His expression falters as his composure collapses. Excruciating pain flits across his face as he opens his mouth to speak. “Don’t,” I say softly, my finger pressed to his lips. “I know it changes nothing, and I didn’t say it to provoke a response. I said it because it’s the truth and I’ve never told you that. I don’t want to look back on our time together and have any regrets. I know I’d regret never telling you what was in my heart, is in my heart, has been all along, even when I didn’t fully realize what I was feeling. I couldn’t let you leave without understanding that.”
I take a step back as he attempts to speak again. Taking one last lengthy look at him, I shut my eyes and silently pray for strength. Enough to get me through these next few seconds. “Please just go,” I whisper. “There is nothing else to be said.”
I startle when his lips brush my forehead. It takes every morsel of willpower not to throw myself at him and plead with him to change his mind, to stay in my life, to let me love him as he’s loved me. But I hold steady.
A gentle whoosh of air swirls around me and then the room settles. Slowly, I open my eyes and stare at the empty space.
He’s gone.
And he’s never coming back.
And I don’t think I’ll survive if I allow myself to give into the crushing grief ripping me apart. My heart thuds painfully against my ribcage, straining to leave with its owner. My heart knows it belongs to Logan, even if he’s chosen to walk way. I guess that’s what happens when you are careful about who you give your heart to. It’s not something you can easily reclaim or abandon. Maybe not ever. Logan owns my heart, and he always will. Whether he is aware or not. Whether he wants it or not. That much I know with absolute conviction.
There will be no getting over this.
At least not in this lifetime.
The cumbersome weight of emotional pressure constricts my chest, pressing down until my lungs feel like pancakes. A gut-wrenching sob spurts from my mouth before I can stop it.
Ella bursts into the room and herds me into an embrace. “Sadie, I heard. I’m so sorry.” I’m mute and motionless. “Are you okay?” She eases back, holding me at arm’s length as she carefully inspects my face. “Will you be okay?”
Shaking myself out of my stupor, I attempt to smile. “I’m fine.” I’m unintentionally harsh, and I know I can do better than this. Throwing up my old trusty mental shields, I project Logan’s image, and all the associated feelings attached to him, behind the imaginary wall in my mind and block him out.
That’s better.
I can shove it away and try to forget about it, which is far more manageable than trying to tackle these heartbreaking feelings.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “He’s only a boy. I’ve dealt with a lot worse.”
“Sadie.” Her face is troubled.
“Don’t, Ella. I don’t want to talk about this right now, so please drop it.”
Her expression softens. “Sure, okay. But at some point, we do need to talk about this. No good comes from denying your feelings.”
I make no promises.
Ignoring the pain is more desirable than confronting it. And that’s survival one-oh-one.
I walk toward the corridor, ready to escape to my room, when I notice Haydn loitering to the side of the kitchen, a pitiful look on his face. I hate to be pitied, and if I acknowledge him now, I’m pretty sure I’ll take it out on him. I refuse to do that, so I purposefully ignore him and go hide in my room.
The next two weeks feel like two years. It’s as if I’ve wandered into some dark abyss and I’m stumbling around trying to navigate my way into the light. Every day follows the previous day’s pattern. Get up after a futile attempt at sleep, head to the gym, go to work and immerse myself in my duties, and come home and hide in my room staring at the ceiling as I fight the inner battle waging war inside my head. Logan consumes my thoughts though I try to banish him behind my shields.
But it doesn’t work.
He refuses to go away.
The upset in my head is mirrored perfectly in my heart, and it’s a constant struggle to fight the potently persuasive urge to indulge my depression and heartache. My fingers clutch the pendant at my neck with fierce desperation. This is all I have of him now. The only reminder that he did love me, at least one time. I refuse to remove it, not even to shower. It’s a little piece of him, one I’m not prepared to give up yet. Ella bites her tongue, but I know what she wants to say. That I need to ditch it if I’m to get over him.
