Page 96 of Lovefool

I’ve always hated that condescending voice. It materialized outside of my body for the first time tonight, and I was absolutely powerless to control it.

Sutton is just standing up for his friends—his family. Hell, I asked him to show me his fangs, and then I condemned him when he did. I continued to antagonize him until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Who have I become? Or, I guess the more appropriate question is, who haven’t I become? A selfless daughter. A reliable big sister. A good girlfriend. I’m just a bratty, self-centered child who still thinks the whole world revolves around her.

The air—despite being cold—encapsulates my skin like sticky tar as my belly starts to ache with a sickness that can’t be remedied with your run-of-the-mill antacid. The world is still eerily silent—so much so that the tripping of my heart is amplified ten times in my eardrums. A garbled sob harpoons the atmosphere, and I slap a hand over my mouth, feeling the tears begin to fall again after a momentary reprieve.

What if Sutton and I can’t come back from this? I hated the harsh way his tongue wrapped around my name. I hated the way he looked at me. I was relegated to a stranger within the span of thirty minutes, and home has never felt so inexplicably cold before. The hearth of love that burned for me beneath his breastbone—it no longer runs, and I’m not sure if it ever will again.

I know it’s late, and I know my mom will probably kill me for scaring her like this, but I need to call her. I need her to tell me how to fix this.

I fish my phone out of my pocket, and my nausea only worsens when I see that Sutton has already left several voicemails.

Breathing through the hiccups and the snot-nosed sniffles, I scroll to my favorites until I find my mother, and then I hit call without a second thought.

There’s a phantom pain in my heart—a heart that doesn’t belong to me anymore—and it wails for its rightful owner, refusing to settle for the imposter who’s holding it captive.

My mom, thankfully, picks up on the fourth ring.

“Lake?” Her voice is groggy from sleep, yet considerably less frustrated than I’d anticipated.

If I didn’t have a stupid metal pole holding me up, I would’ve crumpled to my knees. I try to modulate my voice as best as I can, and I wipe away the evidence of tears on my skin as if she can see them.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, swishing the words around in my mouth and cringing at the impassive, PR-trained taste of them.

“It’s late, honey. I thought you were staying at the hotel tonight.”

“I-I am. Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. Something hap—I just needed to hear your voice.”

My breath fogs out in front of me from the dropping temperature, and I stare back up at the mourning sky, no hint of a silver lining anywhere in the heart of a storm-studded evening.

I clutch my phone tighter to the side of my face, as if this cold, hard device could possibly substitute for my mother’s presence. It’s been a long time since I felt her comfort; I need it now.

Tungsten crushes my chest, thinning my airflow and spinning me into the beginnings of a panic that is undoubtedly noticeable over the line. How am I supposed to face Sutton tomorrow? His teammates? I don’t want to be here.

“Lake? Are you okay?”

Ironically, breathing doesn’t seem to be helping all that much. I get one last inhale in before cries shoot out of me like a pyrotechnics show gone awry, and the invisible levee that was holding my tears at bay suddenly crumbles.

Sutton unearthed a monster that existed deep within me. One I thought I could starve and kill, but this creature would rather fill its stomach with a rotting carcass than go hungry. Would bear the detrimental weight of a natural-borne sickness and succumb to the progression of life if it meant never having to feel that empty, gnawing ache ever again. No matter how hard I try to get rid of it, it’s a part of me.

“Sutton and I got into a fight. A big one, Mom. We were yelling at each other, and I said terrible things to him that I didn’t mean. I can’t—I can’t fix this. I ruined everything like I always do. He hates me. I c-can’t have him hate me. I don’t know what to do. I can’t live without him. I don’t want to live without him,” I ramble, fully hyperventilating in the middle of nowhere, curling my fist into the front of my sweatshirt, right over the incessant throbbing of my lovelorn heart.

My entire face is wet; I can’t determine each tear’s genesis anymore. They’re merging together into one continuous whitewater rush, wracking my frame while simultaneously searing my nasal cavities.

There’s a reason I’ve never been in love before Sutton, and that’s because nobody could ever love me as I am. I don’t blame them, obviously. I’m a therapist’s wet dream and the human embodiment of a walking flashpoint.

“Slow down, Lake. You’re okay. Just breathe,” she coos.

“I…can’t,” I gasp, feeling my heart actively atrophy in the niche of my chest. The adrenaline isn’t enough to sand down the pain.

Everything is wrong. I’ve had conflicts before in my life, sure, but nothing that hit this close to home. My muscle memory is telling me to run into Sutton’s arms—to seek comfort in this trying time—but I can’t go back.

Bile coats my tongue as the tender night pulses in some sick mockery above me, little to no oxygen circulating through my system no matter how many heaves my lungs endure. I feel my whole body tremble in response—on the verge of total collapse—and emotions leak out of me like snowmelt runoff. Thick, sluggish, drained of exuberance. I alternate between feeling too much and nothing at all, as if my conscience can’t decide which is worse.

“You can. In. Out. In. Out. Just listen to the sound of my voice.”

I follow my mother’s instructions—albeit poorly—sucking as much air into my mouth as I can, willing the lightheadedness to subside long enough for me to communicate the situation to her.