Breaking the Rules (Pushing the Limits 1.50)

Echo

Two seconds after I answered Mrs. Collins’s Skype call, I closed the door to the hotel’s business center, granting me the illusion of privacy.

“Is that it?” Mrs. Collins asks. I told her everything: how my sales plummeted, my mother calling, the conversation with the Wicked Witch gallery owner and me and Noah fighting. To cover that I’m lying, I hide my face in my hands when I answer, “Yes.”

I like Mrs. Collins, but I can’t look at her again if we share an analytical discussion regarding my sex life or, lack thereof, with Noah.

When I spread my fingers and peek at Mrs. Collins, her eyes have narrowed into slits. “That’s not everything.”

I lower my hands onto my lap. “Can’t it be enough?”

“I get the sense that there’s something else going on...”

She leaves her statement hanging as if it will bother me that something has been left unsaid, which, phsh, won’t work. I mean, just because the words just dangle in the air like a thousand pounds of rock doesn’t mean that I have to say something to close out the sentence. My knee bounces, and it causes the table to vibrate.

I’m not falling for it. Not at all... “Do you think Noah’s going to leave me?”

Aw, heck...my chin drops to my throat. Why did I ask that? I raise my head, hoping for a positive outcome to my slip. Mrs. Collins is good at putting things in perspective—good at making me discover things that are right in front of me.

What I prayed for doesn’t materialize as I meet her sad blue eyes. “I’m not a fortune teller, Echo.”

“It would be cool if you were.” I give her a weak grin, and she offers a genuine smile back.

“What makes you think Noah’s going to break up with you?”

I shrug, and Mrs. Collins leans forward so that her face encompasses the entire screen. “Tell me the first thing that pops into your mind. What makes you think Noah is going to leave you?”

I hate this game, but unfortunately, it’s effective. “I don’t know.”

“What do you eat at the movies?”

“Popcorn.”

“What color are you wearing?”

I glance down. “Blue.”

“What’s your middle name?”

“Cassandra.”

“Why do you think Noah’s going to leave you?”

“Because my mom did.” I honest to God groan after I answer. I’m so stinking pathetic.

“Why else?”

Evidently ripping out my heart and setting it on fire isn’t enough. Oh, sorry, it’s Mrs. Collins so no, she demands so much more—like my soul.

“Come on, Echo. Besides your mom, why do you think Noah’s going to leave you?”

“My dad left me.” Though not like Mom. He divorced Mom, married someone new and has begun a life that can continue fine without me. On top of that, my father ignored my desperate call to him for help the night I ended up with the scars. The night I almost died.

“Who else?” she says in a soft voice. “You know it’s safe to talk about it here.”

My lower lip trembles and I suck in a breath, trying to keep it all in: the words, the pain, the grief.

“Who else, Echo?” Mrs. Collins repeats as a lullaby.