Resolutely stubborn, I refuse to relinquish it, though I promise myself I won’t fall apart. I’m not one of those girls whose whole life revolves around “the boy” and I’m too strong to cry over his rejection.
These are the things I tell myself over and over again, but my resolve is weakening.
I’m weakening, and I hate myself for it.
I know how to deflect these types of emotions, so why isn’t it working this time?
Haydn, Neve, and Ella don’t know what to do with me. On various occasions, they have all tried to get me to open up, but I clam up with well-practiced skill. Neve looks as glum as I feel, though she’s adopting my strategy and refusing to talk about the issues that are plaguing her. The only thing I’ve been able to determine with any degree of certainty is that she and Alex are still a couple, and by the looks of it, very much in love. So I can only assume that whatever is distracting her isn’t related. She left to join the roadshow a week ago, and I’ve no idea when I’ll see her again.
Two days after Logan ended things with me, the Amaretti ships withdrew from our airspace, and the president has confirmed that the threat has been diverted. New York is in celebratory mode, and life has returned to frustrating normalcy.
We haven’t heard a thing from G, and my agitation is at an all-time high. According to Fern and Rylan, stars are being transferred to Sector Twenty in droves. The level of inactivity has me on constant edge, and my fingernails are bitten to the nail bed. I’m itching to do something, anything, and the more time passes with no word or further instruction from G, the more agitated I get. When I challenged Jarod over the lack of apparent activity, he cautioned me that everything has to be meticulously planned. At my insistence, he tried plying his father for information, but none was forthcoming. Whatever they are planning, I hope they show their hand soon.
I’ve managed to secure a two-bed apartment in Jarod’s building, and we’re scheduled to move in in a couple of days. Ella is elated at the prospect of being closer to him. They’ve been on a few dates, and things are going swimmingly. I’m so pleased for both of them; they deserve to be happy. And I couldn’t pick a better guy for my sister. Jarod already feels like a brother to me.
Once we’ve relocated, and I’ve cut ties with Haydn, I know the breakup will feel final. The thought saddens me, but I know it’s for the best. Logan is my past, and the sooner I accept my new reality, the better.
Despondent that I won’t open up, my friends have resorted to coaxing me out of my lair, and I’m regularly hauled out against my will. But no amount of movies and dinners can snap me out of my melancholy. Not that you would outwardly suspect it. Oh, on the surface, I appear perfectly fine. Only those who know me well know it’s all for show.
On the inside, I’m a bleeding, broken mess.
And I know I can’t go on like this, but I don’t know how to fix it.
I’ve never experienced pain like this before, and I plan to ensure I never go through anything like it again.
Opening my bedside locker, I dig out my tarot cards. I haven’t done a reading since we left Thalassic City, but I’m desperately hoping it will provide some guiding light.
The first card I draw is a minor arcana card, the seven of cups. Reversed, which in itself isn’t a good indicator. This speaks to what I’m going through right now, and I can’t say I’m overly surprised. It indicates illusion and diversion, and that requires no explanation. The next two cards are major arcana cards
, and I’m flummoxed.
I flip The Lovers card over and over between my fingers. This card is the ultimate card for love, representing a unique bond and a very special, soul-deep connection between two people. This can’t be what it seems to suggest. That Logan is my soul mate and our relationship is genuine and true. At any other time, I would be jumping for joy at getting this card in a session. But now, it’s like rubbing salt into a festering wound, and it does nothing to cure the seismic ache in my chest.
I shudder as I contemplate the second card.
The Devil, in reverse.
It seems enormously at odds with the other card, and I can’t fathom what it’s trying to tell me.
In its simplest form, it can indicate a reclamation of power or breaking free from restraints.
But what power am I reclaiming?
And who or what am I breaking free from?
CHAPTER 11
“Right,” Ella says, boldly storming into my room, breaking me out of my obsessive, destructive inner monologue. “I’ve had enough of this. We are talking about this now and I’m not taking no for an answer. I won’t watch you self-destruct anymore.”
