Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(82)

“I mean, it went triple OT, so it was a good game, but man, I do get all tingly between the legs when I see guys beating the shit out of each other.”

“You’re weird.”

“No, you.”





Ava


“Mama, stop, please!” I cry out. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” I hold her head to my chest, try to stop her from banging it against her bedroom door like she has been for the past fifteen minutes.

I can barely see through the tears of frustration constantly filling my eyes, and now Trevor’s at the front door letting the crisis workers in. More money wasted.

Mom stops with the headbanging, only to start smacking the heel of her palm against her head. She’s rocking back and forth, her knees up between us, and I don’t know how much longer I can take this. “Just stop, Mama!”

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can! I don’t understand—”

“What don’t you understand?” she screams so loud I release my hold. She continues with the pounding, and I grasp her arm, try to get her to stop. “I don’t want to be here, Ava!”

“Don’t say that!” I cry out.

She glares up at me, eyes wide. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Be. HERE!”

I cower, wiping the tears off my cheeks with the back of my hands, my breaths coming out in puffs. “I know!” I yell, exhausted. Mentally. Physically. All of it. “I know you don’t want to be here, but I need you here! Why can’t you see that?!” I break off on a sob. “Look at me!” I clutch a hand to my chest to stop the pain. So much pain. Years and years of it. “This is killing me as much as it is you!” I try to push down my hurt, but it just grows and grows and grows, every fucking day, and I’m done. “I can’t do this anymore,” I cry. “I just can’t.”

“I never asked you to!” she screams, her spit flying. “I hate you for what you did to me, Ava! I hate you.”

Everything inside me stops.

My breaths.

My pulse.

My cries.

I look at her, try to find any semblance of the woman I love, the mother who raised me. But she’s gone. She’s so far gone, and there’s nothing left of her. And nothing left of me. “I’m trying,” I whisper, getting to my feet. My chest heaves, but I’m breathless. Lifeless. “I’m trying so fucking hard, and it’s not enough. It never will be.”

I grab my phone before storming past Trevor and the crisis workers and run outside.

I need time.

I need space.

I need air.

I need Connor.

I stand in front of his house with the phone in my hand, and I remember his text, barely. The phone hardly visible through my tears, I try to calm down, my thumbs searching for the last couple of minutes of his game.

I need to be prepared.

I need to be present.

For him.

I find the video, skim until the end, my heart dropping, lips parting when I watch it back.

I don’t think. I just run to his window and knock, guilt building a solid fortress in my stomach. When enough time passes and there’s no sign of life, I knock again. Wait. I check for his car, but it isn’t there, and I knock again and again and again, getting louder each time.

My heavy breaths create a fog in front of my eyes and inside my mind, and I check the time, 2:27 a.m. I sniff back my cries, dial his number and hold the phone to my ear.

It rings on my end, but it’s silent in his room, and I have no idea where he could be. My self-doubt and insecurities fight for a space in my thoughts, and I don’t have the energy to push them away. The call connects to his voicemail, and I suck in a breath, try to replace my weakness for courage.

Vincit qui se vincit.

“Hey, Connor. It’s me…”





Chapter 48





Ava





It’s been a long time since I’ve just “hung out” in the hallways at school, and maybe that’s why I feel like there are even more stares, more whispers than usual. I sit in front of Connor’s locker, my legs crossed and my head down, waiting for him. I want to catch him after practice and before psych so we can at least get a few minutes to talk. I need to explain my stupid text.

I have my headphones in, but no music to accompany it. I wear them so I’ll be left alone, but I’ll still be able to hear Connor coming. Instead, I’m hearing people mock me as they walk past, and then two sets of feet, girls, stop in front of me. I don’t look up when they giggle to themselves. Not even when one of them says, “I bet she has no idea what he gets up to when she’s not around.”

My head spins, my stomach does, too, and I don’t… I don’t understand what they’re saying. All I know is that Connor wasn’t home in the early hours of the morning. And so maybe they’re right. Maybe I don’t know him at all.

Another set of feet stops beside me, and I recognize them as Connor’s. “Hey.”

I take a quick moment to get myself together before looking up at him. His face is blanched, dark circles around his heavy eyelids. His body’s slumped as if it’s a task to remain upright, and I get to my feet, say, “Hey.” I ignore the ache in my chest when he bypasses our usual morning kiss and goes straight for his locker, throwing his bag in without taking anything out.