Page 14 of Break Point
Even after having the shittiest day yesterday, I promised myself I’d do things differently this time with him. That I wouldn’t let it affect us. That I’d let him in. And we were doing pretty good until Robbie and Dad barged in and unloaded Henry on me.
I’m finally daring to imagine what my life with Liam in it could look like, but I’m scared shitless because I’m already terrified of losing him. And I don’t even have him!
I don’t deserve a guy like him. He’ll walk away once he grows tired of my inability to reel in my temper. I know that feeling all too well, and I hate it more than anything in the world: people walking out on me. Giving up on me. Like Elliot did yesterday. Like Mom and her unique talent of making me feel abandoned. Or, most painfully of all, when Henry packed up his life almost five years ago and left without saying goodbye.
He was my first friend.
My first crush.
My first … love.
Quiet, one-sided, and all mine.
We grew up together and trained together. He was part of my family, and I was part of his. He’s one of the few people who truly understands what Mom is like and the pain that comes with trying to accept and reconcile our cold, lifeless relationship.
It was easy being around him. I trusted him. He knew me, the real me I never dare to show most people to this day.
Growing up, I spent more time with Henry than I did with Gemma, who eventually became my only friend. It was devastating to witness howeasily he walked out of my life, without a hint of concern or regard for my feelings.
I thought he cared. But he clearly didn’t. His sudden departure blindsided me, leaving a void in my chest that refuses to be filled with anything—or anyone—but him. So I’ve been walking around with that hollow pain in silence for the past five years.
“Friends come and go, Belén. Get over it,” Mom used to say, all while asking me to fix her a gin and tonic as she sunbathed on the terrace, flipping through her Montclair Ridge Country Club Magazine as if it were the Bible.
It wasn’t enough that she spent most of the week there. Still does.
She taught me early how to prepare her drink of choice: highball glass, ice, one part gin, three parts tonic water, and a slice of lime.
Dad caught me sipping one after I’d prepared it. I was curious to taste this bitter-smelling beverage my mom loved to drink every day. That was the last time she ever asked me to make one. I was thirteen when she fired me without severance after a three-year bartending run.
My parents knew how miserable I was when Henry left, and the only explanation they offered on his behalf was that his mom, Dora, got a job opportunity in Chicago. Like that was supposed to make it better. But Henry’s family lived comfortably in New Jersey. His father, Jack Mitchell, used to play for the Yankees with my dad, which is how our families became so close.
The Mitchells had enough money to live comfortably for the rest of their lives, so why Dora wanted that job in Chicago badly enough to leave New Jersey is still a mystery to me.
I tried contacting Henry multiple times, but the calls never went through; he must’ve changed his number. I sent a thousand emails, but he never replied to a single one. It was no use. He was gone, and I had to learn to live with that painful reality.
It turns out I did a fine job compartmentalizing him, locking him away in an untouchable drawer in the farthest corner of my mind. He’s nothing but a specter now. A ghost. And somehow, I’ve become a medium.
Henry’s back from the dead, and for some stupid reason, my father thinks it’s a brilliant idea for him not only to train me but to live under thesame roof as us? Henry’s like a son to him—or used to be, at least—but what the hell is happening?
These thoughts and memories burn through my head. The flare is already snaking its way around my body, and Liam’s standing right in front of me, but all I see is red. My brain’s on fire, blazing to the point of combustion. I take a deep breath, but it’s useless. I take another, and another. Now I’m on the edge of hyperventilating, and Liam’s looking at me like the unpredictable, out-of-control teenager that I am.
“You’re not even listening to me,” he says, looking away. I wasn’t. I’d spaced out, retreating into my own mind. I want to tell him everything going on inside it, to pour it all out so he understands that it’s not about him, that he’s perfect, and I’m damaged goods. But I can’t, because the anger’s taken over, its fangs sunk deep into the softest part of my neck, and I’ve already forgotten what I wanted to say.
“Can you repeat that?” I say instead, pressing my eyes shut for a quick second, fighting the urge to explode for every reason and none at all. I can’t ignore the way my body’s on edge knowing Henry’s upstairs. Or how I’ve long passed the pissed-off finish line over the fact that my dad made all these decisions without consulting me. And I’m getting sick of it. Fast.
Liam lets out an irritated laugh, drags a rough hand through his hair, and says, “I’m done trying to make you understand how I feel about you.” He steps closer, batting those lashes at me like they mean business. “I’m done showing my feelings in every way I can. And I’m done trying to figure out if you feel the same way … or if you ever will.”
He’s so close I have to tilt my chin to meet his gaze. It makes me feel small, like a child being scolded. That’s the worst thing anyone can do to me; it messes with my entire body chemistry.
“You know you want to leave, Liam, so just go already,” I blurt out. He’s about to leave me. I know it. So why prolong the agony? Why try to convince him I’m good for him when IknowI’m not?
A twisted part of me gets a thrill from our back-and-forth—the rush of him leaving and the angst of wondering if he’ll come back to me or not. It’s sick. Still, I want to beg him to stay this time, to give me another chance to show him how much I care. But my mind has taken me captive,caging me away. Once again, it’s gained complete control of my command center, and I let it slide … but at what cost?
“I’m done playing this game with you, Belén,” he warns. “If you still can’t tell how I feel about you after all this time, I don’t know if you ever will. Or if you even want to.”
He gives me a few seconds to reply, to say something that might change his mind and make him stay. Meanwhile, I’m rising from the dark corner of my mind, standing up to my captor, gathering the courage and words to piece it all together like an impossible riddle. But I’m taking too long, and he’s already turning around and walking away.
“Liam!”