She plonks down on the bed beside me as I clear away the tarot cards. Shunting upward, I press back against the headboard. “I’ve told you, Ella. There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Bullshit!” Her knee brushes my leg as she swivels around. “This is me you’re talking to!” She repeatedly prods a finger in her sternum. “And what you’re doing is classic Sadie. I won’t watch you bottle everything up again. We’re not in that apartment anymore, Sadie, and no one is going to judge you. Can’t you see that? We’re all so worried about you. It’s normal to be upset, to feel heartbroken. That’s totally allowed! But it’s not normal to go through life like a robot, pretending everything is fine, when those who care about you can see very clearly that everything isn’t fine! So, stop lying to me, stop lying to yourself, and admit how you feel.”
Her impassioned speech cracks my fragile exterior, and my inner dam breaks. I hop up off the bed, angry and hurt. “Okay. You want to hear this? Fine!” I realize I’m yelling but I don’t stop. “I’m not fine. I’m the very opposite of fine. I … I’m …” A massive sob wrenches free. Ella makes no attempt to interject. “I’m destroyed, Ella. Broken up inside. I can’t breathe, I …” Tears freely roll down my cheeks. “I’ve never felt pain like this before. It’s overtaken me, like nothing else exists. Every day I wake up thinking it will lessen, that it will get easier with the passing of time, but that’s not the case. I hurt every bit as much as I did when he ended it. I fear it’s what will always define me. It’s … indescribable. I can’t bear it … I miss him so much.”
I sink to the floor as tears silently flow. “How is it possible for a person to have burrowed their way in so profoundly? He’s in here”—I smash a hand over my heart— “and no matter how much I wish to evict him, I can’t get this lovesick organ to cooperate. I ache for him. I physically hurt and it feels like I’m dying …”
My weeping isn’t showing any signs of abating. In a burst of self-awareness, I acknowledge I don’t want it to. I need to let this out.
Ella plops down beside me, hoisting me into her arms. “Don’t be ashamed, Sadie. Get it out of your system. It’s the first step to letting go.”
“He doesn’t love me.” I sniffle into her shoulder. “He doesn’t want me.” I proclaim my worst inner fears. “I’m not lovable, not worth keeping.”
“Ssh, now. You know that’s not true.” She strokes a hand over my hair, and it’s amazingly soothing. “And from what I overheard, he never said any of those things.”
“It doesn’t matter what he said. If he loved me, he wouldn’t have left me.” The sobs start up in earnest again, and this time I totally give into it, crying hot, agonizing tears all over the front of her shirt.
Ella holds me through it all, murmuring soothing sentiments and loving me as only a sister can.
When I’m all cried out, we lie side by side on my bed, facing one another. “I’m so weak,” I whisper, still sniveling. “I let the first boy I fall for turn me into a pathetic mess.” A half-laugh, half-sob zips out of my mouth.
“They say you never forget your first love.” She smiles kindly as she reaches out and takes my hand. “You are one of the strongest people I know, Sadie. And what you said to him before he left? That took guts. I’ve never been more proud of you than I was in that moment. I know how much it took to tell him that knowing it wouldn’t change anything, but you were true to yourself. You said you wanted no regrets? Well, don’t do this to yourself, because you’ll regret it if you spend weeks, months, years, pining for something you can’t have. He isn’t worthy of you. You deserve better, don’t you see?”
Honestly, at this point I feel pretty much like I deserve all this for allowing myself to believe in love, to trust in it, to think it could cure everything that is wrong with me and the world. Self-deception on such a vast scale is beyond idiotic. It’s basically suicidal. So, yeah, I think I deserve all of this. I shrug indifferently.
She sadly shakes her head. “You were always so delusional, though I understood why. But now? There’s no room for delusion anymore, Sadie. Your life isn’t over, it’s only beginning. You know what,” she says, springing up. “We need to toast to that. Come on.” She hauls me off the bed, and I trail her to the kitchen, watching as she takes a bottle of wine from the king’s stash. I locate two glasses and follow her to the couch.
