Chapter 2

~Liv~

“No.” That was actually my reply. I couldn't bring my self to date him.

I didn’t leave the apartment for eight days straight.

Zoe tried everything the first three days. She dragged me into the shower when I started to smell dirty and nasty again. She forced grilled cheese down my throat because it was the only thing I used to eat when we were nineteen and drunk on cheap wine. She put on every season of The Office and sat on my feet so I couldn’t run away.

By day four she gave up and just left me alone with the blanket that smelled like Caleb’s stupid cologne because I refused to wash it. I kept telling myself one more day and then I’d burn it. One more day never came.

I slept on the couch because the guest bed felt too much like a future I wasn’t ready for. The living room had the big window that looked out over the city, and at night the arena lights glowed red and white like a bruise. Every time a game ended I could hear the horns from the street and I wanted to throw up.

Zoe came home from work on day five and found me staring at the ceiling, counting the little popcorn bumps for the thousandth time.

“I’m seriously calling your mom if you don’t speak today,” she said, dropping her bag.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. My throat felt like I’d swallowed glass. Not like my mom really cared about me.

She sat on the coffee table, elbows on her knees, and looked at me like I was a stray cat she wasn’t allowed to keep but couldn’t leave outside either.

“Liv,” she said softly. “You’re scaring me.”

I started crying then. Not the loud ugly kind from the first night. This was worse. Quiet, endless, the kind where my whole face hurt and I couldn’t even breathe right and I didn’t even make noise anymore.

Zoe crawled onto the couch and pulled me into her lap like we were kids again. I curled up small, knees to my chest, face in her neck.

“I hate him,” I whispered. My voice cracked from not being used. “I hate that I still love him. I hate that I’m not her.”

Zoe’s arms got tighter. “You’re not supposed to be her. You’re supposed to be you, and you is fucking incredible, and he’s too stupid to see it.”

“I wasn’t enough,” I said, and the words broke something open inside my ribs. “Three years, Zo. Three years of plane tickets and good-luck texts and learning how to cook his stupid protein pancakes and it still wasn’t enough.”

She didn’t say anything for a long time. Just rocked me like a baby until the crying slowed down to hiccups.

“You know what the worst part is?” I mumbled into her shirt. “Dad called yesterday. Asked if I’d help Ava pick her wedding colors because ‘you have such good taste, Livie, and it’ll be fun for you girls to bond.’ Like I’m some prop in her love story.”

Zoe pulled back, eyes blazing. “You said no, right?”

“I said I’d think about it.” I laughed. “Because that’s what I do. I think about it. I make it easy for everyone.”

She cupped my face hard. “Not anymore. Starting today, we’re done making it easy for assholes.”

I just stared at her. My eyes were swollen, my lips tasted like salt, and I felt a thousand years old.

“You're still thinking about the offer right?”

“I don't know any more Zo. I don't know if I want this still.”

On day six she came home with a cardboard box and dumped it on the couch next to me.

Inside was every single thing I’d ever left at Caleb’s apartment. Hoodies, books, the dumb matching mugs we bought in Banff, the birthday card I wrote him last year that he never opened. All of it.

“How?” I asked.

“Made security let me into his place while he was at morning skate. Told them I was picking up my best friend’s dignity.” She kicked the box. “We’re burning it.”

We didn’t burn it. We took it to the roof instead, sat on the ledge with a bottle of wine, and went through every item one by one.

The hoodie I wore the night he told me he loved me for the first time. I held it up, looked at Zoe, and she handed me the scissors without a word.

Snip. Snip.

We cut it into tiny pieces.

The birthday card. I read it out loud in this ridiculous dramatic voice until I got to the part where I said I couldn’t wait to grow old with him and then I couldn’t read anymore. Zoe took it, ripped it in half, then quarters, then kept going.

We didn’t talk much. Just sat there drinking straight from the bottle. At some point I started laughing because the wine was cheap and I was drunk and everything was terrible and perfect at the same time.

“I’m gonna be okay,” I said suddenly.

Zoe bumped my shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But I’m gonna be so fucking okay he’ll choke on it.”

She grinned so wide I saw it in the dark. “There she is.”

Day seven I showered without being threatened. I ate an entire pizza by myself and only cried once when the delivery guy looked like Caleb from the side.

Day eight Zoe came home early, threw a shopping bag at my head.

Inside was the red dress. The one I would wear to the party later. But that night she made me put it on just for us.

“Twirl,” she ordered.

I did, barefoot in the living room, hair still wet from the shower.

“You look like revenge in a red lipstick ho,” she said.

“And that's on period, clock it boo.” I laughed, real this time, loud and messy.

That night I slept in the guest room for the first time. I left the blanket that smelled like him on the couch and didn’t look back.

The next morning Rowan showed up with coffee and attitude and everything changed, but that week I barely spoke, barely moved, barely existed that week was mine.

I was broken, yeah. Shattered into a million pieces on Zoe’s ugly gray couch.

I guess this was the Eight day rule they always talk about after heartbreaks.

No matter how hard life is, every after rejection or heart break take eight days to heal. Life had been nothing but a shithole to me. I had gone through countless rejections. And every time it took me eight days to get my full self back, and cussing actually works, it worked with me. Even if I went back to being miserable I had cussed out and blamed life and blamed humans. Life was so unfair I questioned my existence and questioned why I had to go through all this while others bragged about how fair it was to them.

They had people loving them, senior workers and company heads loving them, parents loving them and me? Nothing, nada, every time I tried something new it came back with a rejection and funny enough I still tried, hoping that one day I'll find what's meant to be mine.

Zo once told me that rejection didn't mean I was bad, it was just a redirection but I kept waiting, Oh God knows how much I waited and I never got redirected, how bad must I had been in my past life that nothing seemed to work out for me. I wasn't even brain smart enough, I didn't have a good job and if I applied to work with or for anyone, it was always a rejection.

If it turned out that I got accepted, I stayed stagnant with no help or promotion to be better, all this had me questioning life. And as if that wasn't enough my twin sister never only had the men but the good contracts, the good life and now the one last thing I held onto for hope was gone. It took me eight days but I knew I was gonna move on from this too, I always did from the others, and ‘who knows’, was what I told my self every night at 3am. It’ll work out. So I decided to give up on existing like a human and just live like I could because every passing day meant one day closer to my end.

I was going to try with Rowan. Shit never ends well for me, but hey I'm Liv, I've survived this so many years of misery so I'd just keep going anyways, if not for survival but to prove to life that I wasn't made different from others. If they got to be happy I too, could be happy. I deserved it, why did misfortune have to cloud my whole life.

Deeply meditating but life had something else in store for me

I swallowed. A knock came through the door and when I opened it, I saw him immediately.

“Yes,” I said.

Rowan’s mouth curved, slow and dangerous. “Oh! Good.”

Then he did the last thing I expected: he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, thumb brushing my cheek, and whispered, “Try not to fall in love with me, Carter. I’m a shitty boyfriend.”

I shoved his chest. “Please. I’d rather lick the rink.”

He laughed, real this time, head thr

own back, throat working. God, he was annoying.

And just like that, I was fake-dating Rowan Parker.

I was so screwed.