Breaking the Wrong (27 page)

When my heart slows
, I finally open my eyes. I know I’m in Macsen’s room. I can hear him breathing next to me.

My head shifts on the pillow and I stare at his naked back,
as it slowly moves up and down. I want him to wake up and comfort me, and at the same time, I want him asleep, unaware of what I’m feeling.

E
and I used to play a lot of games growing up. My favorite was to write words on each other’s arms with just one finger. It was the perfect thing to do when we were supposed to be quiet, and the perfect way to write a message without saying the words out loud.

Reaching out, I touch Macsen back with my index finger. My arms are practically shaking and after a few seconds, I slowly trace
the words:
forgive me.

It’s for everything and to everyone: my sister, my family, my heart, and to Macsen.

I think I’ve failed everyone.

A small tear fall
s onto his pillow and I wait for him to tense and turn around to face me, but a minute passes and there’s nothing.

One more time, I touch his skin and write three words on his back. Words that I’ve only told my family.

His shoulder tenses and my breath is stuck in my throat. Nothing else happens after that and I exhale slowly. My fingers wrap around his hip and drift up higher to rest on his stomach. Resting my forehead on his back, I take a few deep breaths until I feel peaceful and calm. But I don’t sleep. I keep jerking myself awake because I don’t want my dreams to take over. I’m safe right here. With Macsen.

Finally, my eyes start to feel heavy and right before I’m on the brink of sleep, Macsen touches my hand, places it over his chest, and covers my hand with his own.

I fall asleep seconds later.

My last thought is that I hope he felt my words.

EMILIA

When my plane lands, I take a deep shuddering breath.

I’m ready to get off and see Aniston and Eden. But I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. The whole plane ride over, I went over everything my mom had taught me: how to smile at the right time, what to say, when to laugh. It’s only been a few months since I’ve left, but I feel new to everything and that makes my nerves even more frayed than ever.

The unbuckle seat belt light turns on above me. I smooth out my baggy, green sweater and let out a deep sigh.

Grabbing my carry-on from the compartment above me, I walk down the aisle. A flight attendant is at the front of plane. She smiles at me kindly. “Welcome to New York,” she says sweetly. 

I feel anything but welcome. Being here makes me feel itchy and restless. My hands are sweaty and my heart won’t stop pounding. 

I would’ve chanted
Wyoming, Wyoming, Wyoming
in my head over and over until my heart beat slowed, but I find myself repeating another name.

Macsen, Macsen, Macsen.

My steps echo in the jet bridge as I walk down the pathway and into the airport. People are scattered everywhere. Some people have phones glued to their ears as they wait for their flight; a few are parents trying to wrangle their kids to sit still. And some are mysterious. They sit by themselves, saying nothing. I know that I’m that kind of traveler.

I go in the direction of baggage claim and hear my name being called.

“Emilia!”

I turn around and see
Eden jogging over to me. She practically tackles me in a hug and before I can even wrap my hand around her, she pushes me away and smiles widely and hugs me again.

She has a vibrant smile on her face. It’s impossible for Eden to mask her enthusiasm. Her wide grin causes me to drop my bags. I hug her tightly and return her smile.

My actions shock her, but she doesn’t comment on it. “I’m so glad you’re home!” Eden says happily.

“Me too,” I lie.

Aniston steps forward and gives my shoulder a pat. When Eden steps back, he gives me a strong hug. “It’s good to see you,” he comments gruffly.

Nothing has really changed with Aniston.
His light brown hair still looks like it’s in desperate need of a haircut. He has the strong Wentworth features that set us apart from everyone else we know, but marks us like a brand. When one of us is out alone, it’s guaranteed that the phrase, ‘Oh, you must be a Wentworth!’ will be spoken.

The only thing that sets Aniston apart from Eden and me is that we know how to act. We know how to feign interest. Aniston never tries to make nice. He
frowns at anything within a four-mile radius. Even in this moment, his brown eyes flit over everyone, like they cannot be trusted.

Placing my hand on his arm, I
give him a reassuring squeeze. “Did you miss me?” I ask.

Aniston tucks his hands into his pockets and pretends to mull over the question. I punch him in the shoulder. “I guess,” h
e teases. “But you’re home for good now.”

Tha
t isn’t a question. More like a demand. All I do is smile grimly and say nothing. My one goal is to mentally survive this trip. A fight with Aniston minutes after I arrive is the last thing I want.

Maybe later I’ll tell him that
I flew home on purpose. My car and all my belongings are back in Kentucky, and whether Aniston approves or not, I will be flying out of here within a week.

“Emilia?” Aniston repeats himself. I look up at him and frown. He rolls his eyes and starts to walk toward the baggage claim.
Eden is right next to us. She looks between the both of us, watching carefully.

“You’re done
with your list, right?” he asks.

Aniston doesn’t beat around the bush. I grind my teeth and watch the people around me. “And if I’m not?” I ask neutrally.

He cuts me a look. “Then you’re playing games when you could have easily finished all of this a long time ago.”

We stop in front of the luggage carousel. I lean close to him and hiss out, “You’re not there, Aniston. You don’t know what’s going on.”

Tilting his head in my direction, he looks at me. “And what
is
going on?”

People around us grab their luggage and move on
, but we stand in the same place, cautiously looking at each other. I finally answer with defeat. “Nothing. There is nothing going on.”

