Chapter 21
SUNK COST FALLACY
The sunk cost fallacy is used to describe the point of no return. The horizon on which you’ve sacrificed too much time, spent too much loan money you don’t have, and lastly, poured so much of your identity into medicine that you don’t know who you would be if not a doctor.
But is it possible that you can sink so much time into something you don’t know when to walk away for something better?
THANATOS
He’s here.
I tumble forward, crushing him in my arms.
“Whoa, little surgeon,” he says, voice a little flat, “careful.”
I hold him tighter.
“You came,” I whisper.
“You called,” he answers, tucking his head into the crook of my neck.
I still can’t believe I confessed my love to a man who was firmly unachievable, the one obstacle I couldn’t study my way to the top.
And yet.
And yet, he’s still here.
Still letting me maneuver him into a dance instead of moping in place.
Still gaping at me like his life depends on it as I try to lead him into a twirl, and he graciously applies enough pressure to redirect, making me follow.
Still willing to forgive my humiliating escape when I ran away from him at the mere mention of my late sister, which I regretted as soon as I got home.
I’m still devastated with him for trying to break us apart. But I’m not upset that he knows about my sibling. I should have told him that was part of my reason for going into medicine months ago.
I allow myself another glance at him. Everything about him is too much. The too-low collared shirt, the gleaming tux, the high cheekbones that tense as he leads me.
If I am forcing myself to feel nothing, he is grappling with the weight of feeling everything, pushing the weight of both our worlds up the hill.
And I feel like one of my mother’s porcelain dolls, corset dress constricting every thudding beat of my heart, mechanical eyes unable to cry, pottery feet one step away from falling wrong and imploding into pieces.
Damn him for being such an incredible dancer. My feet are moving so carefully to match his; I can hardly keep up with my thoughts.
His hand crushes mine just a little too tightly, the unyielding grip as unbearable as the silence.
He awkwardly breaks it with, “You appear to be… thinking.”
I almost laugh. He’s so blunt, it’s adorable. “Yes, I am.”
“Do you still want to dance?” he asks. His tone is light, but the glare he levels at Jade’s peculiar friend is anything but. “Your new suitor awaits.”
I snort. “I’d rather be dissected in the cadaver lab, alive, than try to date again right now.”
And bless him for his dry sense of humor, because the bastard actually chuckles.
The victory is short-lived, however, because his disconnected face, briefly amused, snaps back into place.
In the corner of my eye, Jade and her—what are they? Old friends? Former rivals? Circle each other like feral cats, waiting to see who’ll cede ground first.
If Kane and I are fracturing apart, those two are crashing together like titans, wrecking all the old gods that stood in their path. I pray Kane is too in his own world to notice how quickly his sister is falling for the man that’s had his eyes on her the way Kane used to have his eyes on me.
Insatiably.
Unrelentingly.
Absently, now, as the music slows to a close, as does Kane’s grip.
Before he can fully detach himself, I step back abruptly, pulling us both closer to the center of the dance floor.
His eyes widen.
I’m clinging to him, grappling for an excuse to keep talking, while I come up with, “We should plan how we tell others we broke up.”
His grunt is quickly concealed by a cough. “God, Percy. What’s there to say?”
“Well, was it elaborate? Do we hate each other?”
His look is as vexing as it is solemn. “Don’t insult me, Percy.”
“If you don’t hate me,” I say quietly, “at least humor me with this conversation.”
His fingers dig into my waist.
“I’ll say I broke up with you,” he says. “I’m the villain, you the angel. End of story.”
“But people will ask questions,” I argue. “Should I say you broke up with me because I wasn’t pretty enough? Not smart enough? What excuse will you give for me not being enough for you?”
My heels trip over themselves with each question, ankles stiffening with my frustration, while Kane’s grip gets tighter, closer, making me fall in instead of away.
“Tell them the truth,” he says venomously, using a feather-light touch to spin me, “that you are everything, and that I am nothing. That’s all there is to say.”
Then tell me it’s a lie, I want to beg. Tell me you’ve loved me this whole time, and breaking up with me was a mistake.
“What if I thought you were everything, Kane?” I ask earnestly. “What if your flaws were nothing to me? What then?”
The question is laced with my bitterness, soured by my impending—rather, already finished—relationship breakup, but yet, it’s the most honest I’ve been all night.
And I hate pointing out the obvious to him.
I’m not a helpless woman. I wouldn’t be with him if I didn’t like him.
I catch something beautiful on his face—awe, devastation—it could have been anything. Then he pulls away.
The space between us is inches, but it feels like realms.
He puts his hands in his pockets, turning away. “Percy, I—I hate hurting you,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry I didn’t end this sooner. And I’m sorry about our last conversation, I never know what to say, and half the time I say the wrong thing—”
I cross the distance. “Kane, if this is about my sister, it’s okay.”
My chest squeezes, making it difficult to breathe.
He pales. “Percy, I—”
I hate that Kane is a good enough man to apologize when it’s unnecessary, and I push through the notching between my sternum to continue, “No, Kane, I was emotional, and you scared me,” I say, squeezing my hand on his shoulder.
“I should have told you sooner. I’m not mad that you know.
I was more shocked than anything. But I hate,” I spin with him, lowering my voice, “thinking about people I lost when I feel like there are people right in front of me who won’t listen to me. ”
He swallows, the bob on his throat moving.
