Page 106 of How To Not Need You

Like I was a stranger standing at someone else's door.

I close my eyes. There it is. That stupid fucking pain again.

I’ve read about hearts breaking. Harper has written about them breaking. Songs have been dedicated to the apparently widespread phenomenon of vital organs shattering because somebody couldn't keep their pants on.

I always assumed it was metaphorical. My last relationship fallouts definitely hadn’t garnered this response from the thing.

Apparently my heart didn't get the memo. Because something inside my chest has hurt since that morning.

And the worst part?

I don't even know what happened. Jake wasn't there. That fact has been circling my brain for two days. Further enforcing my own stubbornness.

He was at the station. I know he was at the station. So no, I didn't catch my boyfriend having sex with his ex-wife. I didn't catch him doing anything. I saw Megan. In a towel. In his house. And I ran before she could say another word. There could be an explanation. I know that too.

Maybe that's why I haven't answered him. Because eventually I have to ask. And then Jake will explain. And I'll have to decide whether I believe him. My stomach turns. No. That's not true. The really terrifying part is that I already want to.

I want there to be some ridiculous, painfully innocent explanation that makes me feel like an absolute dickhead for spending two days fermenting beneath a throw blanket.

I want him to tell me I got it wrong. I want to believe him when he does. Because if I got it wrong, then Jake is still Jake. Tilly still wants goulash again. Hades is still waiting for me to feed him. And the key sitting on my kitchen counter can go back on my keyring.

I stare at it from across the room. I took it off the second I got home. Couldn't stand the weight of it in my pocket. Now it sits beside my abandoned laptop, small and brass and completely fucking innocent.

I hate that key. I want it back on my keyring so badly my eyes sting. The phone buzzes again. I glare at it.

“Fine.”

I snatch it from the cushion and turn it over. My phone buzzes again. A longer buzz this time. A call.

I stare at the back of it. The screen is dark against the cushion, but I can feel the vibration through the fabric. One buzz. Two. Three. Then silence. Whoever it was has given up. Or they’re calling again immediately. Or they’ve decided to drive over.

I pull the blanket up until it covers my chin. The apartment feels even more empty than before as it’s silence encases me.

And I sit in the middle of it all, wrapped in a blanket that smells like me and decisions I’m not ready to make, waiting for something I can’t name.

My phone stays face-down on the cushion. I don’t know how long I stay like that.

The sound of a key in the lock brings me upright on the couch so fast the blanket falls to my waist. My heart races as a mix of hope and dread fill me. But Jake wouldn’t use a key he doesn’t have. Not to mention that he doesn’t know where I live. Which means someone else is coming in.

The door swings open and Luca walks through it wearing a full scowl, the kind that suggests he’s really pissed which is unusual. Behind him, Harper carries a bottle of wine with a much more concerned look, and Elsie balances a tray of brownies whilst trailing slightly behind them. I stare at them. All of them. The three people who have known me longest and somehow still choose to show up despite my numerous issues.

Luca doesn’t break stride crossing the room. He stops in front of the couch, plants both hands on his hips, and looks me over once with the clinical assessment of someone inspecting roadkill.

“I decided that I needed to investigate if you were still breathing.” He announces. “You must have forgotten that you gave me this,” he continues, holding a key up between two fingers, “when you went to Melbourne last year and asked me to water your cactus.”

The cactus.

I blink.

“The cactus that did not survive,” he continues, “because you told me to water it twice a week and failed to mention that it was a desert plant that required less water than anything ever.”

“I forgot you still had that.”

“Obviously.” He pockets the key. “Enough is enough, Liv. We let you sulk for a few days but it’s time to pull your head out of your ass and face the situation.”

Elsie smacks him on the arm with enough force to make him wince. “Be nice. She doesn’t look too good.”

I glance down at myself. The sauce stain stares back at me from my chest like a scarlet letter written in tomato. My hair is, Christ, I don’t even want to know. I can feel it, that alone tells me enough.