by Jenna Scott
Slamming another shot back, I laugh. It’s all I can do to keep from crying.
What am I going to do without Milla? Her absence leaves me in a place where there’s no light, because all the light in my life is with her, and Harrison. Harry, who’s not even my actual brother. And Milla, who won’t want anything to do with me when she realizes I can’t take care of her. That I have nothing to offer her. Hell, she’s probably fuming that I left her alone with my addict mom back at the apartment. Maybe we’re already broken up.
Vaguely, I register a buzz from my phone. Sluggish, I wrestle it out of my pocket, and I see the name of the person I want to see the most, but have to keep myself away from.
Milla’s calling me. My finger hovers over the accept button, but I don’t press it.
She’ll tell me it doesn’t matter who my father is. That we’ll carve out a life for ourselves. I can even imagine her voice saying, and you get along with Karleigh now. You’re still Harrison’s brother, even if you aren’t blood-related.
She’ll come at me with nice words and logic like the angel she is, and I should let her. But instead, I ignore the call. I power down my phone, and don’t bother turning it back on. Knowing her, she’d just keep calling until I picked up, and I can’t have that.
I deserve this pain. I deserve this misery. I’m nothing and nobody.
Sometime later, I’m only vaguely aware of the bouncer hauling my ass to my car, saying something about my keys staying at the bar.
The next morning, I wake up in the driver’s seat with a dry mouth, a pounding headache, and several aching limbs from the position I’ve been in for the last six or so hours. Though I should go back home, clean up, and apologize to Milla, I can’t bring myself to leave the fortress that is my car.
Rather than go to class, I go back to the bar, get my keys, and drive around until I find another shitty bar to stave off this hangover. Rinse, repeat.
Eventually I make it home, but I don’t return Milla’s calls or texts. I can’t. I’ve been holding her back ever since we met. Eventually, she’ll realize I’m not worth the effort. Coach too. Everyone made a mistake when they decided to believe in me.
And if Milla sees me now, she’ll see that this is who I am. A complete fuck-up who drinks himself blind every time there’s a little hiccup in his life. Trash.
Absolute, irredeemable trash.
When I finally get in the shower, I take a bottle of scotch with me.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Camilla
After I get back up to the apartment, I call Hunter, but he doesn’t pick up. I don’t blame him. He’s probably freaking out right now and trying to get a grip. I want him to know it’s safe to come back home, though, so I call back and this time I leave a message on his voicemail.
“Hey, it’s Milla.” I keep my voice soft so he knows I’m not angry he left all of a sudden. A bit upset, yes, but not at him. “Your mom left a few minutes ago. I think she’ll stay away this time. Anyway, I love you. Come home when you’re ready. I’ll be here.”
The last time he ran out on me like this was when he read that picture book to Harrison. If that’s anything to go by, Hunter’s now getting blackout drunk at some bar. I don’t begrudge him for it—shit, I could go for a drink after that horrible visit from his mom—but I do wish he had taken me with him. Now I’m stuck here at the apartment by myself, biting my nails down to the quick with worry over him trying to drive home in that state.
I call him again, but it goes straight to voicemail without even ringing through. He’s either ignoring my calls on purpose, or his phone is dead. Both of which are troubling. Anxiety kicking up a few more notches, I send a text asking where he is, if he needs an Uber, if he’s going to come back tonight. No response. In fact, the “seen” icon doesn’t even show, letting me know he’s not checking his phone. Shit.
There’s nothing I can do except wait. I do some more homework and then make my famous macaroni and cheese, one of Hunter’s favorite comfort foods. At least he’ll have something ready to eat when he gets back. And there’s nothing like carbs and melted cheese for a hangover. But when it comes out of the oven and he’s still not back, I can barely force down a few bites.
The hours go by, and I fall asleep on the couch around two in the morning, my stomach still twisted in knots. I spend the night tossing and turning, waking up several times to check if he’s responded, but there’s nothing.
When my alarm goes off the next morning and I still have no replies from him, I check to see if his keys are on the table or his shoes are by the door, but they aren’t. And his bedroom is empty, of course. He never came home. My heart sinks.
I try to tell myself he’s fine—that in fact, it’s a good thing he isn’t here. That means he didn’t drive home drunk. He probably got a hotel room or something. Or maybe he didn’t go to a bar after all. Maybe he drove all the way back to La Jolla to talk to his dad or see Harrison. It’s unlikely, but possible. Unfortunately, when I text Hunter’s stepmom (ex-stepmom, I suppose), she says she hasn’t heard from him. Hunter’s dad doesn’t answer my call either, though that isn’t a surprise.
Fuck.
I want to stay here in case he comes back, but I have to get to class. I take a quick shower and change, then try him again while I wait for my Uber back to campus. My calls just go straight to voicemail again.
Resigned, I leave him another message. “Hey. Call me back when you can, please. I know you’re probably feeling bad, but I’m here for you, okay? No matter what. I love you.”
Later that morning, I’m physically in class, and I’m taking notes, but my mind stays on Hunter. Lunchtime comes, and I pick at my food, stomach knotted with worry, my mouth too dry to taste anything. I’m glad neither Emmett nor Olivia are here to see me, because they’d ask me what’s wrong, and I don’t want them ganging up on Hunter again. Not when he has a legitimate reason to be upset this time around.
