Chapter 2
Later That Night…
I love my bedroom.
Despite being sent here to live, away from New York City, away from everything I’ve ever known so my mother could rein me in, it’s my favorite room in the world. Because I decorated it just the way I like now that I don’t live under my mother’s roof.
It has a cozy queen-sized bed with the softest sheets and a blanket with a colorful Rajasthani print and golden tassels. My mom never liked this blanket. Not because it’s from India but because my biji gave it to me. My walls have vintage posters of my favorite Bollywood movies—no mystery as to why my mother hates that—and I have a whole collection of old cassette tapes of my Bollywood music. Again, very vintage and cool.
My window with sheer white drapery overlooks the back garden. It has a perfect view of the tree under which I sometimes smoke and on other nights dance in my white dress. When it snows, I can see miles and miles of snow-covered grounds.
I’m sure my mom wasn’t counting on me making it my safe haven, but I did. I made it the safest, coziest, the warmest place—not by temperature but by the vibe—I could.
So for a few seconds, I can’t compute how that changed.
How my bedroom, those sheets, these pillows, my blanket, turned into something I’m having a hard time looking at. Because every time I look at those pillows, I think of how I’d propped my phone against them to dance. Every time I look at that blanket, I think of how I’d make myself comfortable before picking up my phone. How I’d lie on those sheets for hours, texting away.
With my boyfriend.
My fucking boyfriend.
“Why?”
I know I said that but strangely, my voice is coming from far away, from the bottom of a well. So I’m not sure if he heard me.
But apparently, he did because he replies, “Because he’s an asshole. He’s a selfish prick.”
I look up at him then.
Shepard is angry.
No, he’s raging.
It’s a rare sight. I’ve seen him lose his temper before, mostly when he’s watching game replays or when his team loses because he always thinks he’s responsible for it and could’ve done something to prevent it, but this is different. I’ve never seen him seething like this. I’ve never seen him vibrating with rage.
My best friend.
My boyfriend.
But he’s not, is he?
Turns out, he never was. We never got there.
Never got a chance to get there.
Because apparently, this is the first time I’m talking to him. This is the first time I’m talking to Shepard—the real Shepard—ever since he went away for the season. This is the first time we’re having any sort of interaction with each other.
“Jesus.” He tunnels his finger through his hair, messing up the already messy strands. “I should’ve… I should’ve called you from the road. I thought I was giving you space. I thought… after the night of the party, you needed that from me. To think. To make up your mind. I don’t know. I just… I should’ve checked up on you.” He tugs at his hair. “Fuck. Fuck. I should’ve?—”
“It’s not your fault,” I tell him.
Because it’s not.
In fact, as soon as he knew, he left everything and came to me.
To tell me.
The truth.
Something that apparently, I already knew. But refused to believe.
And so my first reaction was joy.
My very first reaction was happiness, giddiness, relief.
That it was true after all. That he is the one I’ve been dancing for. That he is the one I’ve been telling all my woes to; I’ve been texting with. He is the world’s best boyfriend.
Him. Him. Him.
And I’ve been crying for him. Since last night. Since our encounter at the theater where he left me all covered up and clothed. Where we said goodbye and brought our story full circle.
I’ve been mourning his loss.
But now I don’t have to, I thought.
Because he’s my boyfriend after all.
But then I realized that he wasn’t supposed to be that. He wasn’t supposed to be my boyfriend, let alone the best boyfriend.
That’s when I realized that it’s not a good thing.
He lied to me.
He deceived me.
And I was so foolish, so fucking stupid, that when he told me the truth, I didn’t believe him. I didn’t fucking believe him. That’s what kills me the most.
My stupidity.
He made me stupid. His love made me stupid.
So it’s not Shepard’s fault. It’s his.
It’s mine.
“I love him,” I say.
Again, my voice comes from the bottom of a deep well, but like last time, he does hear it. And he goes still. His harshly breathing chest stops moving. His features set in a hard line and in response, I turn to stone as well.
But I can’t stop the words from flowing out.
I can’t stop my own truth from flowing out as I stare up at the face that for all intents and purposes looks like the man I love but doesn’t belong to him.
“I’ve loved him since the moment I saw him. On my eighteenth birthday party. I saw him under the pink magnolia tree, and I fell. Instantly. I got obsessed. Instantly. He was just so different from anyone else I’d ever met. Any man I’d ever met. I felt safe with him. I felt like I could be myself with him, my usual reckless and impulsive self, and he’d keep me safe. I’d never felt that around any man before. Maybe it was the fact that I was wearing that provocative white dress, and he wouldn’t look at anything other than my face. Or the fact that he told me to stay away from him because he was a stranger when every other strange man I’d met has tried to get closer to me any way he could. I don’t know what it was, but I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to want me.
