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And yet, that’s what heartbreak feels like; it’s having someone reach into your chest and tear the organ from your body, except they don’t use any tools or care to make it a clean extraction. They yank and twist until it pops free, leaving all the broken muscle and tissue behind, veins spilling with nowhere else to pump into.
It’s visceral, blinding pain that sparks in the wound and creeps outward, testing the waters to see how much you can take.
Betrayal slithers like lava down my spine, obliterating everything in its path. Looking up at Kal, I’m struck by how immediately your entire view of a person can change, when presented with new information about them.
When I felt the scars on his body, proving a lifetime of evil deeds, I saw a man trapped in a monster’s body.
When I saw the pictures of his mom and sister, my heart ached for a boy with no one, who grew up and filled the cracks in his soul with whatever scraps of attention and affection he could get.
Now, all I see is a liar.
A man I don’t even recognize; his shape shifts into a sinister being as I stare at him silently, still hoping beyond hope that he’ll refute what my mother’s saying. That I wasn’t his sloppy seconds, his only option.
His revenge piece.
‘You’re of no use to me dead, little one.’
I suppose this solves that mystery.
Pushing my chair slowly back from the table, I keep my eyes trained on my glass of water, refusing to look at anyone in fear of an instant breakdown.
“I don’t want to be late for Ari’s recital.”
I feel three pairs of eyes on me, feel the surprise from all of them. “Elena,” Papá says, and I hear his chair scrape across the concrete, creaking as he stands. “We should probably talk about this—”
Shaking my head, I press my lips together, afraid of what might slip out if given the slightest opportunity. A sob tickles the back of my throat, and no matter how many times I try to push it down, it refuses, lodging itself there like agony demanding my attention.
Whoever said the stages of grief don’t just apply to death was onto something.
Turning on my heel, I sidestep my chair and head back into the house, passing through the kitchen. I swipe my purse and coat from the sofa in the living room, almost making it to the front door before a hand grabs my wrist, yanking me backward.
“Don’t you dare leave this house without talking to me,” Kal snaps, turning me around so I’m facing him. “We don’t do that shit.”
Trying to twist out of his grip, I snarl, “We don’t do anything. Don’t tell me to open up about how I’m feeling when you’ve been lying to me the entire time I’ve known you.”
“When would have been a good time to bring it up? I couldn’t very well be buried in your pussy and casually dredge up the fact that I’ve seen your mother in a similar state.”
The sentence burns as it slaps across my face, worse than if he’d just killed me on the spot. At least the pain would likely be over soon. “Well, lucky for you, she cut out the middleman and did it for you. Solved that dilemma real quick, didn’t it?”
My free hand claws at the front door, turning the knob and wrenching it open. Yanking on my arm again, I glare up at him.
“Let go of me.”
His gaze sears straight through me, skipping my heart altogether and igniting my soul on fire. But not the good kind of fire, that grazes your skin and fills you with warmth. It’s the kind that singes and steals, destruction in the form of flames.
“I can’t,” he grits, although his fingers retract at the same time, reaching up to card through his hair. “Jesus, Elena, just give me five minutes.”
Part of me wants to; aches to stay back and hear what he has to say, but the anger pulsing through me takes precedence, wanting him to suffer.
“I can’t,” I repeat. Ari floats down the staircase, half her face decorated in sparkly foundation and gold makeup, completely oblivious to everything that’s just happened. I catch her as she starts to slip out the other side of the door, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to the recital already?”
She nods. “We always rehearse a few of the trickier numbers before the show.” Peering up at Kal, she purses her lips, then looks back to me. “Want to come with?”
Nodding, I follow her out to the car sitting idle at the curb, Lorenzo behind the wheel. And when I climb in the back, chancing a single glance over my shoulder, I see Kal still standing in the doorway, frozen in place like a statue.
When we drive away, I let my sobs choke free; Ari scoots closer, letting me cry on her shoulder even though she doesn’t seem to know what’s going on.
I always wondered what would happen if I bled wide open, and he wasn’t there to blot it up with his tongue or fingers or first aid kit.
Guess now I have my answer.
