Page 197 of Collide
“Elena, please.” He reaches for me, desperate. I flinch away.
“I didn’t lie to you,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to you, I didn’t know.”
But it doesn’t matter.
It still feels like the floor’s been ripped out from under me.
“This is what I get,” I whisper, voice hollow. “For thinking…for believing this could be something real.”
His face crumples. “No—Elena, no, please. Don’t do this.”
I shake my head, tears burning in my eyes.
“This was a mistake.” My voice cracks. “All of it.”
Alex’s eyes flood with panic, but I can’t look at him.
Not when everything I let myself hope for is unraveling right in front of me.
I sit cross-leggedon my bed, a half-empty bottle of vodka balanced between my fingers, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of my bedside lamp. Rain batters the windows in an unrelenting rhythm, matching the anguish swirling in my chest. Riley is sprawled out beside me, taking a lazy sip from the bottle before handing it back.
“This is a disaster,” she mutters, rubbing her temples. “Like, on a scale from one to ‘your boyfriend might be having a secret love child,’ this is a solid fifteen.”
I snort, but it lacks humor. My phone buzzes. I don’t need to look. I already know the lineup: Kylie, in full crisis mode, trying to contain the media wildfire; my father, who’s left enough missed calls to drain my battery dry; Philippa, checking in every few hours; and Mark, his messages clipped but concerned.
I sigh, leaning my back against the headboard, dragging a hand through my tangled hair. “It feels like the walls are closing in. I can’t even go online without seeing my name in the headlines.”
Riley exhales sharply. “They’re eating it up. Every gossip rag, every entertainment site, even mainstream media is covering it. Half are trying to figure out if Alex is the villain or the victim, and the other half are dissecting your every move.”
I take another swig of vodka, letting the burn settle deep. “And what am I? The clueless girlfriend? The heartbroken singer? The stupid woman who got involved with the wrong guy?”
“None of the above. You’re Elena, and you don’t owe anyone a damn explanation.”
“You’re biased.” I huff
And she laughs. “Ride or die till the very end, babe.”
My phone buzzes yet again, and I glance over to see a message from Broderick.
Broderick
How are you?
Seeing his name, his words, feels like a life raft, keeping me from drifting too far from shore.
“Who is it?” Riley asks.
“Brody.”
“Are you going to text him back?” she asks, nudging my leg.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitating, not wanting to drag him into this mess.
“Go on,” Riley says, tapping my leg again.
Elena
I’m surviving. It’s a mess.
