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35
Savannah
I’m flopped across my bed like a lovesick teenaged girl. I’m all out of tears to cry and now my face is just a blotchy, mottled mess. My body is trying to give new meaning to the words ‘shapeless’ and ‘boneless.’
This feeling absolutely blows.
I’m already listening to Taylor Swift, the edgiest and most rebellious music I know. While she sings a catchy pop song about a girl done wrong, I am making faces in the mirror on the back of my door.
Cole’s ex is in town. She’s pretty and polished and sleek, all the things that I am not. Cole really messed up by not telling me to expect to see her.
And that’s not even mentioning the fact that Cole is really moving to London! Not only that, but he lied to me about his plans. Or at the very least, didn’t tell me the entire truth. Who does that?
When I think about how hurt I felt when Cole decided not to come to the cemetery, it kind of seals his fate. I fell for Cole, head over heels. But I didn’t sign up for being lied to and pushed to the side whenever his ex is available.
I can’t believe myself right now. Cole was never my boyfriend, but I went and fell in love anyway. And it hurts to know that he’ll never understand how much he hurt me, because I refused to ever let him see it.
My gaze eventually wanders over to my art wall, just to the left of my door. It features a collage I made in junior high for a class project about my inner soul. There are several cut outs from magazines, smiling young celebrities and female gymnasts leaping with ribbons. A smattering of peeling gold stars adorn the cut out letters that form the words that I’ve always lived by. Cleaner than sunshine, sweeter than honey.
I make a face at the collage. Right now, I’m seriously considering ripping that ugly old thing off the wall and tearing it to teeny tiny pieces.
Instead, I whisper to it.
“That’s bullshit,” I inform it. “You should stop telling people that kind of nonsense.”
As if the collage is pushing back, a knock comes on my bedroom door. I startle so hard that I fall to the floor with a yelp.
Birdie opens the door and sizes up the situation. She offers me a hand to help me get up.
“I was going to ask if you’re okay. But…,” She waves her hand. “Clearly you’re not.”
My face flames, and I quickly turn off the Bluetooth speaker that’s blaring angsty girl rock.
I glance at my watch. “It’s after four. Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I’m leaving right now. I just came up to tell you that Cole is here. He’s asking for you.”
My heart seizes in my chest and my stomach does a backflip. “He’s here?”
“Yeah. He’s waiting downstairs. Do you want me to tell him to leave?”
“No. No, I’ll come down.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? I can call the restaurant, and let them know I’m going to be late if you’re not a thousand percent certain.”
I hug my sister hard. “It’s really okay. Thanks for looking out for me, though.”
Birdie gives me an extra squeeze, then steps back. “I love you, Sav. I always will, no matter how terrible the music you blast might be.”
I fake a gasp. “How dare you! Taylor Swift is great.”
She rolls her eyes. “Come downstairs now, before Cole’s pacing wears a hole in the living room carpet.”
Straightening my pink skirt and oversized white sweater, I trot down the stairs after my sister. As Birdie swishes out of the house, I find Cole standing by the mantle in the living room, looking as impossibly handsome as ever. His azure gaze is focused on the family photo that was taken just before my mom passed away.
“Cole,” I say simply.
I’m incensed and I am on the very brink of just telling Cole to leave me alone forever. I can’t say anything else, because I am so damn mad that it threatens to boil up and bubble out of my mouth.
