Page 34 of Breaking Point

For Mom. For Dad. For myself.

“Now isn’t a good time, Charlotte. Can we catch up later?”

“Of course.” Her voice wobbles. “I miss you. And I’m here for you. I miss the way it was before.”

My heart tightens. “I do too…” I croak. “I just- can’t right now, okay?”

There’s another beat of silence before her soft voice replies, “Okay. I’m here when you’re ready to talk. Whatever you need. I’m- I’m all yours.”

She means it. I know she does, but I can’t deal with this right now.

“Thank you. Talk to you later.”

I don’t know why my stomach drops as I end the call. I don’t know why my heart stops and my feet stumble, or why all of my emotions hit me at a thousand miles an hour.

I hate that I feel like crying. I hate that I feelguiltyfor crying.

Because I should be happy. I’m at a beautiful party, I’m close to the height of my career. My father is finally better. I have all these amazing, incredible things. Yet all I can think about is what I don’t have.

And I hate it.

I hate it more than I’ve hated anything- and I don’thateanything. I used to love everything. Love life, love people, love doing things… but I haven’t felt that in so long.

My hands are shaking. My glass trembles in my hand, and I discard it on the bar nearby.

I don’t know how I force myself to speak, but I do, my voice strong. “Crew.”

I feel him at my back, his warmth seeping into me despite our distance. “Yes, Ms. Hughes?”

I swallow down my sadness- any crack in my smile. “I’d like to go home now.”

I expect him to object, to tell me we just got here, to ask what’s wrong, but what I don’t expect is for him to step closer, leaning down. His voice is low enough for only me to hear. “Tell me what to do.”

Tears well in my eyes at his tone- at the implication that he can see that I’m breaking- but I refuse to let him see me cry. So I stare straight forward.

“Please take me home.”

Chapter Sixteen

Olivia

He only looks at me once on the drive back. I can’t muster the courage to look back. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pressure me, as I make my way out of his car and through the market.

Everything is fine, I repeat as I stumble toward my apartment, ignoring Chesna in favor of locking myself in my room.

My chest is tight. I can barely breathe, and my entire body is cold.

Fine. Everything is fine.

But it doesn’t matter how many times I repeat it. I still feel like I’m crumbling. Somehow, I find the bathroom. I tear my clothes away, glad to be rid of the weight. I flip the water on and don’t bother pulling the pins from my hair or wiping the makeup from my face before I step under the frigid spray.

I focus on the cold. On the thin streams pouring over my back, on the water wetting my hair. My breath is tight in my lungs, my stomach expanding with every lungful. Then I feel it; warmth swelling in my chest.

Calm. Comfort. Safety.

Breathe in four counts. Release- six.

Little by little, the tension eases. The water cascades down my face, soothing away the anxiety, the sadness, the pain…

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