The Anatomy of a Broken Heart //Completed//

43. Caleb

Coleman wouldn't survive the night if I had anything to say about it. My palms were sweating and my heart was racing, as if I'd run a marathon, but I knew it was my anxiety going into overdrive. I felt my heartbeat in my throat as it dried up and it was all I could do to keep walking in a straight line as my legs turned to jelly. She was in my line of sight, laughing with him too loudly, but just as I was reaching their table, someone's enormous torso blocked my way. When I looked up, I saw the huge block of flesh wrapped in a black tux belonged to Ansel's older brother Marcus. I'd heard from mom that he was home from school, but I hadn't expected to see him here.

"Now, where are you going in such a hurry with that mean mug of yours?" he asked, smiling widely and revealing two perfect rows of pearly white teeth.

"Marcus, hey." It took a minute to readjust my features, but I didn't try too hard. I wanted to get rid of him quickly. Out of all the Rosethorn boys, Marcus was the worst of us, simply because he was the best of us. He'd graduated early from prep school— only attending because he'd insisted public school was beneath him— and was now an Ivy Leaguer studying law. He was the perfect stereotype, handsome and rich and accomplished at 21.

"Have you seen my brother around? I need to talk to him." He scanned the room, a worried look on his face.
"About what?"

He arched a brow.

"I mean, no, I haven't seen him. I wasn't sure he was coming. You know he hates these things."

"These things, Caleb, are an important family tradition. You'd be wise to remember."

There he went, speaking like a twentieth-century laureate again, and despite my ill humor, I had to choke back a laugh. He tended to go from high school football player to wannabe intellectual in a single conversation. It was dizzying, but I knew it was due to his prep school upbringing. I couldn't blame him, he was a nice guy, if a little presumptuous. I wondered then if maybe that's how others saw me. Did Santana laugh behind my back at the way I spoke or at the way I behaved? No. I was normal. At least, more so than Marcus.

"Earth to Caleb."

"Yeah, man. Whatever you say. Listen, it was really good to see you but I gotta run—"

"Oh, look! The auction is starting!"

Auction?

His eyes were focused on the small stage where the four string quartet had been playing, which was now being loaded with a group of girls with numbers pinned to their dresses. To my horror, Santana was among the group, looking absolutely furious, standing in between Marlow and Farrah who looked equally uncomfortable.

"What the hell?"

"Who is that lovely creature in green?"

I could have puked.

"Caleb's girlfriend." I turned around to see Ansel, looking more than a little tipsy, walking up to us.

"That's your girlfriend? I thought you were with the pretty redhead." Marcus' brow was furrowed in what I could only assume was disappointment.

"Yeah," said Ansel. "So you might wanna back off, Marcus." He threw me a shrewd smile.

"Oh, come on, boys. It's all for charity anyway," he laughed and walked away from us moving closer to the stage.

I was probably going to die tonight. The look Santana was giving me right now was one that said, "Say your prayers, pretty boy, because I'm coming for you with a machete."

"Fuuuuuuu—"

"She cleans up well," Ansel said. "Geez, man you look like you're having some kind of fit."