#Chapter 02 No Remorse
1431 Words
I’m watching them in slow motion, absorbing every bit of information crawling into my brain. Old, rusty cogs finally crackled and started turning, a flickering light blinking on.
Ah. This is why he didn’t answer my texts.
Before either of them notice me, I stumble away from the door like the handle burned me. Nausea and heartburn crawl up my throat and scald it with acid.
Being at this party is suddenly the worst idea I’ve ever had. So, I start wobbling toward the stairs, reeling.
Oliver… He and I had been best friends for years. He knew more about me than most people, sometimes even more than my mom.
And I told him…I told him I didn’t want to date him, even when he asked me. I wanted to keep my best friend and not lose him.
But Oliver changed my mind. Said friendship would make our love stronger… What a joke.
My eyes burn as I make my way down the stairs. With the new year here, the party’s now in full swing. If they were being rowdy before, they were chaos now—chaos that quickly swept me up.
Like an asteroid drawn toward a planet, I’m too weak to shove through the bodies to the exit. They all dance and gyrate, smelling happy and of cheap alcohol. It makes me want to vomit.
Just let me escape…let me out—
And I finally get my wish in the worst way.
Somebody pushes me backward, and the back of my ankle catches on someone else's foot. There’s no one to stop me from falling onto a table.
I don’t see what’s on it, but apparently it's packed with food. My weight is the last straw. The table bends in, and suddenly everything crashes on me.
"Aagh!"
Bread crumbles against my arms as I try to cover my face. Cloyingly sweet paste smears into my hair. I feel some smush on my back.
Cupcakes.
My face, hair, clothes…everything I’d tried to do to look nice. Covered in New Year’s cupcakes.
My chest hurts so badly. I try to breathe through my nose and mouth in intervals like I’d seen online. But it's too difficult, leaving me wheezing and blinded by party lights.
But then, I start seeing shadows hover around me. My vision feels blurry…It hurts. Am I crying?
I gasp, forcing my lungs to expand, and the shadows take human form.
They are people. Party-goers. Planets overlooking a broken clod.
They’re staring down at me, some curious, others irritated. None of them reach out to help. Their voices rumble in the background like white noise.
Then, my eyes focus on a couple. Two people saunter easily through the crowd to watch my spectacle.
It’s Oliver. Dear Oliver. My guiding light.
His arm is around the girl he was in bed with, both dressed haphazardly. She leans on Oliver’s shoulder as he speaks.
“Cynthia? What are you doing here?” He glances around me. “God, what a mess...”
…Is this how you address your girlfriend when she’s on the floor, covered in cake?
My eyes burn more as his fingers curl with the other girl’s.
I'm a fool. An absolute tap dancing phenomenon.
I don’t answer him. Instead, I try to scramble to my hands and knees and flee.
But the icing is too slippery. My shoes slide against the floor without purchase, and I fall forward. My shoulder smacks against the ground, getting more covered in cake and icing and pain pain pain.
Someone snorts, then a few people are laughing. When I look up, phone cameras stare at me like piercing eyes. Bile wells up in my mouth.
“Hey, c’mon—” Oliver begins. Through my bangs, I see he’s talking to the others, trying to get them to put their phones away.
He stops when the girl pulls him back close to her, staring down at me like I’m dogshit.
“Do you know her from somewhere, Ollie?”
“Oh, yeah,” Oliver smiled at her. It’s bright. Crinkles his eyes in a way I haven’t seen in a while. “She’s my friend.”
…Right.
Friend.
He can say that just fine, can’t he? Because no one knows we’re dating.
A sob unwillingly chokes in my throat, right as I feel a hand curl around my bicep.
“Okay, okay, c’mon. That’s enough fun, guys,” Oliver fusses, with some people booing him playfully. “Hey, let’s get you home, okay?”
His fingers dig into the meat of my arm, the sensation taking me back to a dark place. My hands go numb, but I can only struggle to stand as he pulls me up. No one notices how roughly he’s treating me…or maybe they don’t care.
I know Oliver does. He cares so much. I could ruin his New Year's date, after all.
He doesn’t want me to tell everyone the truth. But would there be a point of doing that?
Who would everyone believe: the upcoming hockey left winger or the nobody girl who ruined the party?
It just hurts. Everything I believed about him has been a lie.
This is just like Dad, isn’t it?
Oliver…I thought… But he’s…
I don’t know when or how we get to the door, but I’m too stiff to move much further.
It feels like someone is sitting on my chest, hands curled around my neck. I’m gasping, but nothing’s coming in. Drool pools in my mouth, leaking from the corners of my lips.
“...You’re drunk. I’ll just get you home.”
But I… I don’t… I don’t want…
I can’t say anything. Too busy dying.
The front door opens, sending cool air against my icing-smeared body. My eyes try to focus, still boiling in my skull.
It wasn't Oliver who opened it. It’s Alex, wearing the same outfit from the restaurant, holding the door open on his way in. But he stops there, just taking us in.
“Oh, hey Alex. Uh, sorry ‘bout the mess,” I hear Oliver through the cotton in my ears. “We’ll get out of your way.”
The look Alex gives us is a bit indescribable. My vision is still swimming too much to tell.
Oliver’s hold on my arm tightens and I choke back a cry. He starts to pull me away somewhere…
But then, a large hand clamps around my other wrist. A familiar hand.
My ears keep ringing as my gaze trails down to where Alex holds onto me.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, Alex. Mind if we, ah, just move aside?”
His green-eyed gaze pierces into mine, somehow making it past the wavering curtain of withheld tears.
“...I kinda do mind, actually.”
Oliver pauses. “Why though? We’re trying to get out of your way. No disrespect, but can you let her go?”
But instead of answering him, Alex just stares at me a moment longer. Only then does he speak.
“Hey, you wanna go home with him?”
…Oh. He’s…
He’s speaking to me. Not ignoring me.
Actually looking at me. Even after that terrible thing I said to him earlier.
“Cynthia?”
Oliver’s voice sounds strained. Still, I can’t take my eyes off Alex for now, my body too stiff to move as my lungs burn.
“Cynthia…—hey, let go—Cynthia. Just give me a second, alright? I can explain on the way home.”
My eyes feel like lead as I move them in their sockets, managing to look at him. But all it takes is a moment before my gaze snaps back to Alex.
His face was absent of concern for me. No remorse, no guilt. Only embarrassment, glancing back toward the people now watching our confrontation at the front door.
…What is it that he’ll tell me?
Will it be a sob story about somehow being forced to cheat on me? Is it how I did something that pushed him away? Will he make it my fault?
Is he and my sperm donor reading out of the same goddamn guidebook? Do something bad, cry and beg and say he’ll change, be forgiven after much thought. Repeat.
Is that what he wants?
…I can’t speak. My chest is too tight. All of my effort is in making sure my lungs don’t collapse.
Instead, I turn my hand and curl my fingers around Alex’s wrist, stiltedly tugging.
Please.
Please.
I’m sorry, Alex. I’m sorry for what I said.
Please get me out of here.
- Writer
