Dear Love, I Hate You (Easton High)

Zac: Goodbye, L.

* * *

Aveena

It’s only been a day. Twenty-four insufferable hours since Xavier put an end to… whatever we were. And I already feel lost not hearing from him every half hour.

I’m like a lone sailor drifting at sea. No compass. No map. Just a fragile heart, sending out distress signals into the night. Only question is, is Xavier Emery the lighthouse guiding me home… or the storm dragging me under?

Collapsing on Dia’s single bed with a sigh, I revisit my last exchange with Xav while Dia’s showering.

He said I was afraid.

And it kills me.

Because he’s right.

I am afraid.

Afraid of letting him in. Afraid of loving him with all of my bruised little heart. Afraid that, one day, he’ll walk away. Realize the same thing my mom did the day Ashley was born. The same thing my dad did the day he mixed painkillers with his oldest bottle of bourbon…

That I’m not enough.

I’ll never be enough.

I find myself pacing around Dia’s room to distract myself until my gaze darts to the red flyer my best friend dumped on her bedside table earlier.

I pick it up, suppressing a laugh.

Finn really went all out on this, didn’t he?

Diamond’s Birthday party.

Saturday Night.

Richards’ house.

The basketball team spent most of last week handing out invites to Dia’s birthday party, Finn’s order. You could find the damn flyers all over the school. They were in the locker rooms, in the halls, the cafeteria. Poor janitor sure was in for a surprise.

What’s Finn’s reasoning?

It’s not every day a girl turns eighteen.

Although something tells me Finn offering up his mansion to host the party has a lot more to do with said girl being the air in his lungs. Anyone familiar with their train wreck of a relationship knows the guy would rip the beating heart out of his chest and hand it to Dia if she just asked.

Oh, and did I mention these two are still not official?

It’s laughable at this point.

My stomach grumbles, and I replay my best friend’s promise to be out of the shower in five minutes—it’s been thirty. We were supposed to get ready at her place, then grab dinner with her family before heading off to the party.

Fuck it, I think when my stomach growls at me one time too many and venture out of Dia’s bedroom to meet Gaten and Dave down in the kitchen. The delicious smell of pasta alfredo tickles my nostrils as soon as I walk in, and I examine the empty kitchen.

Now that’s not something you see every day.

On weekdays, Dia’s house is crawling with noise, life, bickering—what else can you expect from a family of six?—but Catalina, Dia’s older sister, spends every weekend at her boyfriend’s now, and Jesse rarely ever makes it back home from college. As for Dia’s baby brother, Charlie, she mentioned he was at his grandparents’ for the night.

Gaten, Dia’s dad, stands by the stove, a black-and-white apron branded with the name of the restaurant he owns around his waist. He’s stirring the pasta with one hand, sipping on a glass of red wine with the other.