With no idea what else I can do, I keep calling and texting. Every one of them goes unanswered. Though I hate leaving voicemails, I have no other resort.
“Hunter, please…” I sigh, the tears brimming as I speak. “I don’t give a shit about who your dad is, or if you still have a stupid trust fund. We’ll figure it out. I promise. Just call me.”
But he doesn’t.
The week goes by, and still no word from Hunter. My voicemails get more desperate by the day. I cry, I beg, I try to get tough and yell at him. All to no avail. He never responds, not even to my texts that simply say I love you.
Olivia asks why I’m sulking around the dorm, but I don’t give in to her attempts to draw me out. She quickly guesses that something happened with me and Hunter—since I’ve been staying at his place so often, it’s the only reason I’d be sleeping at the dorm every night—but I don’t give up anything more than that he’s MIA and we’re not talking. Olivia gives me a huge hug and then lets the subject drop, which only makes me feel worse. As if there’s really nothing to be done about it.
Everyone else can tell I’m a mess, too, and when our History study group meets in the library and they ask where he is, I don’t have a real answer.
“Aren’t you guys together?” Allison asks, frowning.
“Yeah, but he…had a family emergency,” I find myself saying. It’s how I end up describing the whole thing, since I obviously shouldn’t be the one telling people about Hunter’s real parentage. “I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”
After study group’s done, I check my phone, but the only texts I have are from a group chat with Emmett and Isabel. They both know what’s going on, and they’ve offered their support, but neither of them have actually made me feel any better.
Isabel’s text reads, I know this sucks, but you need to forget about him and move on. You can’t keep letting him hurt you like this.
All the hot and the cold and the disappearing—that’s not what love is!
What sort of family emergency could justify this?
&nb
sp; I’m blinking back tears as I read Emmet’s reply just under hers: I don’t want to make any judgements, but even with a family emergency or whatever, I have to agree. It’s not right that he left you in the lurch like this. Let me know if I can do anything.
Olivia’s in the common room eating a burrito when I get there, a couple of art history books open on her desk, along with scattered sheets of Kanji practice.
“Hey! How was class?” Her brows knit with concern as she takes in the look on my face. “Still no word?”
I shake my head.
“Bleurgh.” She pats the couch next to her and I plop onto the cushion with a sigh. “You don’t think anything serious happened, do you?”
That had been my fear for a time, but, “I would have heard something by now. He’s ignoring me on purpose. All of my texts are unread.”
Olivia pushes her chips and guac toward me and offers a gentle smile. “So, um, how are you doing with all of that?”
“I’m just tired,” I say, ignoring the chips. “And angry. And feeling like a fool for thinking he was over disappearing on me.”
She nods. “Maybe it’s good you’re angry. I mean, he’s not treating you right. If you’re mad, it might help you get some perspective. Not just forgive him right away. Sometimes you love someone and you know they’re the one, but it turns out…it’s just not meant to be. At least that’s what happened with me and my boyfriend junior year. And then once we’d been broken up for a few months, I looked back at our relationship like, how did I let it get so bad? And why did it take so long for me to see it?”
I don’t argue with that—it all hits home, and it leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
“I’ll think on it,” I say. With a sigh, I go to my room and quickly pack a bag. “I’m going to stay at Hunter’s for the weekend in case he comes back.”
Olivia narrows her eyes at me. “Honestly, I don’t think you should. Let him come here when he gets his shit together. Plus, it’s better if I keep you company.”
“I get what you’re saying. But I’m really worried about him.”
Still, Olivia’s right. I can’t keep staying at Hunter’s place, hoping he’ll come back, especially when he won’t even call me or answer my texts.
I let my bag fall to the floor and go back over to the couch, pulling the chips toward me and scooping up a huge blob of guacamole.
“This just really sucks,” I say through a mouthful of chips.
Sliding me her drink, Olivia says, “I know. If you really feel like you need to be there, let me at least give you a ride. I’m not here to judge. I want to help.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
I call Hunter on the drive over, but I only get that annoying voicemail again. After Olivia drops me off and I let myself into Hunter’s place, my desperation gives way to anger. I leave yet another message, and this time I lose my temper.
“Hunter, what the fuck? You can’t keep doing this to me and assuming I’ll just be waiting around for you at home like a dog, and all will be forgiven. At least tell me you’re alive so I can stop worrying myself sick! Do you have any idea what it’s like to be sleeping in your bed, holding your pillow, wearing your boxers to sleep every night, and I have no idea if I’m ever going to see you again?” In my rage, I start crying again. “Where are you? Just come home already. I’m here and I’m angry, but I still love you.”
The weekend passes, and he doesn’t call back. Or text. Or e-mail. Or anything.
I don’t see him around campus on Monday, a full week since I saw him last, and when I go to the pool complex to see if he’s given up on that too, his coach tells me he hasn’t seen him since last week either. Which leaves me to excuse Hunter’s unexplained absence with the whole terrible family emergency thing.
