A Shattered Heart (Fractured Lives 2)

"Good. Now get to work before you're the one who gets fired."

That was more likely than him getting fired.

"Truth," I said. "I'll talk to you later."

"I'm holding you to that," he threatened as I made my way across the parking lot.

Only when I was pulling out of the parking lot and saw Carlos sitting on his couch watching me did the events of the night before cross my mind again.

***

Over the next few days, Brian made sure I didn't go back on my word and push him away again. He called me at odd times and began to text me regularly. Each time my phone dinged or rang my pulse would race for the slightest of moments before I could squelch it. I managed to convince myself that my reaction to him touching my arm had been in my head and that we were nothing more than friends. My betraying pulse suggested something darker that I refused to let myself think about. It was an awareness that was wrong on every single level.

Brian seemed oblivious to my inner turmoil. He seemed to be on a mission to prove we could be friends by texting me whenever he wasn't practicing or sleeping. His text messages were an endless stream of questions, and it didn't take me long to realize he was a night owl like me. I was still awake the night I got a text from him at two a.m. asking who my favorite Rugrat was. It took me several minutes of studying the text to even understand what he was asking before finally sending him Tommy as my answer. Another time he texted me to ask what food I would bring with me if I were stranded on a deserted island. Each question was different from the last and all came in at sporadic times without any rhyme or reason. Most made me smile, while others made me nostalgic for our childhood. He had a way of bringing up the past without ever outright mentioning it. I couldn't help feeling like that was his plan all along.

As the days passed, I found myself looking forward to each question and checking my phone constantly. He was slowly teaching me what it was like to have a friend and confidant again. I began to secretly wish he was still at the Y so I could see him on a regular basis. The days began to bleed together, broken into four sections—exercising, working, spending time with Zach, and chatting with Brian.

A week after he'd bullied me into being his friend, I was in the process of texting Brian a message on which two fruits I'd like to see married and produce an offspring, when the date hit me like a brick wall to the face. It was late at night and I realized the day had rolled into a new one. Somewhere in the back of my head I had convinced myself maybe this year it wouldn't be that bad. I'd fooled myself into believing the importance of the day could be handled maturely. I was an adult. I didn't need to shut down just because the calendar told me to. My heart, though, wouldn't allow me to entertain the idea of forgetting. Sneaky as a bastard, it crept in and infiltrated my mind like some disease with hundreds of tentacles.

With shaky fingers I forced myself to finish typing out my answer to Brian before tossing my phone on the couch cushion beside me as if it was at fault for betraying my mind.

Unable to believe I was stupid enough to think I could ever forget, I pulled my knees up to my chest in a weak attempt to staunch the pain inside. There would never be any kind of forgetting. Not while my heart continued to beat. If I could I would have gladly plucked it out of my chest and handed it over to Satan himself if it meant the pain would stop. I looped my arms around my knees, trying to ward off the memories. The wave of grief came blowing in so abruptly I didn't even see it coming. One minute I was mentally thinking of how cool it would be if a banana and strawberry did the deed so we could have a nana-berry and the next the significance of the following day crushed all joy from the room. I'd been a fool to think I was moving on.

Time lost all meaning as I sat on the couch with my arms locked around my legs. My phone continued to buzz with new text messages. Eventually, the messages stopped and the ringing of the phone took its place. Like the text messages, I also ignored the ringing.

I wished for the comfort of booze but I was in a wrong mental place to even think about leaving my apartment. Only when my bladder screamed at me in betrayal did I finally rise from my couch. With mechanical movements, I relieved my bladder so it would shut the hell up. Instead of returning to the couch I went to my room and closed my door behind me. Night had bled into morning, but my blackout curtains kept my room blissfully dark no matter what time it was. Without bothering to change, I crawled up on my bed and waited for the dark day to pass. I knew it would. Whether I would make it to the other side was a whole other question.

Hours passed.

My phone rang.

I ignored it.

More time passed.

Ringing again.

Ignore.

Sometime later in my cocoon of misery I heard knocking on my front door, but I didn't even make an attempt to leave my nest of blankets. Whoever it was would go away eventually.

The pounding on the door was now louder. I dragged a pillow up over my head, trying to muffle the noise. A second pillow joined the first when I could still hear the pounding. Thankfully that did the trick. I settled back in my bubble, floating along in a pained-filled haze that held me suspended bet

ween sleep and wakefulness. Sleep would have been simple. I would have loved to sleep the day away, waking up on the other side with fewer internal bruises and less bleeding, but my heart wouldn't allow for an easy pass. It insisted on torturing me the entire time so I'd never forget.

A sudden sharp tugging on the pillows I held to my head startled me out of my black abyss. Bright light filled my room, which had been blissfully dark just moments ago, burning my eyes. I held a hand up, trying to protect my eyes from the sudden light.

"Kat, what the fuck are you doing?" Brian raged at me. "You don't answer your phone or your door. I was afraid something happened to you."

"Brian," I squeaked, trying to understand why he was here. Didn't he understand what today was? He was supposed to be with his family today. Not standing in my room raging at me. "What are you doing here?" I asked, getting my voice to respond to the signal my brain was sending it.

"Are you sick?" he demanded, ignoring my question.

I nodded my head. Couldn't he see how ill I was? Didn't he know my room was coated in my sickness? I couldn't believe he couldn't feel it sticking to his skin like a fungi. "Brian, don't you know what day it is?" I asked, wishing my tear ducts weren't dried up.

His eyes widened before narrowing. "The question is, do you know what day it is? This day isn’t about you. It's about the birthday I no longer share with my brother," he growled at me.

My eyes widened at his anger. In all the years I'd known him I'd never seen him this angry. His whole body practically shook with it. I wondered if the force of it could tear my room apart. The despair and sadness that had gripped me since the night before slowly began to release its hold on me as I focused on Brian and his rage.