Page 84 of Nash

Please, poison, be okay.

But she doesn’t.

It’s all dark.

For days.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

VALE

When I turned twenty,my father forgot my birthday.

He remembered all the years before. It was hard to forget because he had two daughters who shared the same day.

So, he sent a card with a hundred dollars, as if he could buy himself out of his guilt for not being around, and he’d call to wish me a happy birthday.

But he never said he loved me.

That year, Blair was away at Alabama, where she went to college. Alena was on a field trip with her senior class, and my mom was alive, but she had a work trip in Atlanta that she couldn’t miss. Of course, she called, suggesting we video chat over pizza to celebrate.

But then there was a knock on my apartment door. I looked through the peephole and choked back tears.

It was Nash. He had a brown bag with cheeseburgers and a bouquet of red tulips. At the time, he said Alena sent him to check on me. I still think that’s true.

But now I know he drove four hours just to see me.

We sat at my little kitchen table and ate burgers while he asked about my classes. He smiled when I told him I had a 4.0 but turned to stone when I told him I didn’t have many friends at Clemson.

I didn’t fit in. I never fit in.

I had a roommate who tolerated me. Guys who fucked me but never asked me out. And a best friend and twin hours away, but the thought of them was good enough. It got me through.

So, Nash took me to the bookstore that night and spent over five hundred dollars on my wishlist. At the time, he said the books were for school.

Now I know he bought them to keep me company since he couldn’t.

When he left that night, I got that hollow ache in my chest, the one you must get when someone breaks up with you. That’s what I figured at the time. I was right.

But this ache doesn’t end. I can’t find the bottom of it. I just keep falling deeper into its darkness.

For four days, I call in sick to work. I blame it on my period, which I force to start by taking off my patch. I want to bleed it out of my body, every last pain over Nash.

It doesn’t work. Forgetting him will be a slow death.

Blair and Stacey bring me food. I ask them to leave it at the door. I tell them I have a migraine, too. That I don’t want to let in the light. It’s not a lie.

I want to lie in darkness. I want my sheets to stop smelling like Nash, but I’ll never wash them. I want him to stop texting to see if I’m okay, but I won’t block his number. I want to answer him and say I’m fine without him. Go to hell.

But I don’t.

This is hell. Love, you can’t have. Love, you have to lie about. Love, you have to let go.

I’m avoiding Alena because she’ll hear it in my voice. I’ll burst into tears the first time I hear her sweet voice; I know I will.

I need time to stop crying. But I don’t get it. After five days, Alena’s knocking on my door.

“Vale,” she calls out, “you better be shacked up with some hottie in there. And you better get your ass up and open this door and let me see your fuck-hair and smile, telling me you’re just getting railed and you’re fine.”

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