She pours the white wine and hands me a glass. “We really shouldn’t be drinking the king’s wine,” I say, though I accept the offering.
“Screw him, and his son,” is her tart reply as she lifts her glass in a toast. My lips tug up at the corners. “To my beautiful, sweet little sister. To leaving the past in the past and moving on. You’re a bright light floundering in a sea of darkness, but you will find your way, and you will survive. You always do, and I love you.”
She’s never told me that outright before, though her actions spoke loudly enough. Our environment wasn’t conducive to such endearments. If I ever get the chance to have kids, I promise to tell them every day that I love them and to find a myriad of ways to show them how much they are wanted and cherished.
I place my glass down on the coffee table and hug my sister. “I love you so much. Thank you.” Moisture glistens in my eyes.
“No more crying,” Ella says softly, handing over my glass. “We’re celebrating the future, and tears don’t belong there. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” We chink glasses, and I tilt my chin, savoring the crisp, cold sensation as it glides down my throat.
“So, you and Jarod seem to be getting on well,” I say a short while later.
Her face lights up like the sun. “We are. He’s great.” She beams, resisting the urge to hold back for the sake of my feelings. I love her even more for that.
“I know. I’m really happy for you.”
“He’s the most amazing kisser,” she says dreamily. “The things he can do with that talented tongue of his …” Her eyes glaze over, and her skin turns a subtle shade of pink.
“Eww. TMI, Ella.” I cover my ears, lest she divulge any further details. My brain is already in meltdown imaging things I definitely don’t want to be imagining.
Ella laughs freely. She pries my fingers away. “You know, I think this is the first time I can honestly say that I feel genuinely carefree and happy. Imagine, it took essentially twenty years for me to be able to say that.” She looks incredulous. “If everything turns to crap tomorrow, at least I can say I got to experience life. Real life.” She takes a small sip of her wine.
“I know what you mean,” I say, pondering her prose. “Though I could’ve done without the heartache. That’s one life lesson I’d rather not have endured.”
“It’s all part of living, little sis. Life affirming. You’ll come out stronger for it. Mark my words.”
“When did you get so philosophical?” I te
ase.
“That’s what big sisters are for.” She nods sagely. “That and picking out the perfect rom-com to suit any occasion.” Commanding the screen to life, she expertly explores the movies on offer and settles on one that neither of us has previously seen.
At some point, we progress to a second bottle of stolen wine, but I don’t remember. I’m having too much fun. Chatting and messing about with my sister like this should remind me of old times. But there were very few occasions where we had an opportunity like this.
Making new memories is the best cure for past ills.
The screen dies when the movie credits roll, and Ella attempts to stand but sways precariously on her feet before slumping back down on the couch. I crack out a titter at the spectacle of my inebriated sister. “Oops. I think I drank too much.” She hiccups.
Damn right. I’ve only had two glasses, at most, meaning she’s polished the rest. Her speech is slightly slurred, and that makes me laugh harder. “We should clean up before Haydn gets back and gives me a lecture on the evils of drinking to cure a broken heart!” I laugh at my own joke, expecting Ella to join in, but she looks pensive. “What?”
“What about him?” She tucks her knees under her chin.
“What are you getting at?” Apprehension prickles under the surface of my skin.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way he looks at you. He’s definitely got the hots for you.”
“Oh, no! No! No! No!” I climb to my feet and pace the floor. “No way! That is so not the case, and you are not sowing those seeds in my mind. We are friends. End of. That’s all.”
“If you say so. Only telling it like I see it. But you’re right. The last thing you need is to get mixed up with another alien. Stick with human boys. They’re still jerks but at least they’re a more familiar type of jerk.” She cackles. Rising, she staggers again. Clutching her around the waist, I guide her to her room. After tucking her in, I place a large glass of water by her bedside. I’ve a feeling she’s gonna need that in the morning.
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