Page 117 of All the way home

Rena

Rena sinks into the nearest chair and rests her elbows on her knees, phone slipping out of her hands and onto the carpet as she puts her head in her hands, mind whirling.

Being alone has never bothered Rena—she’s her own most reliable source of comfort anyway—but tonight lonesomeness yawns with a gaping maw and there’s nothing to do but look straight at it and hope.

It’s not going to be ending it. Not really. She won’t be ending anything. She can’t end something that’s already over. Something that’s been over for such a long time.

On the ground, her phone lights up.

Oscar.

you’re a badass don’t EVER forget it

love you bud

The beginning of a sob gets stuck in her throat and won’t come out.

When did it happen?

Was it just because of Kieran, last year?

No. On some level, she’s been playing a game for a long time. Filling a role, making tiny sacrifices and reminding herself that it was all right, and now she’s not sure if it ever had been.

She’d liked Lucas because he liked her, and he’d liked her before he knew her at all.

There have been so many years of saying yes when she’d wanted to say no, conceding because it hadn’t felt like there’d really been a choice. Bending to meet some standard that she hadn’t known how to replicate.

And it had felt all right, because there wasn’t anything wrong with what Lucas wanted. There was nothing wrong with holding hands at school in front of everybody. There was nothing wrong with going on family vacations and having sex and moving in together, it was just that . . .

Rena hadn’t wanted to, but she’d always been agreeable anyway. She’d been willing to compromise, because that was what you do.

Compromise.

Is that what this has been all along? Or has she only tricked herself into believing it?

Rena’s heart is a lead weight, limbs fuzzy and not quite hers. It’s not even 9 p.m., but it feels like midnight.

Somebody sinks into the chair next to her—far too close—and Rena jolts.

She must look as much of a mess as she feels, because after one look at her, Sahar winces. “Oh shit. Sorry. I didn’t realize you were—I’ll go.”

But she doesn’t.

Sahar doesn’t go, and the bite of annoyance—of humiliation—that Rena’s expecting doesn’t come.

“I’ll go,” Sahar repeats, on a gust of air, so quiet Rena might have imagined it.

“No.” Rena swallows hard. “Stay. Please.”

After a moment of observant silence, Sahar nods.

There are too many places to start. Too many things left unsaid that Rena desperately needs to tell her, and—

Sahar beats her to it.

With a great, wavering breath, she says, “I’m so sorry.”

Rena blinks. “What are you sorry for?”