6. Haven #4
I grab an empty beer bottle and hurl it at the wall with everything I have.
The explosion of glass is so satisfying that I’m reaching for another bottle before the first one’s finished falling.
I shriek Kai’s name like a banshee as it shatters, and then I’m grabbing the pizza box and flinging it at the TV, grabbing the textbooks and hurling them across the room, their pages fluttering like panicked birds.
Piaget can go fuck himself.
Midterms can go fuck themselves.
Bastian, Kai and his mother, Kruger, Melissa, and everyone else who has someone when I have no one—they can all go fuck themselves.
I rip my notes to shreds, first with my hands, then with my teeth, and I’m still screaming, still crying, snot and tears streaming down my face as I destroy everything I can reach, ignoring the warning ache in my foot, ignoring the way I’m suffocating, as if Kai’s squeezing, squeezing, because I need to break more, break everything, destroy every piece of this fake fucking bullshit I pretended was real—
Hair flies into my face. My fingers catch on the butterfly necklace as I claw the strands out of my eyes.
I freeze, choking back a strangled sound that’s half cough, half sob.
The chain is delicate and warm against my throat, the butterfly’s little silver wings digging into my fingers as I grip it tight.
Three years he kept this, even though he hated me the entire time for leaving.
That’s a long time to hate someone.
No wonder leaving comes so easy.
I rip it off.
The chain bites into my neck before it snaps, and I cock my arm back to throw it into the wreckage with everything else—but my body won’t move. I’m standing there shaking, the broken necklace clutched in my shaking fist, but I can’t do it.
I can’t fucking do it.
“Pathetic, Miss H,” I hiss, spittle flying out of my mouth. “Utterly fucking pathetic.”
My knees give out.
I sink to the floor in the middle of the destruction, defeated.
Even my tears have stopped—now that I’ve burned through the rage, there’s nothing left to fuel them. I’ve got nothing left. Just the bile-bitter knowledge that I did this to myself.
Every step I took led me here, to this exact moment.
To this shell of a room.
To this shell of a life.
I should be used to this by now. Everyone leaves, eventually. Because they have better things to do than watch Haven Lee self-destruct, or because I make them leave.
My fingers twitch around the pendant.
Everyone leaves.
Everyone except—
My eyes drift to my tote bag, still slumped against the sofa.
I shouldn’t.
I know I shouldn’t like I know the sun rises in the east because that’s what Kai taught me, and that my best friend will never forgive me for the mommy comment, and I’m going to fail my midterms and end up back in Ashwood Crossing—or, even worse, Riverside—with nothing to show for everything it cost me to get here.
But I’m crawling toward the bag even as that knowledge burns, not even registering the sting as my knees crunch over broken glass.
I dig through the tote with shaking fingers until I find the phone in its bubble wrap cocoon, and I turn it on with hands that won’t stop trembling.
The lock screen glows to life—Lookout Point at sunset, golden and peaceful and so fucking mocking I want to throw this phone too.
I don’t.
I open VibeFeed, heart hammering in my throat, and go straight to Bastian’s DMs.
Unlike me, he hasn’t deleted his messages.
@inherentvice
He can’t give you what you need.
Not like I can.
@inherentvice
He thinks he’s saving you. And you’re too busy pretending to be a good girl to correct him, aren’t you?
How long can you keep up the act, sweet girl?
@inherentvice
I’ve been patient.
But even I have limits.
@bssweetgirl
message deleted
@inherentvice
I saw that.
I can’t decide if that last message is a taunt or a threat. I can’t decide if he’s a taunt or a threat. But right now, surrounded by shattered glass and the taste of Kai still on my tongue, I don’t fucking care.
I need someone.
Anyone.
Even him.
My thumbs are moving before my brain can catch up, typing out words I know I shouldn’t send, words that are going to blow up my life.
@bssweetgirl
You were right.
About everything.
I hit send before I can pussy out.
The message delivers with a soft whoosh.
I stare at the screen, waiting for the dots to appear. Waiting for him to see it. To respond. To punish me or save me or do whatever the fuck it is Bastian Rooke does when you show him your throat.
Nothing.
The phone bleeps.
BATTERY LOW
But I can’t find the will to stand up and go plug it into the charger. If it dies, I won’t have to see if Bastian replies or not. Won’t have to answer if Kai tries to call.
I won’t have to deal with any of it, not right now, not when I feel this fucking pathetic.
I set the phone down on the floor beside me, pull my knees to my chest, and press my forehead against them. The butterfly pendant digs into my palm, its broken chain dangling between my fingers.
The worst part isn’t that I sent the message.
Or how quiet my head gets the second I stop fighting Bastian.
It’s the hope…the sickening, gutting hope that he’ll reply at all.
My phone bleeps again.
SHUTTING DOWN
I stare at it and will it to die faster.