Chapter Thirty Two Breaking Point
Chapter Thirty Two
Breaking Point
F
or once, the weather matches exactly how I feel inside—cold, and dark. I glance at the clock on my nightstand, to see it’s only ten.
The realization twists in my stomach. I fell asleep yesterday afternoon, sometime after everything crashed down, and I never got back up. I slept through the daylight, through the night, through the silence of a house that feels lonelier then ever.
And even after all those hours, I don’t feel rested. I feel hollow.
Like sleep only dragged me deeper into the weight of it all.
The room feels darker, shadows clinging to the corners as the gray light seeps through the blinds. My body feels bruised from the inside out. Every muscle sore from carrying the heaviness of yesterday—and the months before it.
I don’t want to move. I don’t want to face the day. Even the thought of standing feels impossible, like I’ll collapse the second I try.
I didn’t speak to Arina yesterday—I couldn’t. My voice had been swallowed by the sobs that wouldn’t stop until exhaustion finally dragged me under. But today, I need her. I always do when everything around me is falling to pieces.
Sometimes I feel bad she always has to pick my ass up when I crumble, like it’s her job to gather the broken pieces of me and glue them back together. But at the same time, I’m so damn grateful.
Grateful for her patience, and love. She never judges me for falling—even when I keep tripping over the same bullshit again and again.
Knowing she works the evening shift again today, I crawl out of bed, my body stiff, the clothes from yesterday still clinging to me like proof I spent the day crying myself to sleep.
I stop outside her door and hesitate, chewing the inside of my cheek.
For a second, I almost turn back. But then I lift my hand and knock softly.
The door creaks open, and Arina blinks at me through sleepy eyes—hair a mess, pajama top sliding off one shoulder.
Even half-awake, she doesn’t miss a thing.
Her gaze sweeps over me—rumpled clothes, smeared makeup, puffy eyes, raw nose—telling her the whole story before I can.
She doesn’t press me with questions like she normally does.
She just steps aside quietly, giving me the space to come in.
Inside, the safety wraps around me like a blanket I don’t quite deserve.
Her room isn’t spotless, but it feels calmer than usual.
A couple of mugs sit forgotten on her nightstand, blankets tossed back carelessly.
But the chaos I’m used to when she first wakes up isn’t here.
We both sink onto her bed, flopping onto our backs like we’ve done a hundred times before.
Her warm pajama sleeve brushing against my arm as we stare at the nothingness above us.
The soft hush of rain outside filling the silence, and for a while, that’s enough.
I let out a long, shaky sigh. My voice coming out barely above a whisper, thick with exhaustion.
“Bitch… I gotta tell you something. But I’m gonna say it calmly—because it’s too early for you to go crazy, and I’ve already been going through it for days now.”
Her head turns toward me on the pillow, one eyebrow lifting as her expression shifts from sleepy to alert. She doesn’t speak at first, just gives me that look—the one that says she’s ready for whatever I’m about to drop.
“It’s about Levy, isn’t it?” she says finally, already guessing the right answer.
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “You already know,” I mutter, the words trembling as they spill out. “And I’m fucking done after this shit.” The confession tumbles out before I can stop it.
“He fucking left, Arina. He literally packed all his shit.”
Her mouth parts slightly, like I just slapped her awake.
“When I came home from work a couple of days ago, damn near all his stuff was gone. Then I don’t hear from him for two days—like he just fell off the face of the earth.
No calls, no texts, nothing. I was worried sick.
Then, he calls me yesterday—saying he’s in Vegas with some fucking friends and some bitches. ”
“And to top it off, I checked his phone the morning he left and seen all the bitches he’s been talking to. For weeks now.”
“Wait—what the fuck?” she snaps, pushing herself up on her elbows, her tank top slipping off one shoulder.
Her eyes blaze like I’ve just poured gasoline on her nerves.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? That sorry-ass piece of shit really thinks he can just disappear, after you literally just found out he’s been cheating.
Oh, hell no. It’s bad enough he has a baby on the way. ” Her words slice through the air.
My voice shakes as tears well again, hot and blinding.
“I’m so fucking stupid. Fuck him, I swear I’m done.
There’s nothing he can do or say to change my mind.
