The Year We Fell Apart (26 page)

My hands are in my hair and I can’t do this.

I stifle a sob and Declan pushes away from the car. “Whatever he said to you isn’t the truth! He brought me upstairs and we sat on the bed and I told him—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear anything else.” He steps back. “You think I’m gonna hold your hand when you’re upset and then stand by while you screw around with another guy? And lie about it? I’m not a placeholder until you find someone you like better.”

“No! I just—” Every time I try to speak my truth I feel it all over again: liquor burning in my stomach, the room spinning in my head, Kyle’s body weighing me down—smothering me. I can taste him. “I lost control. And we were kissing, but it wasn’t real; I didn’t even want to do it.”

He starts to pace and I follow him around my car, stumbling over a pothole as I try desperately to hold on to some part of him. Each time he slips through my fingers.

“I don’t know how it happened; I’m so in love with you—”

“Bullshit!” He yanks his arm free again. “Don’t say that to me now. Those are just words.”

Any lingering hope I’d harbored flickers out. It’s my fault, but I’m not sure how much anymore, and how can I say it any differently?

He laughs and covers his mouth. “I can’t believe this. After everything I did this summer—working my ass off so that I could stay here with you—”

“What?” I’m in a vacuum of his words. “Are you . . . You’re staying?”

He doesn’t answer.

I reach for his hand again. “Declan, you are my best friend. You’re everything.” He tries to pull away and I don’t let him. “It meant nothing!”

He knocks my hand away and pulls his fingers through his tangled hair, clutching at his scalp. “Just stop. Stop fucking with me, Harper. I’m so sick of your lies.”

“I’m not lying, I’m trying to make you understand that what happened with Kyle . . . I didn’t want it. I was confused, I thought—” I lick my lips but the rest won’t come. “But I said no. It shouldn’t have happened.”

He glares at me. Deafened by his own anger. “It doesn’t even matter. If it wasn’t Kyle it just would have been someone else. Right, Sloan?”

“What?”

“I’m just saying, it’s not like this is the first time we’ve been here.” He holds my gaze, nodding slightly. “What happened in October?”

My forehead wrinkles. “You said it didn’t matter.”

He shrugs. “Changed my mind.”

I step back. “You already know, don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

My throat is closing and my voice barely makes it through. “Please, don’t do this.”

He inches closer, close enough to kiss me, and the force of his hate makes me feel smaller and lesser than I have ever felt.

“
You
did this, Harper. And I am done with you.”

My mouth tastes like metal. I’m biting my lip too hard, but I won’t run away this time. I have to fix it. “It wasn’t—I didn’t want . . .”

“Go ahead. Enlighten me. I would love to know what it is that
you want
.” His voice becomes harder. Crueler. “Because somehow, fucking idiot that I am, I actually started to believe you wanted to be with
me
. Turns out, all a guy has to do to get you into bed is pour you a shot of cold vodka.”

In the sudden silence, his speech howls inside my head and hovers in the space between us. Attacking me over and over again until I go numb.

The air shatters, and the breath I finally draw in is filled with daggers. They scrape sharply against the backs of my lungs.

“That might be the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I whisper.

I fold forward, hugging my stomach.

His eyes squeeze shut and he pushes his fists into his temples. “Just tell me why.”

He isn’t even there anymore, the Declan who loved me. I lost him. It’s done. There will be no redemption in his eyes. And all the man in front of me wants is to feel justified.

And I don’t have anything left that isn’t already broken.

So I tell him what he wants to hear.

“You know why.” He stares at me like it’s a trick. It isn’t. “I’m a terrible fucking person. I’m selfish.” My voice catches, but it doesn’t stop me. “I’m a slut.”

“Don’t.”

“Just say it.”

I need to hear him say it. Need him to hurt me enough that he’ll have to take some of the blame for us not being together. It’s crushing me, the burden of our ruined relationship. I can’t carry it all by myself anymore.

If he’s going to hate me, if that’s how all of this ends, then he is going to have to do much better. He has to hate me well enough for me to let him go.

We’re almost there.

I push his shoulder and follow him as he jerks backward. “Come on, Dec. It’s what you’re thinking. Just say it!”

