Taming the Street Racer ✔️

45 | fall apart

I manage to hold it together until I get home.

It's only when I reach under my pillow and feel the sharp edges of something flat that the tears start coming. I pull the paper out and stare at Gray's notes for a long time, reading over his dark writing and remembering his broken promises. My fingers itch to tear them up and throw them away but I can't bring myself to do it.

Nothing you say would ever keep me away from you.
- Gray.

He lied to me. He lied to me, and none of it was ever real.

Memories of him fill me, pushing out the sadness and flooding my senses with pure, numbing rage. The tears that roll down my face are fast and hot, burning with fury.

Beyond the confines of my bed, the world ceases to exist around me. For what seems like forever, I hardly move, not willing to fight against the rawness weighing down my body. Sometimes Peyton and Sadie visit me, urging me to eat something or go somewhere with them, but I weakly brush them off. Sadie looks after Chewie at Gray's penthouse and gives me updates on how he's doing, but that's not even enough to lift my spirits. She sends me pictures so I can see how big he's growing, since I can't be there to watch. It really only makes me sadder.

They leave my dark bedroom with solemn faces every time.

Two days after the accident, Violet gets discharged from the hospital and starts visiting me on a daily basis as well. She brings me my favorite foods and reads me her favorite books (the Fifty Shades series) but ends up leaving with the same helpless expression.

Some days, Peyton comes by herself. I've learned to expect the worst news during these visits. She always sits on the edge of my bed and can't meet my gaze. I'm always up to my ears covered in blankets, but her words are loud and clear.

One day:

The doctors induced Gracie into a coma. She's so young and they don't want to risk keeping her under for too long, but no one really knows how long she'll be out. The whole thing is really risky. They can't guarantee anything.

Another day:

Trevor was the one who crashed into their car. They're saying it was intentional. He...he didn't survive.

I don't even move when she tells me these things. Peyton leaves quietly and sadly. My brain doesn't even process the news until after she leaves, when I get out of bed and I do anything to get my blood pumping. Smashing and kicking anything in sight.

In those violent moments, I almost understand why Gray was always punching things. With blood running down my skin and the pulsing pain in my nerves, I can feel everything clearly.

Maybe it was all my fault. I angered Trevor. I'm the reason he targeted Gray's car. I'm the reason Gracie may never wake up.

Then I fall back onto my bed, bloody fists and all, and let myself fall into a fitfull sleep. It goes on like that for days--me destroying something, reveling in the sensations, then overthinking myself into an unpleasant daze. Even my dreams are filled with him, his long fingers reaching into my chest and tearing me apart.

I'll never be enough.

Sometimes I get out of my bed to write in my journal, scrawling pages and pages of thoughts. My pen rips through the paper and my tears smear the ink, but it's my only release. It's the only remedy for getting him out of my mind, if even just for a second.

It's always been my fault.

School ended for me the Wednesday after I left Gray, so now my monotonous days are only punctuated by soccer practice. Despite how heavy my body feels, I drag myself out of bed to go to the field, pulling my face into a convincing smile. I can't let the kids down.