CHAPTER 2
Lila
W hen I was little, I would dream of finding a love like my parents’.
They met when my mom was around my age, the day she went to my dad’s tattoo parlor to ink an important reminder on her skin. She didn’t go through with the tattoo at that time, but it didn’t matter—without knowing, they’d met their soulmate.
I’ve always found it interesting, the concept of soulmates. How, by chance or fate, you’ll meet a seemingly insignificant person who will end up becoming your entire universe.
“I didn’t know I was going to end up marrying your dad,” my mom would say every time I asked her to tell me the story of how she met Dad. “All I knew was that I couldn’t stop thinking about him. We seemed to always bump into each other, and he felt… familiar. Like I’d known him my whole life.”
“How did you know Daddy was your soulmate?” I’d always ask, holding my breath until she gave me the answer I still find so magical to this day.
She’d smile at me, adoration written across her face. “Because my heart filled with this intense, bright light. And I knew I didn’t want to live another day without him by my side.”
Years later, when I met Oliver—my first and only boyfriend—I waited for my heart to fill with that bright light Mom always talked about. It was only butterflies I felt fluttering in my stomach, but I thought it was fine. I liked Oliver, maybe could even love him with time, and the light would eventually come.
Two years later, I finally understand why my heart is still in the dark.
Because, unlike my parents, the love I found may not be love after all.
“What the hell,” I mutter under my breath as I stop the car.
When I got to the library after Dr. Abner’s open lecture, I realized my laptop was dead and I’d forgotten my charger at home.
With my schedule packed, I’m in such a rush I almost miss it.
Oliver’s car.
In our driveway.
I pull over to the other side of the road, just a few houses down from our shared apartment, and fish for my phone inside my bag. Scanning our text thread, I reach the conclusion that I’m not, in fact, imagining things.
Oliver: Studying at Kev’s dorm. You coming home after that lecture thing?
Studying.
At Kev’s dorm.
So why is his car parked in front of our apartment?
“Relax. He probably just finished early,” I mutter to myself to no avail, because my fingers still shake as I type out another text to him.
Me: How’s your study session going?
I take a deep breath through my nose and place a hand over my racing heart.
Maybe that isn’t his car and I’m just seeing things.
But who else has a “Make tacos not war” bumper sticker?
Plus, I know his license plate number by heart—and that is it.
I need to calm down. My plans changed, so maybe his did too. There’s no reason for me to overreact like this, but at the same time I can’t ignore the bad feeling swirling around in my stomach, telling me something is very wrong.
Dizziness hits me when I read his reply moments later.
Oliver: About to leave Kev’s dorm now. Have to drive home to get my gym bag. Logan is picking me up later since I’m running low on gas, but I can tell him to drop me at the library for a quick kiss ;)
My whole body starts trembling at the fact that Oliver is lying for no apparent reason.
He’s hiding something. Why else would he lie?
As I wait for something, anything to happen, I curse at myself for having ignored my dad when he said he didn’t like Oliver for me. He was fully against us moving into an apartment together a month ago, but I shrugged him off because I thought he was just being his usual overprotective, overdramatic papa-bear self.
I should’ve listened to him.
I’m still shaking when the front door of the apartment building opens minutes later.
In a way, I was expecting it. Yet I’m still shocked and heartbroken and disgusted at the sight of Oliver, my ex- boyfriend, walking a girl I don’t recognize to a nearby car as she clings to his arm.
And because I must love pain, I don’t look away as he backs her up against the car and presses his front to her chest, kissing her lips.
I shut my eyes when her hands tangle in his blond curls.
With every millisecond that passes, I hate myself a thousand times more.
Because I’ve just thrown away two years on this pathetic excuse of a man.
Because I gave up my summer internship for him since he said we weren’t spending enough time together.
Maybe it’s my brain trying to find a silver lining, but in a weird, messed-up way, I’m relieved to now have a valid reason to break things off.