My
Louis Vuitton suitcase comes into sight and I quickly grab it. Aniston still looks at me skeptically. “It’s done,” I say with finality.

And it was. The l
ist had been finished in my mind for a while now, but to Aniston it would be in effect until Macsen was brought down. 

Just then, my phone
rings. The name Macsen flashes across the screen. I told him I would call him when I landed and that was close to an hour ago. I want to answer, but I press ignore and pretend it’s nothing.

When I
glance over at Aniston, he’s tapping his foot impatiently. “Who was that?”

“Just Tosha,” I lie. “I’ll call her back later.”

Aniston snorts. I know he’s dying to say more, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“Come on,
” Eden says loudly.

The two of us turn at the sound of her
voice. She smiles reassuringly and grabs my hand.  “You’re finally home and I have so much tell you. I don’t want to waste my whole day in an airport. Let’s go home!”

I’m silent as
we walk toward the car. Eden talks the whole time, updating me on everything that’s happened. Aniston walks behind us, letting us have a few minutes alone.

When we get to Aniston’s car, I volunteer to get in the back seat. Leaving Eden in the front seat to chatter loudly to Aniston. Soon, they start fighting over the radio and while they bicker, I slide my phone out of my purse and quickly write a text to Macsen.

Just got here. Already want to leave. Miss you.

Seconds later, I get a response:
That’s something Darl would say … have I made you a believer? 

Shut up
.
Darl would have hijacked the plane like a weirdo
.

A
minute later I get a response. 

I miss you, too.

I smile widely at my phone and when I look up, Aniston is watching me through the rearview mirror with narrowed eyes.

~

“Just think,” I say sweetly over the phone. “One more week and I’ll be back.”

Macsen’s
groan comes through the speaker and I smile at my reflection in the mirror. “Not soon enough.”

I cradle my phone between my shoulder and ear, and turn to the side
to make sure my gown is wrinkle-free. “So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I ask Macsen.

Twenty-
four hours away from him, and I’ve had my phone glued to my hip. It never leaves my sight. Talking to him calms me. Reminds me that there’s someone out there who gets me, who wants me. It makes being back in New York almost bearable.

Tonight is my parent
s’ charity event. Every year, for the last three years, they host this event. Every year I’m expected to attend, and every year I painfully put a smile on my face, and talk and laugh and rub shoulders with the people I will never trust.

“I don’t know yet.” I
hear Macsen moving around and imagine him cleaning up his room or picking out a book to read.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to
tell him that he should have come with me, but then I realize that’s for normal couples, couples that don’t have a shadow lurking in their relationship.

I’ll probably never be able to have him over for family dinners or holidays.

Someone knocks on my door. Eden peeks her head in and smiles at me. I turn quickly and say into the phone, “I have to go. I’ll call you tonight.”

“Okay. But quickly, before you go, what are you wearing?” Macsen asks suggestively.

I smile and feel my cheeks getting red. “Not answering.”

“Killing me,” he mutters.

“Good-bye, Ma-” I look over my shoulder and see Eden looking at me strangely. “Good-bye,” I say dully and hang up.

“Who was that?”
Eden asks curiously.

I frown at my screen. “Just
… my roommate.”

“You two are close now?”

Looking at her, I frown.

Eden
crosses her arms and looks at me with concern. “Aniston told me that you guys weren’t getting along.”

I walk over to my vanity and pick out a lipstick. “Aniston has a really big mouth,” I say as I
look at the red shade. Slowly, I run it over my lips and look at Eden through my mirror. “Severine and I are okay now.”

“Well,” she says cheerfully, “that’s good.”

Lying to Eden is painful and never gets easier. I reason in my head that it needs to be done because I have to protect her.

Frowning, I point at her sweatpants and makeup-f
ree face. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I’m not going,” she says with a small shrug. 

“Why not?” I bend down and grab my black heels, slide them on my feet, and stand tall. Eden looks around my room awkwardly. I step closer to her. “Are you okay?” I ask with concern.

She gives me a jerky nod. “Yeah.
” She looks down at the ground and when she makes eye contact with me, I see that her eyes are glassy. “This time of year is just really hard.”

Quickly, I rush forward, unsure of what I should do. I reach out and hold her hand. “You want to talk about it all?”

“Not really,” she whispers.

“It’s getting better though, right?” I offer optimistically.
Eden looks at me doubtfully and I keep talking. “They say time heals all wounds.”

“When did you become so
… calm?” Her lips quirk up in a small grin.

“I have always been calm.”
And to prove my point, I say my words calmly before I add, “I’m ready to let it go. All of it.”

Eden
says nothing and I walk over to my bed and pick up my clutch. When I turn around, she’s still looking at me thoughtfully.

“Did your list work that well?”
she asks somberly.

Her question almost makes my hands shake. “You
told me never to talk about it,” I remind her.

“Well, I’m asking now.” She looks me dead in the eye and my heart races. “Did getting revenge on everyone help?”

I rub my lips together, trying to choose my words carefully. “I can’t say that I regret going after everyone,” I admit slowly. “Some of the people on my list deserved it.”

“Did Macsen deserve it?”
Eden asks bluntly.

It’s a trick question. There’s no right answer. Unconsciously, I toy with the material of my dress and narrow my eyes.
My heart starts to pound frantically in my chest. The guilt is worse than I expected. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Why aren’t you answering?”
She shoots back.