And Then We Fell Apart (18+)

chapter 22

I tell myself this summer will be better than the last despite its disastrous beginning.

Rather than devoting every second to Sam, waiting by the phone pathetically for his call for all hours of the day, I try my best to spend my time elsewhere. I know we've just started to be friends again after so many months of harsh separation, but I don't know how I'll be able to handle being around him knowing what I know about Blake.

I'll call it what it is— betrayal. Sam betrayed me time and time again.

The kiss in itself was hurtful enough, but that wasn't what ruined me. It was where he did it, like that spot wasn't a place we both called ours for so many summers. It's now ruined. It's theirs.

They can have it.

Every other first day of summer for the past few years, I threw my bathing suit on and rushed next door like my life depended on it. But this year, I change my plans without telling anyone.

I set up an easel in the front yard on top of an old canvas cloth from art class and some paints after ignoring at least four phone calls from who I assume to be Sam. I slide my broken headphones on over my ears and bear the pain of the plastic against my ear for the third year in a row, and I paint.

I paint without thinking of Sam, without thinking of Blake, Stella, Alex, or any other person that's ever hurt me. I've dwelled far too much on these people who have done nothing but make me feel worthless, like nothing. And if I want to survive, I need to help myself in whatever way I can.

But I should know better. Although Sam changed, he stays persistent.

"Chandler," his soft voice is behind me barely an hour into my painting.

Frustrated by the sudden fear he instills, I pull my headphones off and turn to him. It's the first time I've seen him since his lips were pressed to Blake's.

I don't look at them, I won't.

When I don't respond to him, he looks at me bewilderedly. "What are you doing? I've been looking all over for you."

"What does it look like I'm doing?" My venom is intentional.

Things aren't good with us. We both know that. And still, he's taken back by my harshness.

"I can see that you're painting," he replies. "But it's the first day of summer. We always go to the beach and hold our breath underwater."

I shrug. "So?"

"So?" He's very confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means that it doesn't matter what we always do, Sam."

"What are you talking about? I don't understand."

I turn back to my painting, my hands trembling restlessly from the outrage consuming me. I don't feel like playing into his obliviousness, and I certainly don't feel like explaining my feelings to him for the millionth time because what good does that do me?

"I don't want to go to the beach with you."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't," I seethe. I don't want to go anywhere with him.

"But Noah and Bennett are waiting for us. For our competition."

"I don't want to do your stupid competition."

"You don't mean that," his voice stays soft. "We need you."

"Do you need me? Or will any random person suffice?"