Oliver has never had any real ambitions other than partying with his friends, which has never mixed well with my drive to climb to the top of my field. I thought he needed time to figure things out because we’re still young, but months have gone by, and he’s yet to show signs of real direction. It genuinely bothered me, and over the past few weeks, I’ve started wondering if I deserve better. If I deserve a man who takes care of himself and me. But I always concluded I was being too rigid and unfair to Oliver. That I needed to be patient.
Screw that.
I do deserve better. I should’ve been strong enough to break up sooner, to take off my rose-colored glasses and see him for who he really is.
Whatever light my mom swears by when people meet the one, now I know I will never feel it. Because I never fell in love with Oliver; I fell in love with his potential that I made up in my head. And that is all my fault.
Anger seeps into my veins—at him for being a liar and a cheater and at myself for being a stubborn idiot.
I don’t move until the girl drives away and he gets back inside the building, and only after I’ve taken some deep breaths and calmed myself down do I leave my car.
Despite my breathing exercises, the five-minute walk to our apartment feels nauseating. My keys jiggle between my shaky fingers as I take the elevator to the third floor, unsure of how I want to face him after I just caught him shoving his tongue down someone else’s throat.
I consider calling my best friend, Mariah (she’d tell me to kick his ass), or my aunt Maddie (she’d tell me to take a deep breath and give him the cold shoulder), or even my uncle James for advice (he’d straight up kill him), but the elevator pings, and suddenly I know exactly what to do.
Because I’ve already wasted two years on him, and I’m not wasting another second.
“Babe?” Oliver’s confused voice reaches me as I unlock the door. “I thought you were at the library.”
He emerges from the bathroom, shirtless, with a gym T-shirt in his hand. When I look at him, my heart feels void.
If someone had asked me a year ago, I would’ve said I saw myself marrying Oliver. Maybe. With time. If he became a bit more mature and started taking adult life a bit more seriously.
How can you love someone one second and feel nothing for them the next? Just like that?
Maybe because I’ve never truly loved him.
My parents found love in each other many years ago, and I somehow convinced myself I’d find it too. That my first boyfriend would be the one because that’s how it played out for my mom, for the person I admire the most.
I’ve ignored all the red flags waving right in front of my eyes because it was easier. Because it hurt less. And now I’m paying the price.
“Hey, you there?” Oliver frowns when I say nothing. “What are you doing here? I thought—”
“Did you do a lot of studying today?” I cut him off, my voice neutral despite my heart beating uncontrollably in the worst possible way.
“Um, yeah. Why?”
“Because you lied to me. Your car was here when you said you were at Kev’s.”
He has the sheer audacity to look me dead in the eye and say, “Fine, yeah. I didn’t go to Kev’s dorm. Whatever. I went to Jared’s place to play some video games instead, and I just got back. I didn’t tell you because you know I’m falling behind in some of my classes. I didn’t want you to be upset with me. Sorry I lied, babe.”
There’s a part of me that doesn’t believe this is real. That this whole nightmare situation is only a distasteful prank. Because there’s no way Oliver thinks I was born yesterday.
“Was it Jared you cheated on me with, too, or did I imagine you kissing that girl five minutes ago?”
His silence has never been so loud.
“Lila—”
“I saw you kissing her, Oliver.” I hate the way my voice trembles as I say it. I hate that I’ve put up with him belittling my priorities for so long for nothing. “Don’t even try to deny it. We’re done.”
He curses under his breath before quickly putting on his T-shirt. “Can we talk about this later? Logan is about to come over.”
“So, you’re admitting it? That you cheated on me?” I ask, chin high, because he doesn’t deserve to see me crumble right now.
His chest deflates with a sigh. Not a sad but an annoyed one.
“It was just a kiss, holy shit.” He rakes his hands through his hair. “It didn’t mean anything. If you’d just let me explain—”
“I’m not interested in knowing what reasons you think justify being unfaithful,” I cut him off. The pit of anger in my stomach starts burning, consuming my patience in its wake. “How long has this been going on?”
