The Anatomy of a Broken Heart //Completed//

84. Caleb

Farrah's hands were everywhere, chafing against my skin. They were cold and stiff as our lips fumbled against each other's. I felt my face grow red when I pushed her gently away.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm just tired," I told her. I was. Not physically, but I felt exhausted for the day. My mind was in overdrive like it had been months ago as I desperately plotted to get Farrah back. It had worked. I knew that this, with Farrah, was real. What Santana and I had had been nothing but a placebo. We didn't fit, we didn't make sense. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to kiss Farrah back tonight. Maybe I was tired.

"Okay." She nodded. We were in my room, something that I had given up all hope of ever happening again. The sunlight split into rays as it cast its light through my open window. It wasn't that late, but the light was dying earlier and earlier as the winter drew near. Still, the cold was a welcome reprieve.

"Let's go somewhere," Farrah spoke again.

"I'm tired," I reiterated.

"I know, but later. Take a nap and then we can go somewhere. The beach house. Just us." She looked so hopeful as she smiled up at me and I felt so guilty.

"Sure." I tried smiling back, not really knowing if I had or not but she seemed satisfied and gathered her things and left.

I sat by the window until the light went on the world and the air grew even colder. I threw on my jacket and went out onto the front steps of the house. My hands dug into my pocket and reached for the box of cigarettes I'd bought earlier. Before I lit one up, I realized if anyone caught me smoking here, I'd get the earful of the century by my dad so I moved away from the glaring front porch lights and towards the street where the shadows would hide me.

The matches were hard to light with my frozen hands and I broke almost all of them before finally lighting one properly. When I inhaled the smoke, I started choking, eyes watering, like every amateur I'd seen on television. Santana always made it look so easy.

As I'd been choking, I failed to notice the car which had pulled up a few feet away. A door slammed and a silhouette made its hesitant way towards me. Even engulfed in shadow, I knew who it was.

"Santana?"

"He-hey," she stammered and her eyes widened as they fell on my hand.

"What are you doing here?"

"Are you smoking?" she demanded, finding a distraction.

"Oh, yeah. I sorta just picked it up. It's disgusting, I don't know how you did it," I coughed.

"Well it's a dirty habit, Caleb Rosethorn, and you should quit," she said and snatched the cigarette out of my hand.

"Okay." I lifted my arms up in defense. "It's done. Are you okay? I thought you quit."

"I did," she said. She held the cigarette like a weapon. A gun to her head. A knife to her wrists. Or a cigarette about to burn her skin. Something was wrong. Her makeup was smudged beneath her eyes and she was shaking. Fidgety. I could tell she'd had a rough day.

"Hey." I got a step closer, hoping she wouldn't run away. Careful not to startle her. "What's wrong?"

She just shook her head. "You can tell me. Despite... everything... I'm still your friend."

Santana shrugged and I saw her wince just a ghost of a reaction before she recovered, but I knew she was hurt. This is where I had to be careful now with anything I said. If I said the wrong thing, she'd run. I got even closer, painfully slowly. "Santana, why'd you come here? To me."

"I don't..." She shook her head again.

Closer still. So close, I could have reached out and pulled her into me and held her. But I resisted the urge, if I moved too abruptly, she'd fly away.

"Santana," I whispered and she took a step back, then forward. Swaying a little. "Please, tell me."

"I...I... just needed...this was a mistake." The cigarette was still smoking in her hand. I closed the gap between us, unable to see her falling apart the way she was any longer. I caught her hand and pulled her closer softly.

"It's okay. It's okay," I breathed into her hair. It was like coming home, breathing in her perfume. All thoughts of the fight we'd had earlier were eviscerated with her here. All my anger melted away and I didn't care about her lies or the hurtful things she'd thrown in my face. Santana had come here to see me for a reason.

She wouldn't look at me, so I lifted up her chin so she'd face me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, the smudged makeup making dark circles beneath them. "You came here for a reason."

Her eyes searched my face, looking for a trick, searching for the lie, but I convinced her and then she hugged me back tightly. The embrace was so tight, I thought she'd never let go and I prayed she wouldn't and when she did I felt disappointment flood through me cold. Until she pulled me down and kissed me, instantly sending me into a tailspin.

She pushed me away almost as suddenly as she'd pulled me in but I wasn't about to let her go so easily. I held on tightly, resting my forehead on hers.

"Why did that feel like goodbye?" I asked.

She shook her head and her hair brushed my cheeks lightly.

"I'm so sorry for everything," she whispered. "I would take everything back if I could, Caleb. I swear."
"Not everything," I begged and she breathed out a small, soft laugh.

"Not everything." She pushed away and this time I let her go.

"I have to go."
"No, please, don't."
"Goodbye." She rushed away into the dark.

I would have chased her, except I wouldn't know what to do with her if I caught her. I went back inside then, to replay the kiss over and over in my mind, to go over every detail of what happened only to come to the conclusion that with Santana, there was nothing hidden. No secret or subtle messages behind her actions. Everything was transparent. Clear as day that it was only a goodbye kiss, the last one we'd ever have. 

I want to write that friend letter farewell we all used to do when we were rushing to finish a letter in class while the teacher was giving a lecture.

Sorry

So 

Short

With only the big S to save time and complete the aesthetic. 

Those were easy, lovely days.