a mattress, you know."

"Are you complaining?" His silence contains more confessions than a single sentence could. As an answer, I lean in closer until the space between us becomes almost nonexistent. "I don't want to go to the guest bedroom." One heartbeat. Another heartbeat. Our noses touch. A heartbeat. His warm breath teases my lips. A rush of fire races through my veins. Another heartbeat passes before I kiss him. Fully. Passionately. Hungrily as if I've been starving for his touch since the day he kissed me first.

I breathe him in and let myself sink into his touch as his hands slowly sneak in my hair to pull me closer. The little space between us becomes filled with soft whimpers and uneven breathing. With every second of his lips on mine, a brick from the wall around my heart falls. With every touch, my heart slowly crawls out of the lie it has been drowning in.

The lie that believed I could be his friend without falling in love with every single piece of him.

"August, stop." I immediately pull away, confused by his demand and stunned by my thoughts. "I don't know what this is but it's not happening. Not tonight."

"You don't want this?" I'm frozen as the fear of rejection takes over. What if I'm too late? What if his feelings have vanished because I asked him to ignore them? What if he stopped me because friends don't kiss this way? What if friends are all he wants to be anymore? "You don't want this," I state. I quickly shuffle from under him, pure shame reddening my cheeks.

"That's not what I said." I shake my head trying to communicate that I don't want him to soften the message.

"It's fine. It's okay. We agreed to be friends. I mean, I forced us to be friends. I pushed you away even though-" I stop rambling. I don't dare to pronounce the words that popped into my mind mere seconds ago, afraid that hearing myself say them will only make this situation harder. "We're friends. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

"Even though what?" I try to escape his question by apologizing once more but he completely ignores it. "Even though what, August?"

"I should go," I mutter, turning away from him.

"Answer the question." My chest feels heavy from every emotion trying to find a place in my body. I spin around and helplessly throw my hands in the air.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to finish your sentence."

"Why?" His jaws are clenched and there's a storm raging in his eyes.

"So that I know that I'm not just a distraction. I didn't stop you because I don't want you, I stopped you because I know you don't want this."

"But what if I do?" I blurt. "What if I do want this?" You. Us. This. Everything.

Keys jiggle. My head snaps toward the door. Someone is home. My feet move before my brain can process what's happening. The front door slams shut. A strong hand wraps itself around my arm and snatches me into a dark corner in the kitchen. Then my back hits the wall and my safe bubble bursts by impact.

Lucie. Brooke. My parents. Their fight. Their words.

I feared becoming this. I never wanted to be a housewife, I never wanted to live god knows where. I never wanted this.

She's leaving. I'm losing her. I'm losing my family. I'm losing my home.

I stare at Colin.

He could be the reason I lose my friends too. He could be the reason I end up alone when love vanishes as it did with my parents.

I shut my eyes as I try to get rid of the thought.

His thumb caresses my cheek and gently moves over my lower lip. "Please, wait."

What if I can pretend this isn't wrong?

What if I can ignore every shred of fear?

What if I can pretend loving him is easy?

I nod and he grins, relief visible through his eyes. When he kisses me, I catch myself wishing my lips could absorb that feeling. Instead, the reality of what I'm doing hits me as he walks away into the hallway to prevent his sister from finding me. I'm risking everything and I'm terrified.

"I thought you were going to sleep at Nate's?" Colin asks referring to Brooke's boyfriend. It's recent but they are head over heels in love. Brooke's not the clingy type but anyone with eyes in their sockets can see she's lost her heart to him. It's the small moments. The moments when she gets a text from him and her face lights up like fireworks, or when he rushes over to her to give her a quick kiss before class starts.

I'm jealous of how her heart isn't tied up in guilt.

"What are you doing up so late?" Brooke's words are mashed together. "It's-" There's a pause as if she's looking at her watch or a clock on the wall to try to read the time. "Late."

"You're not sober, are you?"

"I'm moderately functional."

He sighs. "I'll take that as a no."

"Don't look so disappointed. It should be me who's disappointed in you. Breaking my best friend's heart. Shame on you."

Shame on you.

The sentence echoes through my mind. Every word is a knife slicing through the beating machine inside my body.

Shame on me.

My chest feels heavy, my throat hurts from holding in every shred of emotion.

Shame on me.

I squeeze my eyes shut trying to stop my brain from pressing the replay button.

Shame on me. Shame on me for being a bad friend. Shame on me for doing this to her. Shame on me for potentially ruining the first close friendship I've had in a long time.

He broke Lucie's heart and here I am, stomping all over it as if I don't care about her. As if I don't care about our friendship.

I'll lose her. I'll lose them both because friends don't do this to each other.

"It was a mutual decision to end things." His voice is curt. Maybe

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