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He spent the night with Scarlett Thiels.
I mean, he’s given me so many of my firsts. I guess it only makes sense he would be the first to break my heart. And stupid me, I got so swept up in the whole fairy-tale of him; I wasn’t even aware I’d given him the power to do it.
Eleven-fifteen, a red Mercedes coupe pulls up in my driveway. Scarlett Thiel’s red Mercedes coupe. And Sebastian gets out of the passenger seat, drags his Toad-like-self up my front steps and rings the doorbell.
My mother refuses to tell him I’m not home.
“I’m not lying for you, Caroline. Whatever happened between you two, you need to deal with it like a mature adult.”
So basically, she chooses now, of all times, to start acting like a TV mom and spouting lines like“a relationship takes work and communication, sweetheart,”and, “You can’t just shut the other person out anytime things get tough.”And other similarly insightful gems.
I’m a little shocked when Seb appears in my bedroom doorway, because he looks like hell. I mean, he still looks gorgeous—because karma would never fully crap all over Sebastian Murdoch—but he definitely looks like hefeelslike garbage.
I’m sure I look worse.
“You drove here with Scarlett.” It’s the first thing out of my mouth, because apparently above all else, I am the jealous, spiteful type when I am ninety-nine percent sure my boyfriend just cheated on me.
Okay, maybe seventy percent sure, now. Because if something really happened with him and Scarr in that bedroom, he wouldn’t then ask her to drive him here to patch things up with me this morning, would he? I mean, he’s not exactly academically gifted or anything. But he’s also not stupid. And he knowsI’mnot stupid.
He leans against the doorframe, like he legitimately needs the support to keep him from sliding to the floor like a slimy sea Salp. “Yeah, I had Scarr drop me off… I can’t really drive right now.”
“Why can’t you drive?”
“Because… I have a wicked headache.”
“Are you drunk? Or hungover or something?”
“No. I just have a pounding headache.” He walks into the room, and because he looks genuinely unwell, I don’t stop him when he sits on my bed.
I shift away from him, though.
“Last night… me and Scarr,” he says. “We were just talking.” He looks over at me, and his eyes look so sincere, nothing toad-like at all in the look he gives me. This guy is giving me whiplash right now, with all the emotions he’s pulling from me.
“So, then why did you sneak off to a bedroom—alone—if it was just to talk? Why did you have yourshirt off,Seb?”
He sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. “Scarr was pissed at me. About… For a bunch of stuff. How I treated you at the party, and how—she’s on your side, Caro. She thinks—”
“Oh, there aresidesnow?”
“That’s not what I meant.” He scrubs his face with his palm.
“Because if there are, it’s pretty clear Scarlett is on the ‘shirtless Sebastian’ side.”
“I puked all over my T-shirt. That’s why I took it off. And tossed it in the shower. I was gonna borrow a clean one from Xave. I swear to you,there is nothing going on between me and Scarr.Not now. Not ever.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “We kissed in a closet in seventh grade for a stupid game. That’s it. I love Scarr as a good friend. Like a sister or something. But not… nothing like I feel about you, Caro.Nothinglike that.”
“Then why did you ignore me all night? Why were you hanging out with those guys you know have been total assholes to me? Yousawhow they treated me… and then you’re sitting there hanging out with them, laughing and—and acting like you’re all best buds or whatever, and totally ignoringme.” I fight back a sob. “You made me feel like dirt, Seb. Like less than dirt. Like a joke.”
He’s still hunched over, elbows on his knees, but his head is turned and he’s looking up at me with eyes that lack any of the sparkle they usually have. He looks gutted. As if he’s barely holding himself together.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Caro. It wasn’t… Last night was a blur. I didn’t remember those guys. I was a mess. The whole night, everything was hazy and confusing… And just…Shit.” He winces, like he’s physically in pain. He obviouslyisin pain. “I can’t explain everything right now… Fuck, I’m sorry. I need to tell you some stuff.” He drops his head into his hands and massages his temples. “My stupid head is killing me, though… It’s hurting too bad for me to deal with this. I’m so sorry.”
He closes his eyes and sort of slumps down on my bed on his back. He keeps his eyes closed and covers them with his forearm, like even whatever light filtering past the seams of his eyelids is still too much to bear.
The throwing up last night… The dizziness. And now the headache.
I move closer to him. “Seb, I think you have a bad concussion.”
The fact that his expression doesn’t so much as twitch makes me think he already knows this.
