LOVE? NEVER | ✓

Chapter Thirty - Three

"Maybe home is just the confines of your arms holding my pieces together."

***

It wasn't pain what I felt when I left the hellhole of a house and locked myself in my car, the hot air unaffecting my numbing state. I ran my fingers through my hair and tightened my grip on the steering wheel, nothing was changing the state.

Jonathan choosing Amanda was shocking, really shocking. Not only was she my secretary, but the person that I share almost everything with because I thought of her as a friend, once in my life. Good things don't last, and I can't choose if knowing Amanda was even a good thing altogether.

My phone buzzed inside my pocket and I glued it to my ear, not bothering with the contact name.

"Yes?"

"Ethen, where are you?" Rose's voice came out rushed and nervous.

"On my way to hell."

"Amanda is in my dad's house."

"I know."

"She's weeping."

"And?"

"You don't care?"

"No."

"They found a fainted guard," she said and I smirked, putting the phone on speaker. "He's in the ambulance right now."

"Are you calling me to give me the news?"

"No, but Amanda is saying things."

I didn't speak.

"She's saying everything she knows about you, since the first day you hired her. I didn't know your grandmother was dead, Ethen."

I didn't breathe.

"She said you fell to ou—my dad's trap and that you were absolutely naïve when it came to meeting me. She said your friends' names, each and every one of them. She said you sleep with your windows open. She said you killed your brother—"

"No!" I yelled, continuously beating my hands over the steering wheel. "I didn't do that!" I yelled with all my might then held my head in my hands from the sudden overruling pressure.

"Ethen, are you driving?" quick, short breaths came running from the other side of the line.

"Fuck!" I yelled and threw my phone against the windshield, resulting in it bouncing back with a broken screen.

I don't give a shit.

"Where are you?!" his voice was muffled by something.

"Fuck!" I banged my fist against the steering wheel over and over then turned my phone off, blocking the whole damn globe.

I didn't kill him.

My feet pushed the gas pedal further.

He didn't care for me.

The scenery outside the car soon became to swirl into different colors. I couldn't see anything.

I didn't kill him.

My hands left the steering wheel.

He killed himself.

The car wasn't on the road anymore. Flying, it was flying, across the air...breaking me free from my miseries and shattering my life into small pieces.

●●●

I wasn't dead when I started hearing voices around me.

Maybe I was.