The Truth About Heartbreak

by Celeste, B.

  I hate pity. Pity makes people weaker, like it’s the only thing they’re willing to see when someone’s past becomes too much. Just telling her about my scars nearly broke her.

  But Everett … they didn’t destroy him. He looked sad, angry, an array of mixed emotions, but not once did he let pity slither into those minty eyes. It makes me believe he’s the only one I can truly bare my soul to. All those deep-seated burns and bruises could spill from my lips and end the haunting memories that control my everyday life.

  The painful reminders etched into my skin are like a painting I never want revealed to the world. But for Everett, I’d display them with a spotlight on every inch of marred flesh.

  I’m halfway to Steph’s room to see if the girls are awake when I hear my name being called from downstairs. Curious, I change direction and grip the railing as I descend the carpet steps to see Steph’s mom, Aubrey, smiling at me.

  Everett is standing beside her.

  He looks different. Instead of jeans and a tee or a suit, he’s wearing black running pants and a loose tank. Sweat dots the front of the neckline, shifting the light gray color of his shirt to granite. I’ve seen Oliver in similar clothing when he goes to the gym, but he doesn’t fill them out quite like Everett.

  Everett is taller than Oliver, always has been. He’s also bulkier in all ways possible. His shoulders are wide, his upper arms are huge, and his waist is toned. Probably more so now than I remember. A little over a year ago, I saw Oliver, Everett, and a few of their friends playing basketball outside our house. They were all shirtless, but Everett caught my eye because unlike the others, he had abs.

  He’s leaner now, so I can only imagine what’s underneath his shirt.

  Snap out of it.

  “What are you doing here?” I don’t mean to sound rude but based on the twitch of Everett’s lips that’s exactly what happens.

  Aubrey answers for him. “Everett is here to take you home, darling. I’m sure the girls are still sleeping, so I’ll let them know you left.”

  Steph mentioned having a big breakfast before going swimming in their pool out back. I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk them out of making me join them, so seeing Everett should be a relief. It’s not.

  “Bridgette said she’d pick me up,” is what comes out of my mouth instead.

  Everett’s fist clenches before loosening up at his side. “She’s busy, so I volunteered. Figured we could walk since it’s a nice day.”

  Walk? With Everett? Alone?

  “Um…” Do I really have a choice? “I have to get my bag.”

  It takes me less than three minutes to gather my stuff before I’m back downstairs. I could have stalled, but what’s the point? Everett would still be waiting for me ten minutes from now, just maybe a little angrier.

  Waving Steph’s mother goodbye and thanking her for letting me stay over, I follow Everett out of their house. He takes my bag and throws it over his shoulder despite my protests, ignoring me when I tell him I’m capable of carrying my own stuff.

  He greets me with, “We need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t.” There’s nothing we need to say that hasn’t already been said. He rejected me. That’s that. I moved on with Asher, even if it left a sour taste in my mouth, and now it’s time for me to put Everett firmly in my past where he belongs. I know he’ll never be mine, maybe even counted on that, because it’s the only way I can protect myself. He can’t hurt me anymore if I don’t give him the chance to.

  He sighs heavily. “You went out of your way to avoid me last night, River. I don’t like that. We’re friends, right?”

  Are we?

  “I don’t know,” I murmur hesitantly.

  He stops walking. “Really?” His tone is dubious, like he can’t fathom why I wouldn’t know what our relationship is. “That’s bullshit.”

  He spits out the words so harshly that I wince. His eyes close for a split second before they reopen, looking much softer than before.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t.” It’s a lie.

  He knows as much. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. We’re too much alike in that way.”

  Curiosity takes over. “What way?”

  Everett and I are polar opposites. He’s social and popular and not afraid to speak his mind. I’m nothing like that, like him. Sure, I talk more than I used to, and I ask questions without feeling like I need to throw up, but I’m a far cry from being as sociable as he is.

  “We both pretend because it’s easier,” he states, finally walking along the sidewalk again. He exhales a weighted sigh, glancing up to the sky like maybe it can give him an answer to a question he desperately needs. “We put on an act, but we can’t really fool everyone.”

  “Why not?” My voice cracks.

  He eyes me. “Because there’s always going to be somebody out there who knows us better than that.”

  I don’t answer.

  “I don’t like when you avoid me.”

  We’re back to that? “I wasn’t—”

  “What did I say? Don’t lie to me.”

  My teeth grind. “What do you want from me, Everett? I don’t want to talk about the stupid party or what I asked of you and Asher Wilks.”

  “Well, I do.” The words are gritted out between his teeth, his tone raised, and it instantly puts me on the defense.

  “Too bad!”

  I never argue, but this feels like the perfect time to start. Everett can’t just swoop into my life and demand answers. He’s never done that before, which is why I’ve always liked him. Maybe he should ruin that for me. It’ll make the crush I’ve been harboring go away.

  “I can’t believe you.” I try walking ahead of him, but his long legs eat up the distance between us easily.

  “Well, believe it.”