That boy better grovel when he comes back.
If he comes back.
Back at the dorm, I decide to take Olivia’s advice and not stay at Hunter’s waiting around anymore. She’s right—I have nobody there to keep me company, and it only makes my depression and anxiety worse. My voicemails are starting to taper off, too. I’ve realized that it’s futile. It doesn’t matter if I cry, if I scream, if I love him, if I beg. Nothing I do makes a difference.
The rest of the week passes in a slow, agonizing crawl, without me hearing anything from him. His voicemail is finally completely full, my one recourse no longer available to me. Friday night I look at my phone, my heart heavy. Then I start to type.
Hunter. This is the last text I’m sending you. If you don’t reply, I’ll know that we’re over and that you don’t care about me or yourself.
I wait a minute. Another minute more. An hour.
No three dots appear.
Not even a sign that the message has been read.
Clutching my phone, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Right. Fuck this. Fuck him. If Hunter does come back, he knows where to find me. If not…
I guess we really weren’t meant to be.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Camilla
I’ve heard that dealing with a breakup can be as hard as processing an actual death, but what about when your boyfriend just falls off the face of the earth?
I didn’t get any closure. I have no idea what the hell is going on. The only thing I’m certain of is that Hunter has completely cut me off, without so much as a goodbye. How am I supposed to move on from that? I’m at a total loss. Ever since he walked out of his apartment and left me there with his mother, there’s been this hollow space in the center of my chest. The kind that aches worse at night and never fully goes away.
It’s Saturday and I’m surrounded by textbooks and notes at my dorm desk, trying to study for my upcoming final exams. I’m finding it impossible to focus. Olivia invited me out for a party tonight, but I turned her down. I can’t imagine trying to force myself to put on actual clothes, wash my hair, and go socialize. Even Emmett and Isabel are giving me space right now, which is what I asked for. I’m fully wallowing. I’ve basically been living in my pjs and subsisting on microwavable ramen and Cheez-Its.
Speaking of pajamas, the one extracurricular function I managed to attend this week was Alliance’s midday flash mob in White Plaza, which Olivia had been practicing for ever since she joined the school’s dance crew. The Alliance members were all dressed in pajamas and slippers (which actually doesn’t stand out all that much on a college campus), and at exactly noon on the dot, they suddenly got into groups of three and started five separate pillow fights around the central fountain—the Claw Fountain, which just so happens to be the place I met Olivia for the first time. Once the feathers were flying everywhere, they got into formation and performed their hip-hop dance routine, surrounded by cheering onlookers. Not gonna lie, it was pretty amazing. Definitely the brightest spot of my week. But now I’m alone in my room again, and even the dreary fall rain outside my window seems to echo my low mood.
I hear a knock and I get up to answer the door, thinking Olivia’s forgotten her keys again.
“Hey girl—” but the words dry up in my mouth when I see Hunter standing out in the hallway. It’s the worst I’ve seen him look, ever. He hasn’t shaved in God knows how long, his eyes are red and puffy, hair a greasy mess. I doubt he’s changed his clothes in days. He stinks of booze and sweat.
“Can I come in?” he says, slurring his words. He can’t even look me in the eye.
What. The. Fuck.
The ire I’ve been trying not to feed rises inside me like wildfire. “You disappear for almost two weeks, and you expect me to just let you waltz right into my dorm?” I push him away lightly, and he wobbles as if I slammed him. “What the hell is wrong with you? Where have you been?”
“Everything,” he mumbles. “All my life. Has been a lie.”
We are not doing this. “Not all your life. The part about your dad, sure, but—”
“But what? I don’t even know who my dad is anymore!”
That sets me off. “I don’t know who my dad i
s either, but you don’t see me ghosting you for two weeks, then showing up out of nowhere drunk off my ass in the middle of your damn hallway!”
He raises his eyebrow, full lips spreading in that lazy grin. “So can I come in?”
“No! You’re a mess, Hunter! And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m beyond pissed at you! Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? I was worried sick!”
“Didn’t you say you’d always be here for me?” He tries to reach for my hand, but I step back out of his reach, not giving him any room to slip inside my dorm and sentencing him to the hallway. “Or what, you find out I’m like this, and you don’t want me now? What happened to ‘no matter what,’ Milla? You don’t love me like this?”
I shake my head. “No. You’re not this. I don’t accept that this is who you really are, or who you want to be.”
“This is who I really am,” he states, voice hoarse. “Who I’ve always been.”
“It’s not, Hunter. You were doing fine this semester. Everything was fine until your mom showed up.” I let out a breath to calm myself. “I don’t blame you for wanting to get drunk after the bad news she dropped on you. Anyone would freak out over that.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, you have no accountability! You walked out and never called me, never sent a single text, never let me know where you were or that you were okay. That’s not how you treat the person who loves you. I just…can’t deal with your utter lack of personal responsibility and the way you refuse to communicate.”
Hunter scoffs. “I do, too. I talk to you.”
“No, you don’t. You shut me out every single time things get hard. And then I take you back, every single time. So nothing ever changes. We keep going in circles. Shitty fucking circles. And I hate it! I’m not your rehab clinic.”
