NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY | updates every monday

68: chronicle of a heartbreak foretold

            By the time I'm standing outside Joe's door, I'm surprised I haven't gnawed a hole through my cheek. Tears already bite at my eyes but thankfully don't gather. The shreds of the string of hearts tangle in my gut, somehow still managing to wind tight after I've torn it apart.

Joe beams when she opens the door, tooth gems sparkling, and the string of hearts yanks at my insides. 'Hey.'

I've not seen her for thirteen days and, like a stray arriving home, I nearly whimper. My body jolts with the need to get to her. I want to jump around in circles, wagging my tail.

I tuck my hands into my pockets instead. 'Hiya.' Even the greeting leaves me like the warning tremor before an earthquake.

I nearly fall to my knees crossing the threshold. I'm ready to beg—there ain't no one I can beg owt from but I would grovel if it meant I could do this without hurting her. Because it will hurt her. Even I'm not so blinded by insecurity that I could say she ain't caught no feelings, even if it is for a fabricated version of me.

Joe smiles again, though understanding is heavy on her face. 'You're ending it, aren't you?'

We watch each other through the blur of tears.

'I–'

'It's okay.'

Rather than kick me out of her apartment, she guides me to her plush lilac sofa though she leaves a foot of space between us. Of course Joe allows me the opportunity to explain why I'm dumping her. She were always too kind for me.

Resting my forearms on my knees, I hunch over, staring at her graphic rug. Joe don't say owt, leaving the silence to take root while I move the words in my mouth, clashing them against my teeth like a bitter candy.

'Joe, I...' I wrench my focus from my wrung hands to look at her. The least I can do is look at her. 'I've not been... entirely honest with you.'

Panic drains her smile. Her inhale turns sharp and she leans just a fraction away from me. Verdict: I'm no better than Tamsin.

I tear the words from my gums before she can construct theories that I'm a serial murderer. 'My parents... left.'

'Back to Colombia?' The familiar lines appear between her brows, the sight of which alone makes the string of hearts tug again. Her eyes soften but confusion is obvious.

'Yeah. Thirteen years ago. They left back to Colombia thirteen years ago.'

Watching realisation crack over her face unfurls long vines of dread that crawl up my throat. My stomach is a thicket of stinging nettle. The illusion finally wilts and she sees me as the anaemic parasite that I am, the vibrant flower revealing itself as a trap. My tears put a valiant effort into blocking Joe's horror from my sight but it's too pungent to be buried even when the details of her features smear.

Verdict: I'm no better than Tamsin. I've lied to her the whole time. I've allowed her to feel secure when I knew she was standing above a trapdoor.

Joe shifts close enough to grab my hand. When did it start shaking?

The tremble spreads to her voice. 'Nicolás... I'm so sorry. All those times I kept asking about them and I just... I should've noticed it made you uncomfortable.' Wrapping her other arm around me, Joe pulls me into her. I'm frigid in the embrace.

Why isn't she kicking me out of the apartment? Why isn't she threatening to phone the police? Why isn't she confronting me as a liar?

The way she holds me melts all my stitches and though I clench my abdomen and screw up my face, tears start to spill. I've had enough of crying—I'm well done with it. But Joe's caresses siphon the tears out of me at record speed.