Trying to live

Chapter 47

Two weeks without Rose were... bearable. I felt lonely, sure, but she wasn't in all my classes, and Mr. Laurent gave Henry and me a pass—we weren't needed for the play during that time. My sessions with Ms. Smith stayed the same. Lunches were with Scott and Cam, and yeah, the whole gang too, since I was sort of accepted back.

Just not by everyone.

Juliette, Leah, a few cheerleaders who took my swearing personally, and some jocks who thought I was their personal stand-up act kept their distance. Sneering from the edges. And Henry? Henry iced me out completely. That shouldn't have mattered. But it did.

Scott's voice played on loop: Whether you believe it or not, Em... Henry's always had a soft corner for you.

I wish he hadn't said that. It made things harder.

But I couldn't let myself think about that.

No one knew about Rose and me. Everyone assumed she was swamped with play rehearsals.   She'd always been my anchor—the one who could make me laugh or distract me from the darker stuff. Without her, I survived. Barely.

The guilt, though? That stuck. It clung like smoke, seeping into my clothes, my lungs, my sleep. I saw her face every night: hurt, betrayed. And the worst part? I hadn't defended myself. I hadn't even lied to her.

In the end, what I feared most happened. I hurt us both.

And Rose was right. I was selfish. I had always been selfish. But wasn't I allowed that? After everything I'd lived through, didn't I deserve a moment of comfort—even if it meant hurting others first? 

But at what cost?

I shoved the thought aside and focused on the day.

Mr. Laurent wanted Henry and me to help the costume crew pack up. The auditorium buzzed with noise and movement. Fabric dye and dust clung to the air, and someone was vocalizing off-key on stage.

Henry stood near a pillar, eyes on his phone. When I walked in, he looked up. For a second—just a second—something flickered in his expression. Recognition, maybe even softness. Then it vanished, replaced by the cold stare I'd grown used to.

I looked away.

Rose was already watching. She shook her head, just slightly. Like she could hear my thoughts.

But deep down, you're still in love with the guy who broke your heart.

Her voice echoed in my head like a splinter I couldn't dig out.

Mr. Laurent arrived, right on cue, and rattled off instructions. I wasn't a performer—just a helper—so I dazed out, nodded when it felt appropriate, and peeled off the second the meeting ended.

"Hi, Lena," I said to the girl with pigtails, sitting among piles of fabric. "I'm here to help with costumes."

She looked up, relieved. "Thank God. Greta's out sick, and it's just me."

That explained Henry's sudden disappearance. He was across the room now, laughing with guys he barely tolerated. Including Varun Sharma. But who was I to care?

"Anything I can do right now?" I asked.

Lena brightened. "Yeah! That pile over there—jewelry and accessories. I need someone to sort it into boxes labeled for each actor."

I nodded and got to work. For the next twenty minutes, I sifted through tangled earrings, tiaras, and cheap chains, sliding them into labeled bins. Rose's voice floated from the stage—confident, effortless.