Alex visibly flinched, like I’d shoved him. “You’re not serious,” he said.
That made me mad, like he thought he knew better than I did. “I am,” I insisted, though I could hardly believe I’d spoken the words out loud. Part of me thought maybe I was being unfair, taking my anger at Olivia—at the whole situation—out on him because he was here and he cared about me. But another part knew this was the only way. I’d worried from the very beginning that Alex and I were too different to last, that there was no way we could stay together if I went back to Jessell and he went out on the road. He’d be surrounded by other girls the same way he had been that night at the show in New Orleans; he’d get bored, and tired of me. Eventually, it would end. And if the choice was between hurting now or hurting later—well. I was already hurting now.
“Look,” Alex said, “I get that you’re upset about what happened—”
“It’s not about that,” I argued. “It’s about you and me.”
“You’re doing it again, you realize. You’re pissed and scared and so you’re picking a fight with me—”
“This is not that.”
“This is exactly that!”
“I’m being realistic,” I countered, scrambling up off the bed as my voice broke. I knew if he saw me cry he’d want to comfort me, and if he comforted me I’d never be able to go through with this.
“So that’s it?” Alex asked behind me, and I could tell he’d stood up, too. Even without turning around I could picture him so clearly—his hands in his pockets, the pain and confusion on his face. It felt like I was spreading my ribs with my own two hands. “I don’t— Dana. How can that just be it?”
“I’m sorry,” I said into the darkness of the closet. I wiped my wet face with my forearm. “I have to pack.”
FORTY
Guy’s driver picked me up at the complex that afternoon, the black car idling in the parking lot as I scanned the apartment to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything behind. It was bizarre to think I’d never be here again, brushing my teeth beside Olivia in the seafoam bathroom or standing in the kitchen griping about Charla’s gross smoothies. This place had become home overnight, the backdrop for every crazy thing that had happened; just as fast, all of it had changed.
“Here,” Charla said, reaching for my duffel. I was leaving with only what I’d brought with me, right down to the plastic grocery bags holding the overflow. The new clothes, the makeup and designer hair products—all that belonged to Guy. “Let me help you.”
“I got it,” I said flatly, but I let her hold the door for me anyhow; she followed me down the concrete steps into the parking lot, mid-afternoon sun shimmering on the concrete. The cats lolled in the shade of the building, oblivious.
“Travel safe,” Charla said once my bags were loaded. She reached out for a moment like she wanted to hug me, then thought better of it. “I’d drive you back myself, but—”
“But you’re busy with your new star,” I couldn’t help snapping. “I know.”
Charla sighed. “Dana—”
“It’s fine,” I said, holding up my hands, wanting more than anything for it to just be over. I’d lost Olivia. I’d lost Alex. I’d lost whatever my future was going to be here. What else was there to say? “Thanks for everything, Charla. Really.”
Charla nodded. “Good luck, sweetheart.”
I was about to get into the car when I turned around suddenly, squinting at the glare of the sun overhead. “Look out for Olivia, okay?”
Charla looked surprised at that, though I couldn’t blame her: it surprised me that I’d said it, too. But Olivia was my best friend—or at least, she had been. And whatever else had happened between us, I wouldn’t be here to protect her anymore. “Of course,” Charla said, looking at me with focus and concentration, like she was trying to work out a tricky combination in her head. “And Dana—look out for yourself.”
“Sure,” I said, shrugging, turning back to the car. “Whatever.”
“I’m serious,” she insisted, reaching for my arm and turning me to face her, strong despite her delicate build. “The only person you need to worry about from now on is you, all right? Try to remember that.” She hugged me then, fast and impulsive like she was worried I wasn’t going to let her.
“Sure,” I said again, turning my head so she wouldn’t see that I was on the verge of crying. I got into the backseat and went home.
FORTY-ONE
I came back to Jessell on the hottest day of the summer, the sidewalk burning straight through my sandals, the flowers all dead where they stood. Elvis barked his head off from behind the chain-link fence, as if he’d never seen me before.
“Didn’t work out, huh?” my mom asked me, legs crossed on the couch, eyeing me evenly.
“Nope,” I said too loudly, with a plasticky brightness I didn’t feel. “Didn’t work out.”
I stood in the doorway of my bedroom, fighting the urge to run. It felt like the site of some bizarre time warp, like maybe the last three months hadn’t happened at all—like maybe I’d made them up entirely, some deluded fantasy I’d constructed to chase my loneliness away. The sheets hadn’t been changed since I’d come home in the middle of the summer. The dress I’d worn to graduation was crumpled on the closet floor. The job applications I’d started after my audition for Guy—retail jobs, waitressing gigs—sat in a dust-filmed stack on the desk, the edges gone slightly yellow. The whole room smelled dank, like the inside of somebody’s gym bag; I flung both the windows open, but that only made it harder to breathe.
This was it for me, I realized, trying to quell the acrid panic I felt rising in my chest. If not this exact room, then some other room like it. I thought of Olivia, who was off on tour with Tulsa. I thought of Alex, who’d probably already met someone new.
The worst part was that underneath my bright, shattering anger was a flabby, dull kind of fear: even though Olivia and I had spent so much of the summer fighting, we’d never actually been apart before. I didn’t really know who I was without her. I wasn’t sure I was ready to find out.
I flopped face-first onto the mattress. I lay there, hot and motionless, until I finally fell asleep.