A Matter of Fate (47 page)

I want to reach out and grab Kellan, to hold on, but I’m no longer able to control any actions at all. All I see and feel is impenetrable blackness, and I when I let go, I gratefully welcome it, letting myself fall into a vast abyss of nothing.

Although my bedroom is mostly dark, I can make out Kellan in a chair by the window. He’s sleeping, legs kicked up on my desk. But when I sit up and the bed creaks, he jerks awake. I apologize, voice hoarse, but he waves this off and comes over to sit next to me. And then he allows me to hold his hands: warm and calloused and comforting.

“Did you drive me here?”

“We took a magic carpet,” he teases, squeezing my fingers. My mouth cracks slightly upwards and he rolls his eyes. “Of course. Don’t you remember?”

I search through only the freshest of memories—yes, I vaguely recall being led to his car. I nod and then think some more. “My car?”

“Lizzie and Graham went to get it for me. It’s in your driveway.”

“Did you . . . go with them?”

“No, hon. I stayed here with you.”

Despite everything, despite knowing my heart had been shattered by his brother that afternoon, he allows me to crawl into his arms without hesitation or question. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Chloe,” he says gently against my hair, “like I was going to leave you. You are so dense sometimes.”

“You saw . . . .” I shake my head. “You
stayed
.”

Beneath my ear, his heartbeat speeds up. Finally, “If you need me, I will always be here for you.”

These words mean more to me than he’ll ever know. I press my face harder against him, clutch at his shirt tighter. He is my anchor. He is my strength. He is here, for me, and even though I don’t deserve it, I take it.

When my cell phone rings an hour later, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know who’s calling. I try my best to ignore it, to talk right over the distinctive ringtone or to burrow my head closer to Kellan’s chest and focus on his heartbeat, but it’s persistent.

Ring after ring, minute after minute, pausing only to start a new cycle. When I can’t take another ring, I take the coward’s way out: I ask Kellan to answer it.

I feel, rather than see, his surprise. But he disentangles himself from me and goes over to where my phone is. He lays his hand on it and gives me a long look, one that demands absolute certainty.

I know what this means, how it’s the equivalent of throwing a match into a barrel of gunpowder. And selfishly, horribly, I kind of delight in wondering how Jonah will feel discovering I’m with his brother. But then, it’s not like he has a leg to stand on, right? Considering he was making out with
his
ex-girlfriend just hours before?

“Just don’t leave,” I say when Kellan moves toward the door. Because I don’t think I can handle being alone yet.

He nods and rubs at his forehead. The phone goes silent for a good ten seconds before starting again. He waits until the third ring in this cycle before answering with a curt, “Yes?”

I lay back down, stiff with tension, even as I inappropriately and gleefully find pleasure in knowing that Kellan is standing up to his brother for me. “You think I stole her phone or something? That that’s why she won’t answer? You’re such a dumbass sometimes, Jonah. She’s not answering because she doesn’t want to talk to you. And gee, I wonder why.” There’s a long pause before Kellan snaps, “You don’t need to fill me in on all the gory details. I’ve already seen them. How is Cal, by the way? She still there with you at the house?”

Is there a way to block a name, like unwanted email from the confines of my mind? Because if there is, I definitely want to do it. I never want to hear Callie Lotus’ name ever again.

Kellan’s quiet again, but the faint sound of Jonah’s voice on the other side of the phone carries through. It hurts, it hurts so, so much to hear his voice, even when it’s this soft and far away. “Frankly,” Kellan growls, “I really don’t care what your excuses are. As you’ve long told me, they’re none of my damn business.”

My stomach flip-flops, sending a nasty gust of bile up to burn the back of my throat.

“No, you may not come over.” Kellan pauses, his breath coming out harder. “I think it ought to be pretty clear that if she’s ignored your last ninety calls, it’s because she wants nothing to do with you right now. If you come over, you’ll have to come through me
and
Karl.”

The urge to puke is so strong that I debate briefly whether or not to get up and flee to the bathroom or merely use my bedroom trash can.