“But he didn’t. And I got so angry at that, so petty, that I came to you. I asked you to dance with me. It wasn’t my dad I was trying to piss off; I remember you asking me that. It was him. I was trying to piss him off. I was trying to make him jealous. Which is why I kept coming back. To you. Which is why I showed up everywhere you went because I knew he’d be there. Which is why I always made sure to grab your hand, laugh with you, flirt with you, because I knew he’d be watching and…
“I didn’t stop. I didn’t stop, Shepard. Even when I knew your heart was getting involved, I didn’t stop. I didn’t tell you the truth because I… God, I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to make you feel what he made me feel. I didn’t want you to ever, ever go through the pain of unrequited love because I was in unrequited love. You’re my best friend and I… When you gave me that ultimatum, I made the decision to move on. From him. I made the decision to be with you and…”
I try to breathe, but my breaths keep getting caught up in my chest. Still somehow, I push on. “But I think it’s too late. I think I’m a bad person, Shepard. I think what I did, how I used you and never told you the truth… it makes me the worst person in the whole world. Because if I could do it to you, my best friend, then I could do it to anyone. I could break anyone’s trust, anyone’s heart. For him, I could do anything and…”
I grip his shirt tighter.
I twist it and tug at it.
As my vision gets blurrier and blurrier.
As my knees feel weaker and weaker by the second.
“I don’t want to. I don’t want to be bad anymore, Shepard,” I plead, my voice breaking. “I don’t want to be stupid anymore. He told me the truth. The other night. He said that… He said that it was him. That it had been him all along, but I didn’t believe him. I didn’t… God, I’m so stupid. I’m so blind. He makes me so blind. And I don’t want to be. P-please, I don’t. I want to be good.
“I want… I want to forget him. I want to move on.” I shake my head, my tears wetting my cheeks, dripping down to my throat. “I don’t want to love him anymore. I don’t w-want to love someone who’d do something like that. I don’t want to break my heart for him. I don’t want to cry for him. I don’t want to want him. I don’t…”
I’m not sure what happens, but the next thing I know, my face is pressed against Shepard’s chest. My nose is buried in his throat and his arms are around me as I sob and sob and fucking sob.
For my broken heart.
My broken trust.
For my broken love.
But Shepard keeps holding me, giving me support, giving me shelter against the shivers that are wracking my body. He’s giving me his body heat to combat the chill seeping into my bones.
The kind of chill I don’t like. The kind I don’t ever want to feel.
It’s a chill that’s colder than winter.
It’s a chill like him.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” he soothes and rocks me like I’m a child.
Which makes me wail harder.
That he’s being so good to me when I’ve betrayed him so badly. When I’ve been so awful to him.
He doesn’t give up, though. He keeps stroking my hair. He keeps rocking me. He keeps whispering soothing things. “Just trust me, yeah? Just trust me. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you what you want.”
“But I?—”
“You love him?”
Ashamed, I nod. “I d-don’t want to anymore.”
“Just trust me.”
So I give him all my weight.
Because he said to trust him and he’s the only one I trust in this moment.
The only one.
I can’t trust him. I will never ever trust him. And I certainly can’t trust myself. I can’t trust myself because I’m the one who fell for him. I’m the one who thought he had more to him. I’m the one who didn’t believe him when he told me the fucking truth.
And I’m the one who’s weeping and wailing because this is the end of our story.
The end of Stellan ‘The Cold’ Thorne and Isadora Agni Holmes.
The Next Night…
It feels like the night of the charity event.
I’m dressed up in fancy clothes, a backless dress that’s held together by a couple of strings and has frills with a leaflet embroidery at the border. It’s black and significant. Because black not only is my least favorite color, but it’s the color you wear at the end.
Of someone’s life.
Black is the color you wear to mourn death.
I’m mourning the death of me and my love.
And it’s exactly the kind of dress he’ll hate. Because of how free flowing it is and how there are just too many fucking strings in the back than a dress could possibly need. It also shows off the two dimples in my back and the crack of my ass. I checked in the mirror to make sure.
So I’m dressed to kill and as if someone has killed me.
I’m seated at the table with my friends, Tempest, Wyn, and Meadow. Plus their partners. Even Jupiter is here, working on the waitstaff. Like before, one of the seats at the table is empty because my partner is nowhere to be seen. It’s okay, though; I trust him. I trust him with all my heart.
Instead of rejecting me and storming off in anger after I told him the truth last night, he held me for almost an hour as I cried in his arms. He not only held me, he took care of me. He stroked my hair; he rubbed my back; he told me he would fix everything. He said I didn’t need to worry about anything anymore. That he had it. He’s going to give me what I want.
So when he told me he was going to come pick me up the next day to go to this team event, I agreed. Even though I wasn’t in the mood to go anywhere. I didn’t even think I had the energy to go anywhere, but I somehow gathered every little piece of life I had left in me and got myself ready on time for him.
I wonder where he is, though and why he left me as soon as we got here.
Even so, I try to put on a good face for my friends. I try to focus on the conversation that’s happening around me. All three of them, Tempest, Wyn, and Meadow, unanimously told me that they loved the play. That they loved the plot, the costumes. But what they loved the most was me. They would’ve told me all this the very same night, but I’d disappeared. They’d looked for me, but when they couldn’t find me, they left. But they’re so glad that we’re all meeting up tonight so they could tell me in person.
