Beside

63 - divide

"Jellybean? Do you think it's okay to be mad at someone you love?"

"Yeah, but it's confusing. You don't stop loving them, even if you're mad."

"Right. It's like your heart's in two places at once."

ｃｈｒｉｓ

Everything's so... wrong.

Camila won't acknowledge the letter. She threw it in the garbage last night, waited for Noah to call, who didn't, then took Charlie upstairs to bed, crying as she went. Everything's wrong.

Jed hasn't spoken at all. His last words were, "Scream," "Pain," and "Sorry," before he fell silent on the ride home last night. Everything's wrong.

Whitney won't talk about last night. She said she drank too much and went home too late, even though Fox drove her back before midnight. She needs tea when she's hungover, so I hope Walker's taking care of her. She wouldn't answer my calls after that, not even when I woke up extra early to check on her. Everything's wrong.

Fox won't speak about the book. It also means he hasn't ended this deal between us, either. He found me for breakfast this morning, chopped the bananas for my cereal, and when I asked, he said not to worry about it. And he smiled, but it wasn't the right kind of smile. Everything's wrong.

There's a certain kind of pain that grabs onto your ribs, pulling apart until each breath becomes a negotiation. It's a tightness—no amount of air can loosen it. I've felt it before when my left lung collapsed. This is so eerily similar.

He lingers on my lips—the memory of a kiss. And God, I wanted to stay there, to let him anchor me in place, to forget everything but the rhythm of our bodies and lips and breath.

Madison. The one who hurt him, who made him bleed in ways I'll never forgive. She was standing there in the flesh, and I don't ever remember being so mad at someone in my life. Especially someone who hadn't transgressed against me.

But that's the thing. What hurts him, hurts me.

I'm not strong enough to handle the heartbreak Fox would give me.

I lean against the shower wall, closing my eyes under the steady stream, trying to ground myself. But all I see is him—Fox carrying a heart that won't stop bleeding.

I'm supposed to go to Hallowed Grounds today, to meet Whitney and explain, to see Camila and really explain, but... everything's wrong.

ᖴO᙭

Cam's latest form of torture training was devised solely for the days in which she could not be here in the basement. She calls it innovative. I call her lazy.

Sandbags, heavy as hell, biting into my shoulders. I carry them back and forth. Back and forth. They dig into muscle, scrape skin. It's like stepping with lead boots through quicksand. Maybe I'm sinking. Maybe it's in my head.

Move up a class. Gain weight. Gain strength. For Onyx, I had to cut—shred myself down. For Angel, I have to pack it on. Everything's in reverse, and my body is rebelling.

Cam's off with Chris or Whitney or both, not looking at me, pissed that I kissed her new friend. Or maybe she's pissed that I didn't tell her... whatever she thinks I'm hiding. Either way, I don't blame her. I can't even tell what's worse: not having her approval, or feeling like everything I've done led to this quiet anger between us.

I'd go to her, apologize, try to fix it somehow, promise never to do it again...

Except I wouldn't take it back. I'd never take it back.