CHAPTER 9
1671 Words
The engine had stopped, but I couldn't move.
The soft hum of the car cooling down was the only sound inside the vehicle, aside from my stifled breaths. I was still in the passenger seat, staring blankly at the gate in front of me like it was some kind of wall I couldn’t climb. The porch light flickered once, like it was mocking me. Even my house looked disappointed in me.
Gwen had already offered to walk me to the door, but I shook my head. I needed to be alone with this pain—this heavy, stupid, ridiculous pain that clung to my chest like a tight corset.
My fingers were trembling as they gripped the handle of my bag. Not from the cold, but from that familiar ache creeping up again. The kind that burns behind your throat, threatening to spill out the moment you try to act fine.
I rested my forehead on the car window. "I hate this," I whispered to myself.
And the worst part? I didn’t even know what I was hating exactly. Was it Troy? Was it myself? Was it everything? Probably all of the above.
God, I was such an i***t.
I had spent months—years—believing that loving Troy was the right thing. That he was my safe space, my forever, my partner. I’d sacrificed time, energy, even part of my dreams just to be present for him. I remembered canceling fittings, pushing back deadlines, giving up sleep just to be there when he wanted me around. And now? Now I was the one left alone in my driveway, heart in pieces, with nothing but stale air and a bag full of unfinished sketches.
How poetic.
"I gave you everything," I muttered again. "And you couldn’t even give me honesty?"
I bit my lip hard to stop myself from crying again, but a single tear rolled down anyway, warm and bitter. I wiped it quickly, annoyed. As if wiping it fast enough would erase what I felt.
I hated myself for loving him that much. For putting so much of me into someone who didn’t even know how to stay.
And it wasn't just about cheating.
It was how he made me feel like I was too much… too ambitious, too focused, too unavailable. Too career-oriented, as if building a future for myself was some kind of crime. As if my worth was only measured by how often I could smile at him or cook for him or kiss his ego to sleep.
I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the seat.
A part of my life was gone now. That chapter—those years—we wouldn’t get those back. All the plans, the almosts, the maybes, and the “someday when we get married…”—gone.
And the scariest part? I wasn’t even sure who I was without him.
Everything felt raw and unfamiliar, like I was stepping into a version of my life I didn’t sign up for. The gown, the boutique, Lexi’s wedding, Gwen’s bubbly energy—they all felt like background noise right now.
I felt hollow.
Like someone took a spoon and scooped out the insides of me, then handed me a smile and said, "Here, wear this."
But I couldn't. Not tonight.
Not after seeing him with her. Not after the café. Not after the accusations. Not after that final look he gave me—the one that said I failed.
I turned my head slowly toward the glove compartment and stared at the stack of swatches peeking out. The gown. Right. I still had work. I still had a deadline. I still had Gwen. And a client who trusted me.
But God, what if I wasn’t enough?
What if all of this—the heartbreak, the stress, the doubt—what if it ruins me?
I closed my eyes tightly, willing myself not to spiral.
“You’ve come too far, Callie,” I whispered to no one.
But I didn’t believe it. Not right now.
I wasn’t strong tonight. I wasn’t brave. I wasn’t anything but a broken girl parked in her driveway, holding onto the fragments of a love that betrayed her.
My phone buzzed in my bag.
I didn’t need to look to know it wasn’t him.
And even if it was, I wouldn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. Because if I did, I knew I’d cave. I’d say sorry for making a scene. I’d let him explain. I’d give him another chance.
And I deserved better than that. Even if it didn’t feel like it right now.
I took one long, deep breath and exhaled slowly. My hands reached for the door handle, hesitating for just a second before I finally pushed it open.
The night air hit me hard—cold, sharp, cleansing.
I stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement, and stood still for a moment under the moonlight. My porch light flickered again.
“Guess it’s time to go inside,” I mumbled.
And just like that, I turned toward the door, clutching my bag, and took the first step forward—not toward healing, not yet… but toward surviving.