  “This is practically kidnapping!” I sound like a ridiculous petulant child, but right now I can’t bring myself to care. It was scary asking Everett to take my virginity, showing my vulnerability and how much he means to me, and it was tossed back in my face as if it meant nothing. Very few times have I ever allowed myself to feel angry or entitled or judgmental, but right now I’m feeling all three. He doesn’t get the right to act like I owe him something.

  His deep chuckle unnerves me. “You walked out of the house willingly, River. That’s hardly kidnapping.”

  What? Did he change his major to pre-law?

  Grumbling under my breath makes him chuckle louder. His amusement makes me angry, but I don’t feed him with more disgruntlement.

  “Why do you care about what I do anyway?” I ask, my voice now soft and devoid of any fight left. I focus on my feet instead of him.

  “That’s a stupid question.”

  You’re stupid.

  “We’re friends,” he points out. “Friends look out for each other. They’re also supposed to stop each other from doing stupid things.”

  “Like kidnapping?” I mutter.

  “Like sleeping with douchebags.”

  My heart stops.

  “Wilks was talking about it to a group of people at the Landmark Café. It’s like you were a prize to him.”

  Tears well in my eyes that I battle to fight off before they fall. “S-Stop talking.”

  “Do you know how hard it was for me to stop hitting him before I took it too far?”

  I come to a staggering halt. “What?”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  Shock creeps into my chest. “You were the one who rearranged his face?”

  He just shrugs.

  “But why?”

  “Because I care, River. Why else?”

  Why else? There are plenty of reasons somebody punches a person after talking shit. I’m used to people doing that—talking smack, not punching people. At least not for me.

  “You say you care, but when I asked you to … you didn’t do it. You wouldn’t—”

  “No,” he cuts me off through clenched te
eth, “I wouldn’t. I didn’t for a lot of reasons. I already told you I was doing you a favor by rejecting you.”

  I flinch at the word rejecting. It’s painful to know the only guy I’ve ever liked, felt comfortable with, did me a favor by rejecting me.

  “It’s because of Oliver, right?”

  They’re best friends. Brothers, practically. Their relationship is better than mine and Oliver’s, so I get the risks. It doesn’t mean I have to like them.

  His fingers thread through his hair. “It’s not just about Oliver. You’re young, River. There are guys worth your time that are your age. And, yeah. Oliver is my best friend and your brother. Not to mention you and I are friends. That kind of thing, what you asked of me, could have ruined the friendship.”

  Seems like it’s already crumbling.

  “So that’s why, okay?” His voice is softer now, less wound up. There’s one important piece of his life that should have been number one on his list of Reasons Why I Can’t Have Sex with River.

  “And Isabel?” I prompt.

  He goes still. “What about her?”

  “You didn’t mention her.”

  “What’s there to mention?”

  That you’re together. “Lots.”

  He’s silent.

  I stop and turn to him. My chest hurts over thinking about them, much less asking the question that needs to be said aloud. “Do you love her, Everett? Really love her.”

  “Of course, I do.” His answer is too defensive to be believable, like it’s not me he’s trying to convince.

  “Then you should have told me that you couldn’t sleep with me because you love her,” I whisper, wishing I could punctuate the word with a jab of my finger to his chest. But I don’t dare touch him. Every time I do, I feel something work its way inside of me. Something I need to let go of. “Oliver, me, my age, shouldn’t have mattered if you truly believe that.”

  Shifting on my heel, I walk farther down the street. His footsteps fall behind me, soft but evident. He trails a few feet away, not lining up with my short strides like before. He doesn’t want to talk now that the topic is on him.

  “She’s the type of girl worth marrying,” he finally says, making my heart pinch, because he’s implying I’m not the kind of girl who’s worth forever. “And I will, because that’s what people want and expect.”

  But what do you want, Everett?

  I take a deep breath and force myself to push through the ache. Physical pain is easier to handle, I’m used to it. Emotional pain … that’s a new type of warfare I’m defenseless against.

  “I guess it’s good you love her then.”

  Steph always drags me on shopping trips I don’t want to go on. Sometimes she bribes me with promises of a ginormous pretzel from the food court. Based on the tight fit of my jeans, it’s really showing.

  What I don’t expect is to be peer pressured into trying anything on. But Steph pulls me into the swimsuit section, aka my worst nightmare. Everything they have would reveal pieces of me I don’t want anyone to see. Bikinis, one pieces, tankinis, they would all show my scars.

  I try telling Steph no, but she’s insistent. I even tell her I can’t swim, which is true. Everett told me he would teach me on my fifteenth birthday, but it never happened. Why should someone who doesn't know how to swim buy a bathing suit? Steph says she’ll teach me, but if I managed to talk Everett out of it, Steph should be easy. She’s not though. She’s a mastermind.

  It’s how I end up in a dressing room with an armful of suits that will not make it into my wardrobe. Steph chose every color in the rainbow, and if I hadn’t been permanently scarred, I’d consider entertaining the idea of wearing one somewhere. The royal blue one is especially pretty, the bottoms have cut out sides and the top has a crisscross back.

  “Just try on one,” Steph calls from her dressing room. She’s trying on every swimsuit in her size. No exaggeration.

  To appease her, I slip off my clothes and slide on the blue suit. It’s a little tighter than I expect, I’d need a size up. Then again, I’m not buying it, so who cares if it hugs my hips wrong?

