The crack of my hand against his skin makes us both go still.
He doesn’t move to block my strike. He doesn’t even react. He stands there, staring at my swollen lips, his gorgeous face marred by a stark red handprint on his cheekbone.
He’s stunned I hit him; frankly, so am I.
I’m panting hard. The emotions swirling inside me are pressing at my ribs, filling my chest cavity to capacity. It’s only a matter of time before I crack wide open, unable to contain them.
You cannot sway me with a few lustful kisses.
My opinions will not be swallowed with a few swipes of your lips against mine.
I already learned that lesson — learned it the hard way, clawing my way up from the bottom of a bottle, hating myself for my own weakness every inch of the way.
My voice is eerily hollow when I speak.
“You treat people like pawns on your chessboard, always calculating how to bend the pieces to your will, always seeking to overthrow the balance of power so you’re in control of the game. But you’ve never seemed to realize that, when you win at chess, you end up all alone on the battlefield. A sad, crooked king, with nothing to show for his victory except a crown no one is even left to admire.” I brush my bleeding lip with the back of my hand and stare at the bright smear of red against my skin for a long moment before my eyes drift up to his. “I’m so tired of fighting with you. So tired of being mad all the time. So… I’mdone. Done caring. As far as I’m concerned, when the cameras are off, we have nothing more to say to each other. For the sake of the movie, I’ll keep up appearances during the rest of this press tour. But, when it’s over, I never want to see you again. I mean it.”
“Kat—”
“Don’t you get it? I don’t want to play your game anymore, Grayson. I can’t.” My voice is empty. “Youwin. Checkmate. Consider this my forfeit.”
His eyes go flat. I watch his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as his throat works, and wonder if he’ll say anything to contradict my words. He doesn’t… because I think, deep down, he knows there’s nothing he can say. He’s made our bed — now we both have to lie in it, at least until the premiere.
Six weeks.
I will survive this.
I will survive him.
I look at Grayson, really look at him — allowing my eyes linger on his perfect face, feeling my heart slow its rapid patter inside my chest. I search for the anger, for the outrage I felt just moments ago, but it’s gone.
I have no more fight in me. I have waded waist-deep through the sea of grief and reached the far-flung shores of acceptance.
Denialwas a duffle bag on a sandy beach.
Angerwas a kiss ankle-deep in salty waves.
Bargainingwas a doorbell ring at 2AM.
Depressionwas the bottom of a bottle
Acceptancewas a slap across the face.
Five recognized stages of grief: I’ve cycled through them all in the past few weeks. The unbearable heights and intolerable lows of loving Grayson Dunn have filled me with more emotion than I was ever equipped to handle, then wrung me out like a wet paper towel — the cheap, store brand kind that disintegrates after a single use.
And finally,finally, I find myself here — shredded, but still standing. Ready to relinquish him for good. Because, with one final strike of a hand across a cheek, the fury has finally burned out.
I am a girl of ashes and embers.
And now… I will rise.
A phoenix, reborn into something better. Perhaps a little sadder, but definitely a lot stronger.
I look at the beautiful boy who made me see stars, the almost-man who offered me something he wasn’t ready to give, and realize the weight of this heartbreak is a boulder on my chest, keeping me pinned against the earth. Holding me down, when what I really want to do is fly.
Flylike the birds I once watched spiral into the sunset as he held me in his arms beneath a waterfall.
Flylike that phoenix from the ashes, to a distant horizon where far, far better things await me.