Hazed (Palm South University)

But I feel… nothing.

Other than a sick longing to call Brandon.

I hate that I can’t enjoy this moment because my thoughts are on him, but ever since the launch party, he’s been an all-consuming thought. His eyes haunt my dreams, and where I’d felt like I was finally moving on, I now feel like I’ve taken so many steps backward that I’m no better off than I was the second I left his condo and felt my heart break inside that elevator.

I want to be happy and celebrating my win.

But more than anything, I want to be celebrating with him.

I wish he was here. I wish he would have seen my routine. I wish I would have heard his cheers in the crowd. I wish I had his arms to run to right now, that his lips would be on mine as he congratulated me.

I wish he were still in my life.

Period.

“Holy fucking shit, Lei!” Jess says, she and the other girls sprinting to me once I’m off the platform. The entire room is buzzing now that the ceremony is done, the chatter loud even over the music the DJ is playing. “I knew you were talented, but I had no idea you were that strong.”

“You made it look so easy!” Cassie says.

“That move where you were hanging by just your knee pit!” Skyler chimes in.

“No, no, when she hulked herself up and held her entire body to the side like a freaking Olympian! What even was that?!” Erin asks just as excitedly.

I chuckle. “Iron X.”

“You literally defied gravity!”

The girls ramble on, hooking their arms through mine and dragging me out of the convention room into the hall. The hotel bar is already crawling with competitors and spectators alike, and even though Jess is still recovering from her cold, she promptly orders us each a shot of tequila.

“To my best friend, Ashlei Fucking Daniels, and her insane badassery that no one else can touch.”

“Hear, hear!” the girls all chant in unison, and then we down our shots, grimacing and sucking on a lime to ease the burn.

“Okay, I’ve decided. We should all take a pole class,” Jess declares once her shot is gone.

“Oh my God! Yes!” Cassie agrees.

They’re already pulling out their phones to find a day on the calendar that works for all of them when I quietly excuse myself to the bathroom. When I’m in the stall, I finally find a breath, and as if on autopilot, I pull out my phone and tap away until I’m staring at Brandon’s contact.

The picture I assigned his number in my phone is one of us on his yacht, the sunshine bright above us as we hold onto each other, swimsuit clad and laughing. I can still remember the day that photo was taken — how effortless it was, the two of us together.

We were meant to be.

Until I fucked it all up.

Tears prick my eyes as I hit the message button, and I type out a long text to him that would make even a middle school girl cringe. It says how much I miss him, how sorry I still am, how I wish on everything that I am that I could take back what happened. It says how I won first place and yet I can’t even be happy without him. It says how much I wish he was here.

And as I flush the toilet, I stare at the text with my thumb hovering over the send button.

But I never let it drop.

ERIN LOOKS WAY TOO fucking beautiful when I pick her up on Saturday night.

She rushes out the doors of the skyrise building she, Jess, and Ashlei live in, her hair flying back behind her as the breeze hits her cheeks. She’s smiling wide and bright as she jumps into the passenger side of my truck, and even with strands of hair sticking to her glossy lips when she turns to smile at me, she’s an absolute vision.

It damn near kills me.

“Hi!” she greets, situating her purse by her feet. As soon as she does, she’s rummaging inside it. “Before we go anywhere, I have something for you.”

“For me?” I smirk, mostly at the fact that she’s so goddamn oblivious to how gorgeous she is, and how her simply getting into my truck felt more like her stopping the record of my life mid-song with a dramatic scratch.

When she sits back up, it’s with something hidden in her hands, and she bites back a smile as she looks at me. “Close your eyes.”

“Okay,” I oblige.

“Hold out your hand.”

When I do, I feel her place something small and light into my palm.

“Okay. Open!”

I smile at the absolutely hideous crocheted bracelet in my hand. Not only is it made with the worst color combination — burnt orange and shit brown — but it looks worse than the ones elementary girls make.