“I don’t know, Lila. A month? I don’t fucking know.”
I’m not dumb enough to believe whatever leaves his mouth from now on, so I quickly realize it doesn’t matter if it’s been a month or three or six. He cheated on me, period. Infidelity isn’t something I’m willing to forgive and forget.
His phone pings with a notification. “Logan is downstairs. We’ll keep talking about this when I get back from the gym. Okay, babe?”
“Don’t call me babe . Are you seriously walking out of this conversation right now?”
“We’ll fix this.” He grabs his gym bag and leans in to give me a kiss, but I take a step back. “What’s wrong?”
“Oliver, are you fucking kidding me?” I raise my voice against my better judgment. I never allow myself to lose my temper, but all my self-control goes out the window with each word that leaves his mouth. “You kissed someone else, probably did other things, too, since you brought her to our apartment. I’m breaking up with you! And while we’re at it, forget about living here any longer since I’m paying for this apartment all on my own.”
That makes him frown. “I live here. You can’t kick me out.”
“I’m paying rent for both of us,” I argue. I’m glad I did listen to my dad when he advised me to get a month-to-month lease so I can end it whenever I want. “You don’t even pay the bills. You said you would after finding a job, but I don’t see you looking for one. I’m tired of your laziness and stupid excuses. What makes you think I’m going to let you stay here for free?”
Even if it means going back to my parents’ house, I don’t think I’ll stay here. Too many bitter memories, too little energy to replace them with happy ones.
“Fuck this,” he half shouts, yanking at the back of his hair. “I had physical needs that you weren’t meeting, that’s all. It was a onetime thing.”
Physical needs.
He’s going there.
“So what? It’s my fault that you cheated because I didn’t want to sleep with you whenever you wanted?”
“I didn’t say it was your fault.”
“Yes, you did.”
“How so?”
Is he a manipulative mastermind, or is he really that dense?
“You just said you had to get in someone else’s pants because you had physical needs I wasn’t meeting,” I argue, losing my patience. “That implies that if I had wanted to sleep with you as many times as you wanted, you wouldn’t have felt the need to see someone else behind my back. You know what that’s called, Oliver? Being a piece of shit .”
“That’s not fair,” he argues back. “You’re painting me as some kind of sex addict.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I take a deep, tired breath. “It takes real talent, Oliver, to cheat on your girlfriend and make yourself look like the victim.”
“I am a victim.”
“Of what? Stupidity?”
Neither of us says anything for the next few seconds, the sound of the cars driving outside the apartment and our heavy breathing filling the uncomfortable silence. I’m about to give in and tell him I’m too tired to keep arguing when Oliver speaks again.
Sealing his death sentence.
“Yes, Lila, I had needs . Sorry for wanting to fuck my girlfriend, I guess. It’s not my problem that you always have better things to do than pay attention to me,” he snarls with a sudden bite to his voice that takes me aback. “You think you’re this big shot because you’re doing well in college. The perfect student, the spoiled daughter, the Goody Two-Shoes who can do no wrong. Always striving for perfection no matter what it takes. Well, guess what? You’ve ruined this relationship. You did. Hope your fragile little ego can take that.”
Where is this coming from?
“Go with Logan, Oliver.” My voice sounds less confident than before, and I hate myself for it. “Leave me alone.”
“Whatever,” he dismisses, typing something on his phone as he speaks. “You only care about your future. Lila, always the little savior. I’ve always thought you had no right to get into child counseling. You’re a privileged princess—loving parents, a great childhood, access to education and whatever-the-fuck else. What do you know about struggles? Be honest with yourself and admit you just want to help kids to make yourself feel important.”
The pit of anger turns into an erupting volcano. And despite his words piercing something fragile inside of me, making my self-confidence wobble, I don’t let him see it.
