I hadn’t stopped thinking about Karla since she got upset with me about the party. Even though her words hurt, they were nothing worse than what I’d already said to myself. I didn’t hate her for it. I didn’t judge her, either.
I just couldn’t be the guy who lied to her and told her that going to the party at Colton’s house was a good idea. It was the opposite of a good idea. I couldn’t imagine those jerks treating Karla the way she should’ve been treated. She should’ve been treated like a queen, like royalty. Not as some monster.
They called her “Quasimodo” because of the way she walked. They laughed whenever she moved past them. Sometimes, I’d hear them call her names that I wouldn’t even call my worst enemy. All because she was in a car accident that made her lose her mom.
Karla was already struggling with life; they didn’t have to add extra crap on her back.
Still, even though I was pissed at them, I was more upset with her for letting them back in.
They did nothing to prove to her that they were any good. They didn’t apologize or anything. They simply invited her to some senior party at some guy’s house, and she was acting like it was an invite to freaking heaven.
I was convinced it was a trip straight to hell.
I couldn’t stop wondering if she had gone to the party. Icouldn’t stop wondering how they treated her. I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe I was wrong. Maybe they would be nice to her. Maybe they wouldn’t treat her like she was nothing. Maybe they wouldn’t belittle her anymore. But nothing in my gut said that was true.
They didn’t deserve her.
And still, she gave herself to them on a silver platter.
Hell, Karla. Why would you let them back in?
Maybe because she was desperate to be liked again after a shit year, but why wasn’t it enough that I liked her? I liked her, scars and all—and I wasn’t even talking about the markings on her face, but the ones on her soul. And she didn’t have to be anything more than what she’d been for me to think she was good enough.
But when she called me, I still answered.
“Hello?” I asked, surprised to see her name pop up on my phone.
She didn’t say anything at first. All I heard was uncontrollable sobbing until she said, “Ash... I’m sorry. I need you... Please come.”
I sat up in my bed feeling something in my gut tighten up.
“Karla, where are you?” I demanded.
“I’m so-s-sorry, Ash. I can’t d-d-do this. I can’t breathe. I ca-can’t...”
“Where are you?” I asked again, standing from the bed and tossing on a pair of shoes.
She needed me.
I was still hurt by her and upset, but she needed me.
“The cemetery,” she pushed out as she kept choking on each breath.
“Don’t move. I’m on my way.”
I grabbed my bike, and I left the house. I’d never riddenso fast in my life. The moment I saw her sitting against the ground at her mom’s tombstone, I panicked. She looked completely defeated.
I rushed over and called out her name. “Karla!”
She turned around to face me, and her face was covered in tears. I didn’t know my heart could break into a million pieces until I saw the heartbreak in her eyes. I could tell right then and there that she was at her lowest, and I didn’t even care to ask her what had happened.
I just wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close to me.
“I can’t do this,” she sobbed against me. “I can’t be here,” she said, and I knew what she meant by that. I knew it when she texted me. I knew that she was breaking, and I knew there was no way I could put her back together. So I did the only thing I could—I held her.
“Don’t say that, Karla. You’re OK. We’re OK.”
“I was so mean to you!” she sobbed. “I was mean and you still came, and I don’t deserve this or you, and everything’s a mess, and I can’t, I can’t...” She choked on her tears. “I can’t breathe!” she cried, breaking into uncontrollable sobs, clawing at her chest as if she was trying to rip out her own heart. “I don’t want a life without her in it,” she shouted as she gestured toward her mother’s tombstone. “I want to be with her. I want to be with her. I want to be with...”