The music escalates, couples darting in closer, and Kane remembers we’re in public, pulling me in.
Moving more by instinct than reason, I trace the veins of his neck while we spin, if only to put on a show for any curious onlookers. I don’t think we really need to perform anymore, but, needless to say, my touch makes Kane’s steps sharper. Tenser.
He swings his arm up; I duck under. I reach an arm out; he wraps me back in.
We spin apart, tear through the air back together, then whisk each other away.
We both smile tightly, still, after all this time, merely pretending.
The truth of it shatters me so hard I stumble, and he catches me with a frown as we keep going.
What’s happening to us?
Something like a cheer goes through the crowd, and Jade and her old friend pull apart, arms intertwined.
How ironic. They’re falling together. We’re breaking apart.
I keep waiting for Kane to tire of this and work us apart, but he is, as usual, as steadfast as they come. Whatever pretense he’s convinced himself of must be fulfilled, lest his real feelings emerge.
Night bleeds through the windows like smoke, Kane barely leashing his discomfort as we step in and out of the shadows.
From the frantic rise and fall of his chest against mine, to the uncoordinated way he clutches and releases my hand, and the erratic press of his fingers into my waist, it only takes the light clasping of my hands around his neck for his gaze to dip to mine.
Sparks dance along his pupils.
What a great pretender he is.
His palm grazes my back, noses brushing, breaths mingling.
“For appearances?” I murmur, heart thudding with want. That’s what would be normal, I convince myself. Everyone would expect two engaged people to kiss.
One last kiss, I tell him silently.
“For appearances,” he breathes, lips quirking. He’d never been nearer, hotter, his lips barely brushing mine as he spoke.
Last kiss, he blinks.
I love a liar.
And then he’s on me.
All of a sudden, his hands weave through my hair, lips on mine, passion betrayed by every gasp and sigh. The tenderness wars with the ferocity; the taste of whiskey burns my tongue, and my heart rattles as hot, molten kisses brush down my chin to my neck.
The hollow of my throat flames when he presses a last, languid kiss to it. His hands linger on my hips, holding me prisoner to him.
I grieve for the moment we’ll never get again.
Neither of us makes any move to escape. This admission, these kisses, my raging heart, and the way he doesn’t want to let me go are all admissions in themselves.
Even if he’s too cowardly to say it, I know he loves me too.
Is Kane the one?
I wish I knew.
Since I’m the one who ran from him first, and then nearly drank myself to an early grave instead of processing my feelings, I can’t say that I’m a good judge.
Am I a fallacious judge of insight, my previous attachment to Kane preventing me from moving on?
Or is my real sunk-cost fallacy my pursuit of medicine above all, preventing me from chasing what I really want?
Do I even know what I want?
Do I even know what I deserve?
For most of this year, I thought I would be lucky to match, never mind find a man like Kane…
Finally, it’s him who breaks us apart, voice stern. “Goodnight, Persephone.”
“Wait,” I panic, grabbing his hand.
He halts.
I blink away the tears gathering in the corner of my eyes. “I don’t regret it,” I tell him. “Any of it.”
In the eternal silence that follows, I think I might shrivel up into dust.
Is this it? All we ever were? Is he going to beg me to stay?
Finally, he turns, his face a stony, hardened mask.
He takes my hand in his, pressing a soft, tender kiss to the center.
“Can I ask you one last question?” he asks.
I nod.
He turns away, agonized, then meets my eyes. “Would you have ranked Rusty higher to stay with me if the engagement was real?”
My face drops.
“I—”
Would I?
I detest Rusty. And I don’t want to miss out on The Hub and the training it could have given me. And Kane has no choice but to try to stay for his family. But if it were real, if I knew with absolute certainty that Kane was going to choose me—
He bites out a caustic, vengeful laugh. “That’s what I thought.”
“Wait,” I argue, getting flustered, “That’s not fair. You didn’t give me time to think—”
His hands land on his hips, looking up at the glittering chandelier, away from my face. “The silence is answer enough,” he says. “Both of us would have made the same decision in the end.”
“Kane—”
But he’s already stepping away, and my heels feel rooted in thorns, terrified of how my heart would get scraped if I pushed off to chase.
Expression grim, he twists around. “I hope your match day is everything mine wasn’t. You deserve it. I don’t regret anything, either.”
He drops his gaze, and the last of my fragile, tenuous hope dies. “I spent my whole life training to save lives, but at this moment, the only thing I’ve ever wanted to save is you,” he admits. “From me.”
He sighs. “And I think you feel that way, too.”
And he turns on his heel to leave me, for good.
Neither of us chases the other.
Neither gunner willing to turn the lethal weapon on each other, instead of ourselves.
One fleeing the room as fast as he can go, and the other firmly entrenched in place, deeply sunk in her identity of medicine above all else. Above any asinine, childish, pitiful attempt at something worthless like love.
Tears blur my vision.
My heart wheezes into my throat.
My ragged gasps chase my feet when I get the courage to flee, determined to run far, far away from this place, and never look back.
I burst from the museum, holding in my heaving heart with my hands, knees smashing into the cold, hard floor.
Because it’s I who has so many friends, such a bright future, and such a magnificent match day ahead.
I abandon all delusions otherwise, trapped in that ballroom, dancing with the students who believe the best day of their lives is coming, the way I once believed in him.