For a couple of seconds when they’d started showering me with compliments, I couldn’t figure out what play they were talking about. What plot. What costumes.
Then it all came rushing back.
The play I was so nervous for. That he helped me run lines for. And the costume that he was stripping off my body in the closet. He said the same thing, that I was luminous.
Him. Him. Him.
It feels like everything is tainted by him.
Everything is ruined by him.
I am ruined by him.
Still, I act like I’m fine and smile like I’m not dead inside.
I’m so thankful when there’s commotion up front, by the makeshift stage, and their attention switches. Finally, I see my best friend up there. He’s at the podium and, leaning forward, he begins, “Sorry for all the fanfare and shit, but I wanted to say a few things. Number one: we’re killing it this season so, Seattle”—his eyes find the captain of Seattle’s team, Byron ‘Big Daddy’ Bradshaw—“you better watch out. Because we’re winning tomorrow.”
There are both cheers and boos from the audience because in addition to New York City FC, Seattle’s team is also present. Byron flips him the bird from where he’s sitting, and a chuckle runs through the crowd. Even though he’s smiling, I’d still be afraid of him with how big he is. How fierce-looking with his linebacker body and that full beard and man bun. He looks like a lumberjack who knows how to wield an axe like a Viking. I can imagine him tackling his opponents with his body on the soccer field as if it were football. Although from what I hear, he’s extremely agile and fast for having a body like that.
“Number two: we all know how awesome I am”—again a wave of cheers and boos goes through the crowd, cheers louder this time, however—“but we all know that soccer is a team sport, so I guess I can’t be awesome without you all. So thank you.” Then, “For making me so awesome.”
Laughter and claps reverberate throughout the room.
“And since you guys make me so awesome and because let’s just say I couldn’t be here without you and your hard work, I have an announcement to make in front of all of you.”
He pauses and I can see the crowd is curious.
Despite myself, I’m curious too.
And then his eyes swing over to me as he says, “Well, more like a question to ask.”
I forget to breathe.
For several moments, all I do is stare back at him.
Until he moves away from the podium and steps down from the stage, starting to head toward me. And then I can’t stop breathing. I can’t stop the air rushing in and out of my lungs. I can’t stop myself from choking.
Because somehow, I know. I know what he’s going to ask.
And I think the rest of the room knows as well.
Tempest’s chanting, “Oh my God, oh my God. Oh my fucking God.”
Meadow’s whispering, “Is he doing it? Is he really going to do it?”
Wyn replies back to Meadow, “I think he is. I so totally think he’s going to do it.”
I push my chair back. I have to.
I have to get out of here.
But I can’t.
Because just as I’m about to stand up, he reaches where I’m sitting. And looking into my eyes, he comes down to his knee. He picks up one of my hands that I had curled into a fist on my thighs. He opens the fingers one by one and rests it on his open palm.
“I guess by now everyone in this room knows how I feel about you. How ever since I met you, I’m a changed man. They know how crazy I am about you. So I guess I want to make it official. I want to ask you if you, Isadora Holmes, would make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”
I think the table across the room can hear my breaths.
I think they can also hear how fast my heart is beating.
And if they can hear it, I’m sure Shepard can hear it too. I’m sure he can see how badly I’m shaking. How my mouth is parted and trembling, and how wide my eyes are. How cold my hands are and again it’s not the kind of cold I like.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to say.
I can’t say what I want to say. I can’t say no. Not here, not now.
Not in front of all these people who are watching us.
Not even if we were alone.
So I say nothing at all.
For probably too long because he whispers, only for my ears, “Do you trust me to fix it? Do you trust me to give you what you want?”
I nod, without hesitation.
“So then say yes.”
His eyes have something in them I can’t read. It’s heavy and grave, and it begs me to do what he wants me to do. So I do it.
“Yes.”
And the room breaks out in deafening applause. It breaks out in cheers and laughter and smiles and enthusiasm. Even through that, even through the chaos in the room as people rush in to congratulate us, when Shepard pulls me to his feet and hugs me tightly, whispering the same mantra to trust him, my eyes find two things.
First, Jupiter.
She’s standing a little to my left and her eyes are wide.
Shocked.
In that moment, I know. That all my suspicions about her liking Shepard were true. And God, he just broke her heart.
No, not he. Me.
I just broke her heart.
But that’s not the only thing I did. Because a moment after Jupiter, I find him.
He is where he always is.
In a corner, hidden away from everyone.
I knew where he was the moment I arrived at the party, and I knew he was watching me—this time I knew for sure—even though I didn’t look at him once.
I look at him now, though.
I look at him over his twin brother’s shoulder and find him staring at the sparkling diamond on my finger. My engagement ring. And I realize that along with breaking Jupiter’s heart, I killed his.
Because this is what death looks like.
It looks like him in this moment.