Page 58 of False Start

"There. I'm looking at you," she grinds out. "And I still think we should go our separate ways."

"No, you don't," I insist. "Not the way you were kissing me just this morning! Not after the shopping, the smoothie, the to-go cups. You want this."

"A lot can happen in twenty-four hours, Cory. Now all I want is for you to leave."

Her voice is cold, her expression shuttered. It's an act, but I buy it anyway. She strides to the door, pretending to be unbothered, and opens it wide.

"Goodbye, Cory."

I walk through the door, and I don't stop. Not even when it slams behind me, or when I hear her quiet sobs from the hallway. I can't stop. I can't be anywhere near her when I fall apart.

Chapter twenty-four

Denise

Anotherhorrormoviemarathonor even a wild night of good drinks and bad decisions wasn't gonna cut it. Not this time. This time, instead of calling Maya, my best friend for most of my adult life, I called Tiffany, and prayed she was open to something a little different. Something more…primal.

Rage rooms have been popping up all over the city. For seventy-five bucks, you can use golf clubs, sledgehammers, or pretty much anything else to destroy things like fine china and household appliances. It's a safe space to release aggression or process big emotions, and now is the perfect time to try one out. I need to break some shit.

The instructors help us into protective gear—full body suits, gloves, and helmets—while reviewing the safety guidelines.

Do not hit the walls or floor with tools.

Do not throw breakables at other people.

Do not break items not intended for breaking.

Let's hope that last one is obvious.

Covered from head to toe and full of liquid courage, thanks to the venue's two bars, our Rage Captain sends us into the room. Tiffany chose a crowbar, while I opted for an aluminum baseball bat, and for forty-five minutes straight, werage.

I smash through the screen of an old TV with my bat. Tiffany demolishes a set of champagne glasses with one swipe of her crowbar. Both of us smash plates and saucers against the walls and floors. I break a laptop over my knee with a satisfying snap, and Tiffany rips through the canvas of some particularly bad hotel art. Our screams fill the room as we release emotions suppressed every time we're forced to code-switch. Every time we have to play the model minority.Every single timewe have to hide our true selves to please someone else.

It's chaotic and liberating and over way too soon. We're both sweaty and laughing as we exit the room; both already planning our next visit. I've never felt so unburdened.

"That was amazing!" Tiffany gushes over her mojito. Her eyes are bright, and her skin is glowing.

"Totally," I agree.

I needed this.So badly. Crying in the bathtub hadn't worked. Eating my weight in ice cream and truffles hadn't worked. Taking way too many edibles and zoning out for an entire weekend hadn't worked. Calling my parents hadn't been an option for years, and now I was down a best friendanda boyfriend in a single day.

By choice, I remind myself. Despite the endorphins still pulsing through my veins, Tiffany senses my dark mood and nudges me in the shoulder.

"Hey. I thought this was supposed to cheer you up?"

I offer her a weak smile and take a sip of my tequila sunrise.

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