  “Well?” she prompts.

  “I don’t like it.”

  I’m completely shocked when the curtain whips open, and Steph says, “I’ll be the judge—”

  I cry out and quickly close the curtain again. It’s too late though. She’s seen the ugly marks painted across my back. Tears well in my eyes as an anxiety attack forms. My lungs tighten and my chest hurts, but I manage to change back into my clothes before I completely shut down.

  It’s two minutes and thirty-seven seconds before I force myself to walk out of the dressing room. Steph is still in her swimsuit and if I wasn’t so embarrassed, so horrified, so angry, I would tell her the hot pink number looks amazing on her tiny frame.

  Her voice is quiet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  It’s the same reason I didn’t tell Bridgette or Robert or Oliver or Everett. I don’t want to. I don’t want to relive those moments of pain and terror. Telling those stories would be setting myself back from all the progress I’ve made.

  The whole thing makes me glower. “When could I have told you? Even if I wanted to talk about them, you’re too busy talking about your plan to be popular and all the fancy clothes you want to buy to fit some stupid stereotype that I don’t get a chance to say a word. Your problems aren’t like mine, Steph. All you’ve ever had to worry about is whether to buy Prada or some knock off. Pink or blue? Stilettos or flats? I need to worry about people seeing these disgusting marks that I have to live with for the rest of my life, right along with the memories of how I got them! Don’t you think that if I wanted to admit I’ve been beaten because I was hungry, or some other god-awful reason, I would have?”

  I suck in a deep breath, clenching and unclenching my fists. I’ve never blown up before and never thought I would at Stephanie, my only true friend.

  Hurt spreads as her lips weigh further down at the ends. “You know,” she whispers after a long moment of playing with the bikini top string in her hands, “I think those scars make you pretty badass.”

  And that’s all she says about it before we pretend it never happened.

  That’s when I realize Steph gets me way more than I give her credit for. She’s a great friend.

  But I’m not.

  That’s the day I make a vow to not only be a better friend, but a better person as well.

  16

  River / 18

  Two Years Later

  The volunteers tell us to line up outside the double doors in the order we practiced. Alphabetical, of course. I think they should have been creative and made a pattern, because the boys are in blue caps and gowns and the girls are in white. Girls dominate the boys in numbers, so there’s way more white than blue and it looks dumb.

  But what do I know?

  Someone snickers behind me. I peer over my shoulder to find Gavin Wilks, Asher’s little brother, murmuring into his friend’s ear while staring directly at me. They all start laughing loudly until a teacher steps in to shush them.

  The music starts playing inside. I can hear the soft hum of the middle school band getting ready for our entrance. Gavin keeps snickering and I know it’s at my expense. He kept saying that the girls should have worn blood red, not white while we were getting ready in the back. Most people thought it was a period joke, but I know it’s a purity one. Or lack thereof, I guess.

  Gavin has been harassing me ever since he found out I had sex with his brother. I usually ignore him, but it’s hard to right now. Another teacher hushes them, but their stares burn holes into my back.

  Anxiety creeps up my stomach and settles into my throat. I think I may vomit. There will be hundreds of parents in the Opera House, the same fancy setting of every Freemont graduation. It’s hot, stuffy. The gym would have been better.

  Suddenly, someone grabs my hand. My heart jumps in my chest and settles when I see Steph. Someone tells her to get back in line, but
she ignores them.

  “Together?” she asks.

  A smile spreads on my lips. “Together.”

  We get yelled at by the volunteers for being out of order, but we don’t listen. When the doors open, we walk hand in hand down the aisle. There are supposed to be two columns of people. Steph stands in the middle with a huge grin on her face and not one care over the weird glances we get.

  Then I see my family.

  Yeah, family. Bridgette and Robert are standing, and Robert has a camera up as we near him. Steph makes a face which makes me laugh. The camera goes off. When the little white light from the flash clears my eyes, I see Oliver. He’s hooting and clapping, and it makes me smile. Steph tugs on my hand, squeezes it, like she’s saying we made it. And we did.

  Next to Oliver is Everett in his tall, muscular glory. My heart lurches a little in happiness despite how weird we’ve been toward each other for the past year. But the excessive beating does a nosedive when I see the small body tucked behind him.

  Isabel Allen.

  Oliver never said Everett was bringing her. He thought they broke up again. Well, he didn’t tell me that exactly—just that he didn’t know what their current status is. I guess their status is like it always is when it matters most; on.

  Steph doesn’t let me drown in the deep pit my emotions take me to. She squeezes my hand again to bring me back. Not before I glance over my shoulder to see something flash in Everett’s green eyes. Pride.

  The dress under my gown matches his mint hues that have always fascinated me. I didn’t buy the dress because it reminds me of him. Bridgette made me try it on because it makes my hair look redder. Plus, I fill it out in a way that makes me look like an adult.

  Steph and I walk up the three narrow steps to the stage, where the principal and superintendent frown at our mixed-up arrival. The principal seems to care less than the superintendent. I guess his reputation is on the line, the school board may get on him about how disoriented the progression was.