How could two letters be the catalyst for destroying such a vital part of me?
“Kay, what’s wrong?”
Everything.
“Oh my god, Kay.” Em crouches down at my side.
“Why is she in the hallway? Is she hurt?” Q drops down on my other side.
I’m still in the hallway?
Hmm…
I wonder how long I’ve been here. If they’re here, it must mean the game is over, so I guess it’s been a few hours. Have I really been sitting in this spot the whole time?
It’s happening again—the breakdown, the foggy haze, the complete loss of time, the inability to speak, the shutting down. It’s like an old habit I can’t break.
The breakup, though debilitating in the moment, isn’t even the worst of it. That’s the biggest blow. I thought I’d grown stronger, thought I’d learned ways to cope, ways to never fall victim to the crushing weight of my emotions again.
“Kay, talk to me.” Strong hands grip my shoulders but, again, I barely register the touch, like a ghost floating, taking in the scene from above.
“Kayla, what the fuck is going on?”
Fingers pinch my chin and lift until I’m no longer staring at the floor. Instead, as my vision clears, the haze dissipates and a new stream of tears starts to fall down my cheeks as I meet a concerned set of whiskey-colored eyes.
I watch as those same eyes track the drip of tears onto my chest, like a leaky faucet I can’t turn off.
“Why are you crying?”
Because…
I don’t answer. I can’t even think it; how am I supposed to voice it?
“Em, check the Gram,” JT instructs, doing his best to piece together what happened without having the puzzle pieces.
“Were you even bullied? Or is that just some lie you used to get me to stop pushing the issue of posting about us on my social media?”
“Nothing since they figured out she’s PF Dennings from NJA.”
I flinch at the name, my body having a Pavlovian response. I close my eyes to shut out the pain but then force them open again, anchoring myself back in the present by locking them onto my oldest friend.
“This doesn’t make sense.” JT runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “She wouldn’t just be like this. Something happened.”
Just my heart being broken.
“Should we call Mason?” Q asks.
I jerk in JT’s hold. Why am I fighting the numbness? I should give in, let it take me away again so I can just stop hurting.
“He didn’t answer.” Q’s voice sounds like it’s coming from inside a tunnel, but I still manage to be conscious of her relaying the information to JT.
Of course he wouldn’t answer.
“Try again,” JT instructs.
I should tell them not to bother; the result isn’t going to change. Mase—no! He’s not Mase; it’s Mason now—won’t answer. He’s done with me.
“Are you breaking up with me?”
“Yes.”
“Kayla, I swear to god, if you don’t open your mouth and use your words right now, I’m calling E.”
The threat is enough to pop the last of the bubble of gloom surrounding me.
“Can we stop with the Kay/Kayla stuff? It freaks me out.”
JT sags like a deflated balloon, his body falling forward, his head pressing into my lower belly as puffs of air ripple the fabric of my sweatpants.
“JT is just a friend. He’s as much a brother to me as E.”
“Yeah, and in Biz Markie’s song, that’s exactly what the bitch says when she’s actually hooking up with the other guy.”
“Fuck, Kay.” JT’s arms band around my hips and he holds on to me like he’s the one in need of the lifeline and not me.
“You’re still doing it.” I bring a hand up and start to run it through the short dark auburn hair on the back of his head. The action soothes him, but I do it more to reaffirm to myself that he’s real. As close as E and I are, JT has always been my anchor.
Our friendship may not be the most conventional, but it is purely platonic. JT is legit my bloodless brother.
Mason isn’t the first person to think there’s more to my relationship with JT than there is. It’s one thing to think it; it’s entirely another to believe it. I know there are parts of me, things I still haven’t told him, about how bad things got after my dad died and the events that led to the deletion of my Instagram…but, seriously, after all the stories he’s heard about JT and me growing up…how? How did he come to such an incorrect conclusion?
“—you didn’t want things posted of us because you were worried about your other boyfriend finding out.”
I’m not a liar, and I’m certainly not a cheat. For Mason to accuse me of being both those things is what hurts the most. Yes, I’ve kept parts of my past secret. It was a way to protect myself, to shed the veil of being a victim, to keep my heart safe.
Fat lot of good that did.
“What happened?” JT tries again.
Both Em and Q fidget, unsure what to do. I don’t blame them. Being aware of the fact that I fell apart in high school is tough enough, but witnessing it is a whole other level. For as bad as this scene is coming across, it isn’t anywhere near me at my worst.
“J.” I choke out the single letter, giving away my desperation. It’s as rare for me to drop the T in his name as it is for him to call me Kay.
With a muttered curse, I’m lifted from the floor and cradled in JT’s lap. My nose brushes along the skin bared by the V of his cheer uniform’s collar and sweatshirt, the familiar scent of sweat and eucalyptus keeping me from the brink of total collapse.
“What can I do? What do you need?” he asks in a distressed plea, taking on the anguish bleeding off me.
“Home,” I sob.
I can’t be here, in the place where I first started to fall for Mason, surrounded by memories that are mundane but still hold weighted
