Page 1 of Downfall

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SKYLAR

I used to think that heartbreak was instantaneous. Like dying from an explosion. You’re dead before you even realize you were in danger. I thought my heart would break clean in half like those doodles people draw in the margins of papers—the ones with the zigzag lines going down the middle. I thought there would be two distinct pieces, and I would have to pick up each one and figure out how to put them back together. It would be easy because I could just find where the fracture was and connect them like a puzzle. There would be no mistaking what it was, because how could heartbreak be unmistakable? How could you confuse it for something else?

I was wrong. So, so wrong.

Heartbreak happens slowly, the fissures and cracks expanding over time. At first, it feels a little like a gunshot, the fear and adrenaline numbing the pain. There are tears, but it’s more of a physiological response than anything else. Then comes the sting, not complete agony but annoying enough to not be able to sleep or eat. It’s not until you wake up one day unable to breathe, until you suddenly can’t hear the voices of the people surrounding you calling your name, that you start really feeling the pain deep in your bones. Still, they keep calling your name.

“Sky.”

But you can’t hear them because they don’t exist. Nothing exists except for the hole in your chest, the glass shards tearing at whatever is left.

“Skylar.”

That’s when the pity turns to tough love.

You need to get out of bed.

You can’t keep doing this to yourself.

You need to keep living your life.

They’re all just words. Well-meaning words, but words nonetheless. Some words were nicer than others.

She’s throwing her life away because of a silly teenage crush.

“Skylar.”

This time the voice breaks through my disjointed memories, bringing me back to the present. My eyes slide up to land on my best friend. His light brown eyes scan me, worry etched in every pixel.

“Sorry, what?”

“I’ve been calling your name for the last thirty seconds.” He takes the seat across from my desk, hiking his leg over his lap, his sandy brown hair falling into his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I close the laptop in front of me, looking through the mess of papers for my phone. His eyes settle on the dark blue fiberglass cast wrapped up to my elbow.

“You didn’t have to come back so soon, Sky. I told you I could handle it.”

I force a small smile. “You’d be lost without me. Admit it,” I joke, but it falls flat.

Ashton Tyler has been my best friend since I was twelve. He’s the person I ran to the day my heart broke, and he held my hand as the tears fell. I knew he wouldn’t ask why I was crying. He would simply be there for me, and I was right. I didn’t tell him what happened because even after everything, I was still protecting the man who broke me. No—the boy. We were still just kids then.

Ash and I started working together a little over a year ago when he took over as editor-in-chief at the Emberfield Lantern. With the owner of the paper out on medical leave, Ashton promoted me to managing editor. We’ve been friends since we were teenagers, and I trust him, but there are times when I feel guilty that I still haven’t opened up to him about the past.

“It’s only been two weeks,” Ashton insists.

“It was long enough, Ash. I need to get my mind off everything. Besides, I get this stupid thing off in a week, and then I won’t have to peck at my keyboard with one hand.”

He eyes me with suspicion but seems resigned to drop it for now.

“How’s the article coming along?” I’m thankful for the subject change. This is what I love about Ashton. He never pushes me to talk before I’m ready.

“Oh, it’s riveting,” I deadpan. I rarely write articles. I usually manage staff deadlines and help with research, but when I pitched this topic at our last meeting, everyone ran for the hills. I can’t say I blame them. “Emberfield’s new online marriage license platform is just the sexy breaking news I’ve always dreamed of writing about.”

My phone vibrates with an incoming text, and I finally locate it under a heap of papers.

Mom