How He Broke My Heart

Chapter 20

"Shit, Emma. That's—that's screwed up. He's just leaving?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe? He left last night, said he's going to a hotel and supposedly leaving today. I'm sure he's going to pack his things while everyone's out. He'll probably stay at the house while my mom and I are still here. Do you think he'll move out, or will he kick us out?"

Jonas shakes his head. "If their getting a divorce then your mom will likely keep the house because she'd be taking care of you—but you are technically an adult. Maybe they'll sell it and split the profit then."

"Oh, okay."

"I'm so sorry this is happening to you, Emma. You're the last person this needs to happen to. Don't let this discourage you—just because your parents didn't work out doesn't mean—"

"I know, I know, I just, I don't know. Everything is so messy right now."

"I wish you and Lauren were on good terms. Her parents got divorced, maybe she could help?"

I sigh, grabbing a pillow from beside me on the couch and placing it on my lap. "I don't want help right now. I just want an escape. I want—I want something to distract me. Do you have alcohol here? Anything with something that can help me in it?"

"Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"Jonas, I haven't had anything to drink since last summer. Give me something."

"It's 10:30."

"Jonas."

I follow him into the kitchen. "There's beer and stuff in the fridge, and," he motions to an array of bottles tucked in the corner of the counter, "all of this."

I open the fridge, eyeing over cans, reaching in and grabbing the half empty bottle of vodka. I unscrew the top and take a sniff, remembering it all too well. Turning to the cabinet, I then grab a large glass all while Jonas is watching. "Do you want water? Lime? Something to add, mix?" I tilt the bottle, pouring it into the glass. Jonas takes the bottle from me when he notices me pouring a lot. I let him take it, and I have a sip without overthinking. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, putting the vodka away. "Are you trying to vomit? Pass out? I remember you drunk and it's not a good look."

After an hour of spilling my feelings and working on my large glass, Jonas joins in, talking on and on about Presley. "We hooked up a few nights ago. Conversation between us hasn't really been lively." He takes a drink from his beer. "I think it might have ruined things."

"Well, Brandon and I haven't done anything."

"Really. It's been how long?"

"Do you think it might ruin things? I don't want to ruin things."

Jonas shrugs. "I don't know. I assumed you already got busy."

"You're his friend—is this unlike him?"

He groans, leaning back. "Who cares—lets go swimming. I wanna swim. You have a suit here, don't you? Come on!" He slips off the counter stool, leaving his empty cans behind. I follow, feeling sick, no longer wanting to drink. Jonas grabs my swimsuit from the dining chair. No one ever was there so the boys have turned it into a place for random nothings. I hang my suit on the back when it's dry. "Here," he throws it at me, "I cleaned it for you. You're welcome."

"I'm changing in the bathroom," I murmur, waddling off down the hall while he changes himself. I flick on the light and shut the door, mindlessly taking off my clothes and letting them drop to the floor. Dizzy, I grab the wall. Struggling to put on my swimsuit bottoms, I get unnecessarily frustrated as I continuously step in the center and not through the hole. As I stumble around I can hear Jonas singing to me from another room. It gets louder and suddenly he's knocking on the door with an open hand.