The Breakup Support Group Page 3

“Yeah it does,” I say, peering up into his troubled eyes. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

  “We need to talk.”

  My jaw works, but nothing comes out of it. I close my mouth then try again. “Nate?”

  His lips form a flat line, and he puts a gentle hand on my lower back. “Come on, let’s find a room or something.” His voice is gravelly like I’m in trouble—or like he is.

  I glance into my cup and confirm that I’ve only had a few sips. I’m not even tipsy. So why is the room spinning? Why is my heart suddenly in a war with my chest, desperate to get out?

  I want to dig my feet into the carpet and refuse to move until things are okay again. But I feel the pressure of his hand on my back as he leads me through the crowds of happy partying teenagers and guides us into the hallway. He grabs a bronze doorknob and twists it open, revealing a pristine guest room with a king-size bed and crimson drapes over the windows. The last time we sneaked off into this room, it was to get to third base.

  But the horrifying feeling in my gut tells me this time will be different.

  Chapter Four

  Nate walks over to the window and peers out of the crack between the drapes as if there’s anything to be seen out there besides an empty field. He turns slowly back around, shoving his hands in his pockets as he watches me. I hover by the foot of the bed, the beating of my heart so hard inside my skull that even if he were speaking, I might not hear it.

  “Isla,” he begins before stopping and watching me some more. His eyes wander around my face, looking anywhere but into my eyes. His six-foot-two-inch frame seems half as tall now that he’s standing so far away. His shoulders are slumped, not straight and imposing like usual.

  “What is this?” I say, weirdly proud that my voice doesn’t crack. Nate has seen all sides of me—I shouldn’t care if he sees me break now. He’s seen it before.

  “It’s—” he begins, only to stop again and draw in another deep breath. His hands seem to bury even further into his jeans pockets as if the words he’s looking for are hidden down there. I wonder if he’s magically controlling my heart in those pockets—his fists clenching tighter with every second. Because it sure as hell feels like my heart is about to burst.

  “Did you cheat on me or something?” My voice holds strong because I already know the answer to the question. Of course he didn’t. It’s just another straw that I’m grasping, trying to get him to talk.

  “No, Isla. Oh my God, I’d never do that.”

  “Then talk to me, dammit!” This time, my voice does break. The room alights with an orange glow. We both turn toward the windows where the cracks between the drapes are pulsing with light from the bonfire. They’ve started the fun without us. I am positive that no one even notices we are gone. “Look at me,” I snap, demanding his attention away from the dancing flames. “Why did you bring me up here and what the hell do you want to tell me, Nate?”

  His shoulders lift and fill out his massive frame. I can almost feel the gears working in his mind, telling him to man up and grow some balls and get it over with. His eyes meet mine now, a hint of anger hiding behind them. But maybe it’s all just for show. His jaw moves and then his lips press closed. I know him well enough to know he’s wondering if he can just change the subject, just turn around and go back down to the party.

  “Tell me or I’m leaving,” I say.

  His hands slide out of his pockets and flatten against his thighs. “We need to break up.”

  I had suspected as much. But now that the words are out in the air, they wrap around my neck and slam into my heart and rip me apart from the inside. Time seems to stop in this pristine guest bedroom. My chest is full of invisible daggers. My heart is no longer beating. I can’t breathe.

  Nate runs a hand through his short brown hair. His bottom lip trembles and his eyes are focused on mine, unblinking. Shouts and shrieks of joy filter up from our friends outside. The world is still going on everywhere else but in this room.

  In this room, the world has ended and time has stopped, and it’ll never be okay again. I blink, and warm tears roll down my cheeks. They pool in my eyes and distort the man standing in front of me, turning him into a cartoonish blob of the person I used to know. I draw in a ragged breath. “Why?”

  “Isla, I’m so sorry.” He takes a step closer to me, his arms lift and his hands reach for mine.

  I back away. “If you’re sorry then take it back,” I say through the sobs that are coming like Niagara Falls now. “If you’re sorry then don’t do this.”