Jonah is yelling now, and his words, his voice, even as far away as they are on the other end of the phone, are too much for me. So I escape to the bathroom and throw up every last bit in my stomach. And then, I throw up some more, dry heaving until I sob from the intense pain. I hug the porcelain, gagging and wishing that I’d just wake up from this nightmare.

Yesterday, I was in love. How did this happen? How did I get here?

The doorknob jiggles, but a quick glance shows I’d instinctively locked it when I ran in. Then come the knocks. “Chloe? Are you all right? Please let one of us in.”

It’s Caleb. When did he get here?

“Chloe?” It’s now Karl. “I will kick this door down if you do not open it for us immediately. I will give you to the count of three—”

Caleb cuts him off. “Are you crazy? Why would you threaten her? Kellan! Give this man some compassion!”

“Compassion!” Karl bellows. “I have plenty of it! It’s the only reason I didn’t kick Jonah’s ass this afternoon!”

Hearing his name only triggers another series of gags.

“Would you prefer to be left alone?” Kellan asks through the door. His voice is gentle. Loving. Worried. It nearly breaks me. “We could leave, if that’s what you want . . . .”

“Leave her alone?” Karl yells, but he’s muffled quickly.

I absolutely do not want Kellan to leave, but every time my mouth opens to tell him this, I feel like puking again.

Caleb says, “Kellan, maybe you should go home . . . .”

This
gives me my voice. “Kellan, don’t you leave me!”

The door swings open—I’m not sure if it’s because I willed it so or because Karl finally had his way. But it’s Kellan through first, and I collapse in his arms.

“I won’t leave if you don’t want me to,” he assures me. “I’ll stay as long as you like.”

I cry again, clutching at him like the life raft he is.

“Will one of you call Giules and tell her I won’t be coming home tonight?” he asks our friends quietly.

I’m not stupid. I see how both of their foreheads furrow, but Karl nods, just once, and then they leave, which is what I’d wanted them to do anyway.

I am nearly asleep when Kellan says gently, “I think it only fair to let you know that Jonah is going absolutely insane not being able to talk to you.”

Maybe he should’ve thought of that first before playing tonsil hockey with Callie Lotus.

“Do you maybe want to talk to him, hear his side of the story?”

Oh, HELL no. “What possible side can he offer?”

He strokes my hair softly. “I’m not excusing what he did, C. I just know how you work, how you like to talk things out.”

“No,” I snarl. “I do not want to talk to him. He has nothing to say that I want to hear. Nothing!”

“Alright,” he says soothingly. “No calls until you’re ready.”

I crumple against such tenderness. “Don’t leave me tonight. Promise.”

“I won’t.” I feel his words, sincere and comforting, against my ear. “Whatever you need, I will do it.”

I’m so selfish. But, I need him. I
need
him so acutely that my body is screaming out for him, craving his touch so badly that I can’t even begin to fathom the thought of sending him away like I should. So I scoot as close as possible, breathing him in like he, himself, is the tranquilizer, the cure I require.

He may be working his mojo on me again or not, I have no idea. But a small sense of peace finally settles over me as I pull his scent in, hording it like a greedy drug addict intent on messing everything up despite knowing better. And when the black abyss blessedly surfaces below me once more, I stand on its edge and swan-dive in, plummeting into the pool of sedation, relieved to once again no longer have to be thinking or feeling anything at all.

The next morning sucks. Because reality, that pesky, unhelpful slap in the face, forces me to wake up and face facts.

And oh, how I wish I could blame all of this on a bad dream.

Kellan comes in to check on me around noon. I’m still in bed, picking at a stray string on my quilt. He has dark circles under his eyes, but gives me a smile, and it’s real. He sits down next to me on the bed. “How long have you been awake?”

Does it matter? I motion to the clock on my nightstand, as if it’ll answer his question. Then I clear my throat, sandpaper rough against delicate skin. “You didn’t leave.”

My non-sequitur doesn’t throw him. “Of course I didn’t.”

I rip the string off of the quilt. There’s a hole now, the edges jagged. I’ve had this since I was ten, a gift from my mom back when I used to believe we could and would be close. And now it’s got a hole. I focus on that small space and the slice of blanket below it when I ask where Karl is.

Me and this quilt. We both have holes now where no holes used to be.