“Nice attempt at making me feel bad for wanting a career more than I’ve ever wanted you .” I can’t hide the way my whole body starts shaking, but I don’t care anymore.
“Fuck this,” he spits out, rooting me into place. He’s never spoken to me like this. “And you wonder why I cheated?”
I don’t move or say a thing as he storms past me. And when he reaches the door, I hear him say, “I’m done with this bullshit,” before he slams it with enough force to make the walls shake.
Silence wraps around me, and so do the flames of resentment fueled by his cruel words.
I’ve always been a peaceful person, someone who avoids conflict like the plague. But today?
Today, that Lila Callaghan is gone.
He cheated on me.
Blamed it on me.
Lied to my face.
Insulted me.
My feet start moving before I realize where I’m going or what I’m about to do. My judgment slips away completely, sinking into a pool of betrayal and embarrassment.
No man is ever going to disrespect me like that and get away with it.
I unplug the router from the living room wall, shoving it inside my backpack. He wants to stay here so badly? Let’s see how long he lasts without Wi-Fi.
And let’s see how badly he wants to stay when it smells like crap.
I don’t think, just act as I yank the fridge open and grab some fish I was planning on cooking for dinner today. Worth the sacrifice.
My mind is fogged with rage as I bust into our former bedroom. My stomach turns with nausea at the sight of the crumpled sheets, knowing damn well I made the bed before leaving this morning.
Focus. Don’t think about him and that girl.
Powering through the pain stabbing at my heart, I yank open his underwear drawer and toss the smelly fish inside.
Then I grab my suitcase and start throwing my bathroom stuff inside. Luckily, we’ve not been living here for long, so most of my things are still at my parents’. With so little to pack, though, the ideas keep flowing.
His toothbrush ends up in the toilet because why not.
I empty his expensive cologne and hair products down the sink because I feel like it.
And I cut the cord of his phone charger in half with a pair of scissors because fuck him .
Plates, glasses, and silverware disappear from the cupboards and into our moving boxes Oliver still hasn’t thrown away, despite him insisting he would.
My mind is on autopilot as I pack all my clothes. The apartment came furnished, so I don’t have to worry about the TV, couch, or bed.
Maybe my idea of revenge is too juvenile—I’ve never been a vindictive person, so I’m a little rusty—but it’s still better than letting him get away without consequences. I wish I could do more damage—throwing another raw fish into the air vent couldn’t sound more appealing right now—but I can’t forget my name is on the lease. Getting myself into trouble with our landlord isn’t worth the hassle.
I manage to put everything in my car in less than half an hour. My chest still burns with betrayal as I carry the last box with the silverware and some plates to my trunk, which explains why I do what I do next.
I may regret it in about ten seconds, but right now, revenge has never tasted sweeter.
Oliver always complains about not having enough money to pay me back for rent, but he never misses a Friday night out with his friends. He’s always asking for car rides because he can’t afford gas, but I’ve caught weed in his nightstand a few times. It’s pretty clear where his priorities lie, and I’ve had enough.
He can’t afford rent or gas? Let’s add a tire to that made-up list.
The sky opens above my head, light rain clinging to my long blonde hair as I grab a kitchen knife from the last box I put in my car and stab it through his right tire. It deflates immediately.
“Fuck you,” I mutter under my breath, shaking with a brutal sense of helplessness before a single tear rolls down my cheek.
Oh my God, what have I done?
A cocktail of guilt, rage, and cold seeps into my bones.
This isn’t me. I don’t do things like this.
I don’t do revenge. I don’t let other people’s choices affect me to the point of losing control.
I was raised better than this, damn it.
I don’t hear the car stopping in front of my apartment complex until it’s too late.
And in the drizzle, I lock eyes with the last man I need or want to see right now.
Did I mention I’m still holding the kitchen knife in my hand while standing next to Oliver’s ruined tire?
Reed Abner, professor at Warlington University and my parents’ good friend, looks me up and down.
Goddammit.
“Get in my car, Lila.”