  “Isla, I have to.” Another step toward me. I back against the wall, pulling my hands behind me so he can’t grab them. He doesn’t deserve to touch me. Nate’s face is twisted in pain. “Babe, I’m so sorry.”

  I shake my head and tears slide off my cheeks. “Why are you doing this? We’re perfect together.”

  “I don’t want to, but we need to end things now. Honey, everyone breaks up before college. Staying together is just delaying the inevitable.”

  “Don’t call me honey,” I hiss, shaking my head. My hands ball into fists. “And that is the stupidest excuse, ever. We don’t have to break up. We’re planning on going to the same college, Nate! We’ll still see each other at Sam Houston State!”

  He looks around the room, his eyes wide and anxious. “What?” I say, stepping forward. “You want me to keep my voice down so no one hears?”

  “Uh yeah, actually. We don’t need to cause a scene.” He trails a hand down my arm, and I yank it away.

  I press my hand against his chest and meet his eyes, standing as tall and straight as I can. Maybe I can fix this. “I love you, Nate. We love each other. How can you do this?”

  He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “No high school couple stays together forever, Isla. It’s just—we’re only hurting ourselves being in this relationship. We need to see the world and get out and do more things.”

  “Why can’t we see the world together?” My voice is barely a whisper now, but the rage hasn’t subsided in my chest. If I stop being angry, I’ll only be hurt. And anger is a better kind of pain. I press my hands into his chest, and my palms fit perfectly like they always have. Tears pour out of my eyes. I couldn’t control them even if I wanted to. “Why can’t we do that, Nate?”

  He sighs and walks over to the bed, sinking into the fluffy mattress. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and he peers up at me. “I just don’t see us ever staying together forever. So why should we stay together now, only to be hurt later?”

  “Because it hurts now,” I say, collapsing into more sobs. Nate leans forward and takes my hand, pulling me closer to the foot of the bed. He pats the empty spot next to him, and I sit down, if only because I no longer have faith in my legs to keep me standing. I feel his hand slide around my shoulders, his grip trying to be warm and comforting. But I feel nothing inside. “How long have you wanted to break up with me?” I ask because not knowing this answer is worse than knowing it.

  He swallows. “Not long. Around the time they rezoned us.”

  My face twists in disbelief. “Is this because I won’t be a Warrior anymore?”

  He shrugs, shakes his head no. But he bites his bottom lip, and my heart rips in half. “It is,” I say, as bewilderment overtakes the pain in my heart. “You don’t want to be with me because I won’t be a part of your team anymore. This is bullshit.”

  “No, Isla. That’s not it. That’s not all. I knew this was coming for a while, but now the rezoning has made me realize we just need to have a clean break now before it gets bad.”

  “Why would it get bad?” The question is just a fraction of everything I want to ask. Why don’t you love me anymore? Why am I not good enough? Why can’t I be enough for you?

  “Because you’ll be gone and you’ll meet new friends and I’ll meet new friends, and it won’t work. It’ll just end badly if we try to stay together.”

  “Why are you so sure about this?” I ask, rising from the bed. I tur
n to face him, feeling more confident now that he’s the one looking up at me. “And what do you mean by new friends? You mean new girls, don’t you? You’ll meet new girls without me. And you don’t want to become a cheater, so you’re just ending things now.”

  My hands pulse and the tears dry up. I see clearly now. I’m not good enough for Nate Miles. Maybe I used to be, but I’m not anymore. He wants more than me, and he’s using this stupid rezoning as an excuse to cut ties. As if our four years together were nothing. My chest heaves. My teeth dig into my lip until I taste blood.

  Nate looks me straight in the eyes, and I realize now that he’s not crying. He hasn’t shed a tear this whole time. “Isla, I want to still be friends. We’ve known each other forever. Let’s not become strangers, okay?”

  I shake my head. “You don’t get both. You can have me or not. But you don’t get both.”

  He lets out a slow breath. “I hope you’ll change your mind.”

