Keira:Liar. I'm coming over.
I don't have the energy to argue.
I pull the covers over my head and try to sink into my mattress. Maybe if I stay here long enough, this will all become a bad dream. Maybe I'll wake up, and last night won’t be real.
But I know it’s real. It’s happening.
He's leaving.
The knock comes thirty minutes later.
"Go away," I mumble.
"Absolutely not." Keira opens the door anyway. “Get up.”
I peek out from under the covers. Used tissues clutter my nightstand, my mascara-stained pillowcase is a mess, and the cheese fries Declan brought me last night sit untouched on my desk, congealed and gross.
"I said I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You look like you got hit by a truck." She sits on the edge of my bed. "Have you talked to him?"
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
I check my phone—twenty-three unread messages from Declan. I delete the notifications without reading them.
Keira sighs. "Sutton, I'm not defending him. What he did was shitty. Really shitty. But you have to at least hear him out."
I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest. "He had weeks, Keira. Everyone knew.”
“I didn’t.”
I glare at her.
"You have to get up," she says finally. "Hiding in bed won't make it better."
"It won't make it worse either."
"Yes, it will. You'll just lie here spiraling." She stands up and pulls back my covers. "Come on. Shower. Get dressed. You have a lab this afternoon."
"I don’t want to go."
"Too bad. Sutton Webb doesn't let some boy destroy her."
She's right. I hate that she's right.
I drag myself to the shower and stand under the hot water until it runs cold. It doesn't help. I still feel hollow.
"Are you going to eat?" she asks.
The thought of food makes me nauseous. "No."
She doesn't push it.
We leave the house together. She walks me to my lab like I’m being delivered to my first day of kindergarten.
“We’ll meet up later,” she promises.
“Yep.”