One step. One breath. One heartbreak at a time.
All the things I said, all the things I didn’t say. Why did loving him feel like a war I lost even before I began fighting?
I didn’t know how long I sat at the driveway, just staring out into the dark, quiet street. The house was quiet too. It was always quiet when I needed noise. I hated that kind of silence—when the world felt too still, but your chest was screaming on the inside.
Tears came again. I was tired of crying but it kept happening anyway. Maybe my body was on auto-pilot now, just like my heart.
I wiped my face with the back of my sleeve. “Get it together,” I muttered to myself. “It’s not like he died.”
But a part of me did. That part of me who loved him so damn much, who gave him my mornings, my dreams, my behind-the-scenes victories, and my future plans. That part of me who thought we were solid. Strong. Unshakable.
Guess not.
I climbed of the car again, slammed the door a little too hard, and just sat there. I could go inside. I could cry myself to sleep. But then what? Wake up with puffy eyes and pretend I could sew a perfect gown like nothing happened?
Nope. I needed to not feel. I needed to mess up. I needed a night to be dumb and reckless and messy, because I was tired of being the composed girlfriend and the designer with the clean portfolio and bright smile.
I texted Gwen a quick “I’m okay. Thanks for earlier. Drive safe.” Lie.
Then I got back in the car and started the engine.
There’s this club I’ve only been to twice with Gwen during college—Nova Pulse. It’s loud, always packed, and dark enough for you to feel invisible. That’s exactly what I needed.
By the time I arrived, it was past 11. I wasn’t even sure if I still looked decent. I probably looked like a heartbreak meme—cried-off mascara, wrinkled clothes, that dead look in my eyes. Cute.
Inside, the music was pounding so hard I could feel it in my chest. Neon lights flashed like someone was trying to warn me not to do what I was about to do.
But I walked straight to the bar and smiled at the bartender.
"Vodka soda. Make it double."
He raised a brow. "You sure?"
I nodded. “Give me another one after this.”
He didn’t ask again.
The first shot burned. The second one, less. The third? I welcomed it. I was already floating somewhere above the pain.
I sat at the bar, letting my thoughts crash in rhythm with the bass. I didn’t want to think about Troy. But I kept seeing his stupid face. The way he looked surprised when I broke up with him—like he was the victim. Like I did something wrong by finally walking away.
After three more drinks, I stopped counting after the fourth, my vision started to double a bit. The bartender gave me a side-eye. “Maybe slow down?”
“Maybe mind your own love life,” I slurred.
He rolled his eyes but handed me water.
I didn’t even finish it.
I got up—bad decision.
The room spun. Literally spun. But I stumbled toward the door anyway.
I needed to leave. The pain was catching up. The alcohol didn’t work. I still felt like crap. I still wanted to scream. I still wanted answers. I still wanted Troy.
I reached my car and sat behind the wheel, trying to remember where the brake was.
“Okay, you’re fine,” I whispered to myself. “Just go home. Just drive. You’re okay.”
I started the car.
Bad idea.
I pressed the gas a little too hard pulling out. The tires screeched but I didn’t care. The roads were blurry. Lights smudged like watercolors. I laughed. Or maybe cried. I don’t know. My brain was scrambled eggs at this point.
My hands were shaking. I gripped the wheel tighter.
“Why him? Why now? Why her?” I yelled inside the car. The world outside zipped past me. I didn’t even know what road I was on.
I looked at my rearview mirror and saw nothing but darkness behind me. That felt fitting.
Then, beep. A honk. A flash of lights.
I swerved.
Too late.
CRAAAAAASH.
My scream got cut off by the sound of metal smashing against metal. The seatbelt yanked me back as the car jerked violently. I didn’t even realize I had run straight into another vehicle.
Everything spun. The world flipped. Then black.
Nothing.
Silence.
No more pain. Just—
- Writer