“Downstairs with Caleb.” He smoothes back stray strands of my hair, tucking them behind my ears. “They’ll take you to Annar this afternoon.”

Anywhere is better than here right now.

“You should take a shower,” Kellan continues. “It’ll make you feel better.”

I personally doubt this, but I do feel pretty uncomfortable in my skin. And that’s frankly a pathetic thing to feel, since the rational part of my brain tells me so many people have it worse off than me. People who do not fall apart and disintegrate into abysses simply because their boyfriends cheat on them. And yet the hole inside, the one in my heart, grows bigger.

I listlessly roam around my room, picking out multiple pairs of jeans and Tshirts before arbitrarily selecting a set. The rejected pairs litter the floor. But then, I laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Why should I care about what I’m going to wear? What does the perfect pair of jeans and T-shirt have to do with anything, anyway?

Rather than a shower, I draw myself an extremely hot bath, pushing the water way past the typical stopping point. My head drops below the water line, so that only my nose and eyes peep out. I like it this way. All sounds are muted, making it a good place to think, to figure out things without all of the extraneous crap that can confuse matters.

Because I’m already confused, horribly so.

Jonah said he loves me.

That he wants to spend his whole life with me.

That I’m the only person he’s ever been in love with.

So much ache and sadness fill me. Anger, too. I’d believed him when he’d said these things. I’d never questioned them.

My whole life, I’ve idealized Jonah. I’ve always believed him. He was the person I could always count on, even when I was breaking his heart by being with his brother. He’d protected me even then.

But, I’d been wrong. I’d been fooling myself, because if he’d been sincere about all these things, he wouldn’t have been with Callie yesterday. He wouldn’t have kissed her.

It is a horrible thing, realizing that the person you love has feelings for someone else. It’s almost impossible, really. It hurts to breathe—my lungs shrink up, making it difficult to get air into my body.

Jonah isn’t some random high-school crush to me. I haven’t counted our days on a calendar, celebrating each week together as a victory in terms of status and achievement. This is the person I fell in love with before I could read. My best friend. The person I’ve trusted with my tragedies and victories. The person who knows all of my deep, dark secrets.

He is my heart.

I thought I was his, but I was wrong.

My cell phone is on my dresser. I’m still not ready to talk to Jonah—not sure if I ever will be—but I’m masochistically intrigued by exactly how many times he’s tried to get ahold of me. And if
she
knows he’s called me. Is he upset? If so, does she know? Not that the call log will tell me or anything, but it’s still a pleasant, petty thought to hold onto.

I delete the multiple messages from the Cousins and the one from my mother without bothering to listen. And why should I? I can guess what they say. Cora and Lizzie probably said something like:
Are you okay? Call us so we can talk
. My mother, oblivious to the fact that my life has shattered into a million pieces, probably said something stupid like:
Make sure you’re doing your homework.

There’s also a voicemail from Karl. I choose to listen to this one, even though he’s downstairs now.
Where the hell are you? I just got off the phone with Jonah and could hardly understand him! Where are you? CALL ME NOW!!!

Two voicemails left. Two from Jonah. What would he say? Would it make a difference?

Maybe it’d be:
Chloe, sorry you had to see that, but I just can’t get Callie out of my mind. You and I may have dreamed about each other forever, but . . . did you check her out? She’s a gorgeous, sexy Elf! You can’t blame me for wanting that, can you?

Or, maybe:
Hey Chloe, what was up with you and that fence? Are you even going to come over and fix it? Technically, it was the neighbor’s. And don’t even get me started on the tree. That’s it. WE’RE DONE.

I don’t want to talk to him, but listening to his voicemails . . . well, it seems safer this way, because it’s already been said and done. So, I press play and raise the phone to my ear.

The time and date are given first. Then his voice, still so dear to me, appears:
Chloe, oh gods, I can’t even imagine what you think you just saw. No, I can imagine, but please, just let me explain it to you.
Giuliana says something, in the background. His answer is muffled, but I can still make out:
I said I’m fine! Leave me alone!
Then he continues:
Please, just . . . just call me back, all right? Just call me and I will come over and we will talk about this. Chloe, I love you. Do you hear me? I LOVE YOU. You are my everything.