His head is hanging, and he lifts it to look at the sky before looking back down at me. His eyes fall on my necklace and he lets out an empty laugh that’s actually closer to a grimace.

“That’s how you want me to treat you?”

I don’t respond. Don’t move. Just hold my breath while the fragments of my heart ache inside my chest.

Then he lunges, roughly smashing his lips onto mine like he wants to throw all the pain I caused him back at me in one kiss. His tongue aggressively swirls the taste of whiskey into my mouth. His hand on my neck prevents me from pulling away, which I want to do because this is not how Declan kisses me, this is not how he treats me, and I miss his peppermint-laced kisses, and I was wrong.

I was wrong when I thought I could not be more broken.

My forearms are pinned between us, and it isn’t until I stop struggling and start crying that Declan’s lips soften. His hand slips down to my collarbone. His forehead rests against mine.

My arms are free and I hear the slap before I realize I’ve done it.

A sob works its way up and out and I cover my mouth. Try to wipe it all away. But I can still feel the pressure of his mouth on mine, and the sour taste of whiskey won’t budge.

We stare into each other’s eyes and I know I’ve gotten my wish, because his are filled with regret. So much hurt volleys between us, and he reaches out for me.

“Don’t touch me.”
He takes another step and I shove him as hard as I can. “I hate you. You swore nothing you heard would change what you thought about me. You are just as much of a liar as I am.”

His forehead wrinkles and he whispers he’s sorry.

My head falls into my hands and I slump down to the pavement.

He’s sorry.

And I’m sorry.

And it isn’t enough to fix anything.

I AM LOST IN THE
unspoken battle between us, and I don’t hear the footsteps or see Cory coming until he pulls Declan roughly away from me.

Cory doubles back for me and my eyes snap to Mackenzie, who is just catching up.

She told.

“Tell me what happened. Tell me what that son of a bitch did to you.”

Declan lists forward. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Cory ignores him, wants answers from me, and I look to Gwen, silently pleading with her to help me get out of this.

She steps between us. “Cory,” she says firmly. “Back off. This isn’t helping her.”

Cory’s eyes soften.

“You called me. I knew you were messed up but I didn’t realize . . .” He runs his hand down the back of his neck. He shakes his head and I shake mine, because he can’t possibly be blaming himself. “Are you okay?”

I look down at my hands, as if the answers are written on my palms.

Absurdly, Declan starts to laugh. “That’s so perfect,” he says, leveling a glare at Cory. “Hey, Mackenzie. How does it feel to have a boyfriend who’s always coming to another girl’s rescue?”

Cory’s face turns crimson. His hand closes into a fist and for the first time in our lives, I really think he might hit Declan. But once again, Gwen intervenes.

“Shut up, Declan. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He does shut up. He stumbles forward, looking at her—at each of us. He is drenched in wariness, like he’s just stumbled upon a conspiracy against him.

“You tell me what’s going on, then,” he challenges her. “Why everyone’s always defending her.”

Gwen’s eyes flick to me and he follows them. My hand involuntarily clutches my shirt. I can’t do this all over again.

I slide past him to pick my purse up off the ground.

“You’re truly amazing, you know that?” he spits from behind me. I find my keys and squeeze them to keep my hand from shaking. “How do you do it? Lie and treat people like they don’t matter but still manage to keep our friends in your corner?”

Behind him, Mack is crying and Gwen is shaking her head and I am so empty inside.

“You still don’t get it.”

“No, I get it. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but I get it now. Everything they say about you is true.”

Cory grabs him, but he somehow manages to stand his ground.

“Then I guess your mind is already made up about me.” I move to my car and Mackenzie is there. She takes the keys out of my trembling hand and guides me to the passenger’s side. “But for the record, I didn’t sleep with Kyle.”

He strides forward, pointing his finger at me. “No, you—you’re lying. You just said you did.”

“I said something happened.”

Declan’s eyes are ticking back and forth, from me to Cory to Gwen. But still, he says nothing. And only one thing is left for me to say:

“There’s a difference.”

  *  *  *  

We sit on my porch in silence for a long time. Mackenzie rubs circles on my back, waiting. For me to be okay. For Cory to come home. For Declan to realize his mistake. Waiting.