  I latch onto the anger and let it take control of me. Without the rage, I am just a broken heart. He can’t see me like that, not right now. My hands go to my hips. “Are we done here?”

  “I guess. But it shouldn’t end this way.” He sits up straighter on the bed, his palms flat on his jeans. He gives me a sad look, and his furrowed brow is the most ironic thing in the world.

  “You don’t get to be sad when you’re the one causing this,” I say quietly. I hate looking at him, but I hate looking away. I hate everything all at once. “You could stop all of this by staying with me.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not that easy, Isla. Plus, why would you still want to be with me after I broke up with you?”

  I shrug. “I’ll forget it ever happened if you just change your mind.” Dammit. Traitorous tears roll down my eyes again. The five stages of grief slip into my mind. Bargaining is not my friend.

  Nate reaches out to me while still sitting at the foot of the bed. I wonder if this is the same mattress from the first time we were in here. How many people have slept on it since we first fooled around under the sheets? If any of those couples are still together, or if they’re suffering the same broken fate.

  My feet move toward him, my hands reaching for his outstretched arms. His palms slide up my arms and then wrap around my sides, pulling me into a hug. My legs nestle between his knees as I stand in front of him. He buries his face against my chest, and I fold into him, resting my head on top of his.

  We’re quiet like this for a long while. I can hear the crackling of the bonfire, the whoops and laughter from our friends outside. Nate’s warm hands on my back are as familiar as they are foreign. I don’t know this person anymore.

  His fingers grip my sides, and he pulls me back, looking up at me with a sparkle in his eyes. “Hey …” he says with a faint smile.

  “Yeah?” I want to push him away and hold him tightly all at the same time.

  He throws a glance over his shoulder, nodding toward the bed behind us. “Want to hook up one last time?”

  I’m not sure if I’m more surprised that he had the audacity to ask, or that he thinks I might actually agree. I meet his gaze and slide my hands up his shoulders, lacing my fingers behind his neck. I move forward, pulling up my knees until I’m sitting on his lap at the foot of the bed.

  “Mmm,” he murmurs, gripping my hips so I won’t fall.

  “You think we should hook up one last time?” I whisper into his ear, doing my best impression of a seductive temptress.

  He nods.

  “How about this?” I say, leaning in closer and letting my lips brush across his ear. His breath catches and his fingers dig into my hips. I draw in a deep breath, drop to my feet, and slap him across the face. “Go fuck yourself.”

  Chapter Five

  For the first eleven years of my school life, the last week of summer break always flew by at warp speed, bringing an agonizing end to the greatest part of the year. This week has been an exception to that rule. The last nine days have been the universe’s cruel experiment in making time crawl. Like the clocks in a Dali painting, each minute has dripped by, seeming to take years in the span of seconds. It doesn’t help that I’ve barely left my room.

  My eyes open and I know it’s Monday morning. The Monday before school starts on Wednesday. I roll over onto my back and my lip curls because I can smell myself. I haven’t showered in a few days—I say few because I am too embarrassed to think back to how many actual days have passed since I last showered, leaning against the glass wall, crying while the hot water washed over my body, scalding away the grime but doing absolutely nothing to cleanse my heart.

  The sun shines through the massive bay window in my room, so I know it’s late enough that I have the house alone. My parents are at work, going about their lives because the world still spins for them. A glance at my cell phone tells me that’s it’s eleven in the morning. Oh, and that I have exactly zero new messages and just as many missed calls. Nate hasn’t so much as sent me a tongue-sticking-out emoji since he shattered my heart at Alexander’s stupid party. You’d think he’d have sent me something—anything—since the day that ruined my life. Especially since I’ve sent him exactly one text a day since he left me. But nope. He’s moved on. Maybe he lost his phone or maybe he’s dead, but even as I think those things I know they aren’t true. Nate Miles doesn’t love me anymore.

  And that is the worst truth of all.

  With a painful swallow in my dry throat, I push up on my elbows and sit up in bed. Pain rushes into my head, but it’s nothing I haven’t been feeling all week. My eyes are swollen but somehow tears still flood them when I think back to that night with Nate. There’s a water bottle and an empty box of tissues on my nightstand. The t-shirt I started crying into when the tissues ran out sits on my comforter next to me, already dried from last night’s tears.

