You could’ve remained in touch, asshole.
And watch her throw her life away for a loser like Clifford? No fucking way.
This was the best thing I could do for both of us.
Just because it feels like my soul is dead doesn’t mean leaving her wasn’t the right thing to do.
*
Axelle
It’s hard enough trying not to think about someone when he’s on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. What makes it damn near impossible is when that person becomes famous and everyone at school won’t stop asking me about him.
“What’s it like being friends with Killer?”
“Does he eat raw eggs for breakfast?”
“You should’ve dated him; then you’d be famous. Wait. Why didn’t you date him?”
I’ve come up with some standard issue answers that seem to shut people up for the time being, but some of the questions make it hurt to breathe.
“Did you know his girlfriend is, like, French royalty?”
“Have you heard he’s proposing?”
“Is it true he bought her a Porsche?”
I had to stop Internet stalking him the day after his fight when I saw a photo of him kissing Fleur and the caption read, “A Killer and his Queen.”
I cried for hours, blaming pregnancy hormones, of course.
“Hey, Axelle, wait up!”
I turn around to see Brynn speed-walking toward me with a smile stretching her lips and a mane of strawberry billowing in her wake.
It’s not her fault she’s pretty. I’m in faded black sweatpants and an oversized tee and flip-flops, feeling like Nanny McPhee, ya know, before she got pretty.
“Sorry to bother you, but…”
Three.
Two.
One.
“Do you know how I can get ahold of Killian?” She flashes a bright smile, which only manages to deepen my frown.
“Of course I do. Why?”
“I tried to call him, but it says the number is no longer in service. I’ve been messaging him on Facebook, but he hasn’t messaged me back.” Her gaze darts around as if she’s making sure we aren’t being heard. “Can you tell me how to reach him?”
I tilt my head and study her overeager expression. “No.”
“Wait. Are you guys, like, you know, together, because I thought—”
“Not that it’s anyone’s business, but, no, we’re not.”
“So…?”
“So you think because we’re not dating that I should just pimp him out to anyone who asks?”
Her expression falls, and for the first time, I see a hint of irritation in her glare. Finally, woman. Backbone! “He’s my friend too.”
“Really? Then why didn’t he give you his number?” The question sours my stomach because clearly he didn’t give me his number either.
“I…”
“Exactly. I’m sorry, Brynn, but I’m not comfortable handing out his info.”
“Okay, I understand.” Her shoulders slump, and I immediately feel like a huge bitch.
“Listen.” I sigh hard. “Ask Ryder, okay? I’m sure he can pass along a message to Killian for you.”
Brynn nods and walks away. I internally scold myself for being rude. My stomach aches, and I’m sweaty, and all I want to do is go home and sleep.
Feeling heartless, I walk with my head down to the café to grab a cold water, hoping it’ll help end the blazing inferno inside my body, when I trip over something. I drop the spiral notebook in my arms to try to get my hands in front of me to catch my fall, but I’m not fast enough and land hard on my shoulder.
“Shit!” I push to sit, and my face flames as the sound of muffled laughter surrounds me.
“Are you okay?” A guy reaches out his hand to help me up.
“Yeah, thanks.” I wave him off, holding on to a sliver of my pride, then gather my things before pushing back up to my feet.
“Oops.” A deep male chuckle sounds to my right. “You should probably watch where you’re going.”
I groan. Clifford, that ass, tripped me.
I turn to face him, frustrated I wasn’t paying attention and allowed this to happen again. “It’s not your fault; it’s hard to avoid tripping over piles of shit when they’re as big as you.” Even as my tough-girl defense falls from my lips, humiliation burns in my chest.
He glares and gets close enough to whisper. “How’s the baby, huh?” His eyes track down to my belly and back. “Funny how, what, two months later your stomach is still flat.”
“You made it clear you don’t care, that I was nothing important, so why don’t you leave me alone?”
“Don’t want to.” He reaches to touch my hair, but I duck away and head to the café.
“This isn’t over, Elle!” He yells from behind me.
That’s okay, two more months until the semester is over, and then I won’t have to face him on a daily basis.
I shove my middle finger into the air and hope to God he sees it. For a second, I fear he might come in behind me and continue to harass me, but when I grab a water and find an empty seat inside with the blessed air conditioning, I’m grateful to see he’s gone.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see I have a text from my mom.
Last minute, I know, but can you watch Jack tonight?
Last minute, like that matters. I have zero social life.
I text her back.