Page 135 of The Heart Breaker

I stare at the message, at everything I want to tell her—everything I’m feeling—and press send before I can talk myself out of it.

But it doesn’t go through.

I frown, look again, and my stomach drops when I realize she blocked me. I squeeze my eyes closed, tightening the grip on my phone.

Of course she did.

What the hell did I think was going to happen? That she’d get my pathetic three a.m. apology and suddenly forget everything I said on that doorstep? That one text would undo the look on her face when I stood there and tore right through her?

I let the phone drop onto my chest and stare back up at the ceiling.

Maybe it is too late. Maybe she really is done with me. But these last two days without her have felt like torture, and I can’t sit here and let another day go by without at least trying to get her to hear me out.

Because maybe Sophie’s right.

Maybe I didn’t have to shove Aurora away to be there for her. Maybe caring about someone else doesn’t automatically mean I’m failing my sister. Maybe it doesn’t have to be one or the other.

All this time, I’ve been acting like wanting Aurora was selfish. Like being with her would cost me too much. Like the only way to keep Sophie safe was to cut out every single thing in my life that made me feel anything good.

But maybe that’s bullshit.

Maybe I’m allowed to want something for myself.

Maybe I’m allowed to love Aurora.

36

AURORA

You’d think after a few days the humiliation would stop feeling so fresh.

But if anything, it feels worse now. It’s just there all the time, following me everywhere. Even while I’m in class, which I don’t even realize has ended until I see people around me packing up.

I glance down at my notes, see that they’re completely empty, and close my laptop, shoving it along with my notebook into my bag.

That’s what I’ve done all week, really. Kept moving. Went to class. Even went home for a couple of days and let my mom hold me while I cried. Thought about my dad more than I wanted to. Thought about Cole even more than that.

Mostly I’ve just felt numb. Isabella and Maisie dragged me out the other night because they were tired of me pretending I was fine, and I went because I wanted, for one hour, to feel something that wasn’t sadness. Anger. Annoyance. Even a hangover. I would’ve taken anything. And I did enjoy myself for a bit—or tried to. I danced and drank, and for maybe ten minutes, I didn’t think about how unwanted I am by everyone in my life.

But then I got drunk and cried in the bathroom while they held me.

Which was humiliating, because I’m not like this. I wasn’t broken when I found Chase with another girl. I was furious. Hurt, yeah, but mostly angry.

But with Cole…

God, I was dumb enough to think it would be different.

I just don't understand. I have tried to understand what happened for days, but I don’t. Everything was fine when I left him that morning. More than fine. He kissed me and we were supposed to go on a date that night. And then I came back, and it was like something had shifted in the time between me stepping out of his apartment and knocking on his door again. Like he’d remembered he hated me. Like whatever softness had been there was gone by the time he looked at me again.

I don’t understand what could have happened in those few hours.

I don’t understand how he went from holding me like I mattered to acting like he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.

Cecilia shoves me out of my thoughts when she turns in her seat and props an elbow on the desk behind her, watching me.

“So,” she says, drawing the word out, tilting her head. “When are you coming back?”

I glance up. “Back where?”