  I am a mess. But I can’t seem to make myself care.

  My phone beeps, but it doesn’t send my heart into a panic because it’s the sound I’ve saved to indicate my mother’s messages. When any inkling of hope that your ex is reaching out to you makes you panic, it is imperative to assign everyone else a different ringtone. With a sigh, I grab the phone and read her text.

  Mom: Make sure you’re awake in time for orientation, sweetheart! 1pm. Love you!!

  Two exclamation marks. Like going to a new school and losing your boyfriend because of it is something to be excited about—something that deserves exclaiming. I snort out a laugh and tears sting my eyes. I throw off the blankets and step out of bed onto achy legs that haven’t carried me around in days. A small voice in the back of my mind tells me that I can get through this, somehow.

  I’m still wondering where that thought came from when I step out of the shower thirty minutes later.

  Granite Hills High looks as flashy as the name implies. My hands shake on the steering wheel as I navigate the many signs around campus that point to each of the four student parking lots surrounding the school. Finally, I find a lot called SENIOR and assume I’m in the right place and pull into a parking spot between a newer model Escalade and a flashy sports car with a logo I’ve never seen before. I shrivel in the driver’s seat of my ’08 model silver Honda Civic. Already, I don’t fit in with these people.

  This school is more like a massive compound of bricks and decorative glass. Four stories tall, made of tan and white bricks, the imposing building scowls down on me as I make my way through the parking lot toward what looks like the front of the school.

  A massive pavilion with a rounded glass roof overlooks a granite fountain at the entrance. Granite Hills High School is emblazoned across the wall in shiny silver letters that are probably as tall as I am. A dozen flagpoles line the walkway, featuring the American and Texas flags, followed by school flags for each of their sports teams.

  I swallow and keep my head up as I follow the flow of students entering the building. They all seem to know what they’re doing here, so I play along, trying to ignore the lump in my throat and the
anxious clawing feeling in my gut.

  Police officers stand around the entrance, arms crossed and stoic expressions on their faces. I remember hearing that Granite Hills has their own police department because the school is so huge. As I filter in the school, mixing in the crowd of students, the first pleasant thought about this place comes to mind. A girl could be invisible in a school this huge. Maybe a little invisibility is what I need.

  Another fountain decorates the school’s lobby, a bronze wildcat statue in the middle of it, its massive claws posed in an attack position. Wildcat Pride is all over the place, blue and white versions of the same stuff we had in green and gold back at Deer Valley High. I walk on shiny white marble floors, past the office that looks like a million-dollar business suite instead of a place to turn in tardy slips. There are posters and awards and a long hallway lined with every flag of every country that hangs from the ceiling. I am overwhelmed and surrounded by students who pay me no attention at all.

  “Seniors, this way!” a woman dressed in a blue and white Wildcats shirt shouts, cupping her hands to her mouth. She waves a hand toward the right, and I follow her, branching off with the other seniors. Another woman yells for freshmen and sophomores, pointing them to the left. A middle-aged man who is obviously a coach, judging by the whistle around his neck, calls for Juniors to meet in gym number four, wherever that is.

  I blend into the crowd, only recognizing a couple of people from my old school. I didn’t really know them so I don’t bother trying to strike up a conversation. Besides, friendly facades and pointless chit-chat are a little impossible to make at the moment. Maybe when my heart isn’t still shredded beneath my ribcage; maybe if that time ever comes, I’ll try making a friend.

  We head down a hallway with skylights lining the roof and professionally designed posters advertising clubs, teams, and organizations of the school. All of Deer Valley’s posters are hand painted on poster board. There’s a line of tables outside of the entrance to the library. My mouth falls open as I gaze through the floor to ceiling windows that peer inside, showing only a fraction of the bookshelves that fill the room. There are couches and cushy chairs, another fountain, walls and walls of books.