Pretending is easy. I stand when Cory pulls into his driveway. Take a breath and thank Mackenzie for driving me home. Wipe my cheek and smile. Tell them I’m
finejustfine.

They don’t believe me.

But neither did Declan and now nothing matters.

Once I’m alone in my bedroom, I open my top dresser drawer. Reaching behind my neck, I unclasp his necklace. I grip the pendant tightly. And then I let go.

FOR TWO DAYS I DON’T
change out of my pajamas. I stay in bed until my bones ache and Mom yells at me to come down and eat something. Then I sit at the table and shred, shred, shred my food down because I can’t eat, can’t even think about having anything in my stomach. My stomach shrank at the same time my heart did, and there’s no room.

On day three of being grounded, my phone dies. I don’t recharge it. As far as I’m concerned, my parents can keep me locked in my room until I graduate. I don’t even care anymore.

But Mom has never had much patience for moping. When I come downstairs for breakfast—a cup of coffee and four pretzels—she descends.

“Morning, honey!”

I grunt and shove another pretzel in my mouth, letting the salt dissolve on my tongue before chewing.

“So, I think we should leave in about twenty minutes. You better scoot if you want to wash your hair first.”

I pause, midchew. Aside from the slight against my personal hygiene, I have no clue what she’s talking about. “We’re going somewhere?”

“Shopping! You need some back-to-school clothes, don’t you?”

What is the deal with all this sunshine and happiness? Did she forget I’m being punished?

I swallow the pretzel-mush. “You want to buy me clothes?”

She smiles. “I think it will be nice to get out for a bit.”

“You sure you’re up for it?” I ask.

“Absolutely. It’s a good day.”

I open my mouth to protest some more, and Mom cuts me off.

“Look, sweetie, sometimes happiness is a choice. The cancer and the chemo are out of my hands, but I choose to have a life outside of my treatment. And I know you think my attitude is an act and that I’m being strong for you and your brother and father, but quite honestly, I just want to get out of this house for a little while.” She smiles and gives me a side hug. “So, the mall opens in ten minutes.”

And that about settles it. Because, okay, this may be the last thing I feel like doing. And I may be far from the perfect daughter. But I’m not going to say no to my sick mother when she’s asking to buy me things.

“Okay . . . I’ll just go shower, then.”

“Great idea.”

Twenty-five minutes later we’re on our way, and Mom is singing along to the Top 40 station. She lowers the volume and glances my way.

“I noticed you’re not wearing your necklace anymore.”

My fingers curl around the collar of my shirt. For three days I’ve been trying not to think about him. Trying to forget the way he looked at me; the awful things he said.

And the worst part is, I still don’t know whether he’s staying or going.

No. The
worst
part is that even his cruelty the other night wasn’t enough. I still love him.

“Did something happen with Declan?” she asks.

I bite the inside of my cheek. “It just doesn’t fit anymore.”

She pulls into the parking deck of the mall and finds a spot. Clicking off her seat belt, she turns to me. “Well, that does happen.”

“Shall we?” I jump out of the car before she can ask a follow-up question.

Mom leads us straight to the activewear department.

“Look,” she says. “Swimsuits are forty percent off! Why don’t you try on a few—your old practice suit is getting a little ratty.”

She looks down to sort through a rack of one-pieces, giving me a view of the top of her head. About a week ago she got tired of having random tufts of hair all over her scalp, and shaved the rest off. She doesn’t like wearing the wigs on hot days, and the lavender scarf on her head is semisheer.

I’m almost used to seeing her without hair. And that scares me. Like, what if this is how I’ll always see her now? Or what if she doesn’t get the chance to grow it back?

But she will. The treatment has been going well—or according to plan, anyway. And her surgery is scheduled in another couple of months. She’ll beat this. If Mom can believe in that, so can I.

“Here.” She holds out a few hangers.

I take them into the dressing room and close the door behind me. Sitting on the plywood bench in the corner of the small space, I run my hands over the spandex fabric. They’re not the same quality as my best training suits, but to get those I’d have to drive out to Raleigh or order online. Not that I really need a new suit in the first place. Mom still doesn’t get that swimming is part of my old life.