He’s got a whole baby on the way, playing house half the time with her, and texting other bitches right under my nose.
” I realize I’m almost yelling, my fists curling tight in the blanket.
Arina throws her messy hair back, jaw tight.
“No Jaine. How many times do I have to tell you, you are not stupid,” she fires back, voice hard enough to cut through my spiral.
“You’re not dumb for loving a dumbass who doesn’t know how to love you back.
That’s on him, not you. You’ve been through hell with him and forgave him every time—because you love him.
And that takes strength, even if you can’t see it right now. But I agree—fuck him, forever.”
My chest still hurts, but the steadiness in her words makes me feel a little less alone. A little less worthless. Her hand finds mine, gripping tight. The silence between us trembles with fury and hurt, but she reins it in—for me. She doesn’t need to keep telling me what an asshole he is.
I already know.
She just holds me while I close my eyes, the truth lying between us heavier than the rain hammering the window.
She sits up, brushing her hair out of her face, determination flashing in her tired eyes.
“You know what? I’m calling out of work today.
Enough with the sadness. We’re going out.
You need it and I need it. You’re not sitting in this house another second drowning in tears over him, when we both know damn well you’re worth so much more than what he can ever try to give you. ”
I blink at her, stunned—guilty, even. “Arina, you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” she cuts in firmly, not giving me the chance to protest. “You’ve carried enough weight on your back. Today, I’m carrying it with you. We’re gonna get dressed, go out, so I can remind you of exactly who you are. Because you’ve forgotten—and I refuse to let you stay this way.”
A small, broken laugh escapes me, half-sob, half-relief. “God, I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do,” she says simply, squeezing my arm. “You deserve people who love you—without any conditions.”
I don’t bother calling my job, even though my shift starts in an hour. I can’t bring myself to care. Let them fire me. I’m honestly too depressed to give a fuck. Today isn’t about work—or Levy—or anyone else who’s chipped away at me.
Today is about letting my best friend drag me back to myself. Forcing me to remember the girl buried underneath all the pain—the girl who she knows miraculously still has some fight left in her, even despite everything.
Everyone tried to break me down, and yet somehow, I’m still standing.
? ? ?
We start with the house, music blasting as we clean, because she knows this is the only therapy that ever works for me.
Every dish, every counter, every folded shirt scrubs away a little more of the heaviness pressing on my chest. Arina snatches the broom like it’s a mic onstage, singing so dramatically I nearly drop the mop from laughing.
Her uncle walked out his room and I swear I almost saw him smile a little.
We move through the room like it’s ours again—dancing between chores, letting the bass shake the dust off everything, even me. And for the first time in days, I feel lighter, like maybe I’m not as shattered as I thought.
Just cracked… but still here.
When the house is finally spotless, we move on to the part that actually matters—us. Getting dressed is our moment of choosing ourselves, the one decision no one else gets to take from us.
Arina slips into a thin-strapped navy dress that wraps around her curves like it’s known her forever, her flats keeping it sweet even while she looks sinfully good.
While I slip into my red baby tee with cheetah-print letters reading Not Yours.
I don’t feel like wearing a bra today, I think I’ll let my girls get some air too.
I pair it with a matching cheetah-print mini skirt, my red Tory Burch sandals finishing off my look.
We roll out in her car, windows down now that the rain finally stopped, hair whipping everywhere while we sing like the world’s not watching.
The mall is always our first stop—you can never have too many clothes, and today we’re living by that rule.
We drift through the racks, lifting dresses, skirts, tops, grinning at every little treasure we find.
We even drift into the lingerie store, and I pick out a few new pieces, even though they’re no longer meant for Levy, you never know who might get lucky enough to earn the view.
Arina, on the other hand, grabs almost ten pairs—like she’s already got a whole lineup of people waiting to see her in them. And I wouldn’t put it past her.
With bags in each hand, we reward ourselves with ice cream, eating outside like kids who forgot how heavy life can get. We laugh at each other’s melting drips, and for a second everything feels easy.
Lastly, we head to the beach, the sky still gray but cracking open just enough for the waves to glow. We light up, passing the smoke between us, and let the wind steal a little of the weight we’ve been holding.