“I can’t stay here?—”
“Why?”
I don’t answer, mainly because I have no right to say it’s because I hate the fact you had girls in this bed, I hate the fact you had fun with them when it should have been me. Instead, I walk to his shelf, trailing my fingers over old trophies, until I stop at a wrapped present.
“Who’s this for?” I ask, not looking at him.
“It was your graduation gift. You can open it.” His voice is flat, as if the conversation is already finished. “I don’t care.”
My heart stutters. Graduation. He kept it.
I stare at it, hand trembling. Then I feel him behind me, heat against my back. I lean slightly, without meaning to, my body betraying everything my mind is screaming.
Screaming for me to not get my hopes up, screaming at me to wake up and realize he'll never forgive me.
“Open it,” he whispers.
With a shaking hand, I peel the paper away. Slowly. Carefully. Not sure why, I mean he kept it for four years. It’s not like it’s a bomb or anything. Yet I’m careful with it. When I see the box, I know what it is instantly. The Special Edition Harry Potter box set I once told him was my dream gift.
Water fills my eyes. My chest feels too tight.
“I never stopped loving you,” he whispers it against my skin and then walks away, disappearing into the hallway.
I stand there frozen my eyes locked on the gift. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. He got this before prom and kept it. All this time.
I fall to my knees, chest heaving, the tears breaking loose like a dam.
What did I do?
I had everything.
I don’t hear the door open. I don't even hear footsteps coming close. But I feel arms, warm and familiar, wrap around me.
“It’s okay,” she whispers softly, her voice velvet over the thunderstorm in my chest. Hayden’s mom.
Her embrace doesn’t falter as I crumple into her. Not knowing I needed someone to hold me like this, the sobs rip
through me again, louder. I can’t breathe. My chest stings, lungs collapsing as the weight of everything I’d done bleeds out of me.
“I’m sorry,” I stutter, my throat burning, tears falling freely. “I’m…sorry. I…I loved… I love him… I’m—sorry.”
“Shh,” she soothes, rubbing circles along my back. “Breathe, sweetheart. You need to breathe.” Her tone isn’t harsh. Not once. Even when I’m gasping, choking on my own shame and tears, her hand stays firm, grounding, she doesn’t pull away.
In her eyes, I’m not the girl who destroyed her son. I’m just a girl. A broken one. And somehow, she holds all the shattered pieces like they matter, like they’re still worth something.
Minutes pass and I’m still crying, but it’s starting to slow down. I ease back, eyes swollen, chest hollow, heart aching still.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I whisper, voice hoarse.
“I didn’t expect you to be upstairs alone, crying yourself sick,” she says, brushing my damp hair from my face. “Come downstairs, sweetheart. Everyone’s still up.”
“I can’t,” I say quickly, eyes falling to my hands. “I think it’s best I stay away from the family. No one wants me here and?—”
She cuts me off with a look. “If no one wanted you here, you wouldn’t be here.”
Now that lands a hard hit in my chest, she could have lied to make me feel better but, no. It’s the truth.
“Come on,” she says, standing. “The boys are in the pool room pretending to know how to play.” She smiles at her joke, which makes a small smile appear on my lips too. “The girls are in the kitchen eating cookies and talking about whatever it is girls talk about when boys aren’t around.” Now I do huff a laugh, the sound brittle but real.
