Broken Juliet(84)

“I don’t know. I think that’s part of it.”

“But he told you to take the gig, right? I mean, why would he do that if he knew he couldn’t handle it?”

“He wants me to be successful.”

“But then he’ll be miserable?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. He’s trying to do the honorable thing. It almost makes me like him. Of course, knowing he’s miserable might be part of the reason.”

I glare at her.

She rolls her eyes. “Have you tried talking to him?”

“A little. He’s being evasive.”

My phone rings. I check caller ID before answering.

“Hey, Elissa.”

“Cassie, you need to get over here.” She sounds panicked, and a bit like she’s been crying.

“Are you okay?”

“No. I don’t care that I’m not supposed to say anything to you. Just get over here.”

She hangs up, and my paranoia flares into full-blown anxiety.

“Ruby, can I borrow your car?”

“Of course. What’s going on?”

“I have no idea, but I have a feeling it’s bad.”

Twenty minutes later, I pull up in front of Ethan’s apartment and run up the stairs. My mind swirls with a thousand different scenarios as I bang on his door. Even though I’m trying to control my panic, I can already feel my heart crumbling, waiting for the inevitable Ethan-shaped fracture it’s about to endure.

Within seconds, Elissa opens the door. Her eyes are bloodshot and furious.

“Maybe you can talk sense into him. I can’t. If he asks, I didn’t call you.”

With that, she leaves and slams the door behind her.

I walk into the apartment to find boxes everywhere. Most are half full and messy, and when I walk into Ethan’s bedroom, I see more of the same.

He walks out of the bathroom with an armful of toiletries and freezes.

We stare at each other for a few seconds before he says, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” I glance around at the boxes. “You’re packing early. I thought you were staying here until the lease runs out in two weeks.”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he looks at the ground. My heart is beating so fast, I can feel it in every inhale.

“Ethan?”

“I was going to tell you … I just … I didn’t know how.”

A chill runs down my spine. “Tell me what?”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. Then he does it again. I try to ignore the warning bells going off in my head.

“I turned down Hamlet. I’m taking the job in Europe. I’m leaving in three days.”

I stare at him, and I’m so full of adrenaline and nervous energy, I let out a sharp laugh. “No, you’re not.”

He unfreezes and dumps the toiletries into a black duffle bag. “Yes. I am.”

I knew this was coming, yet as much as I’d tried to prepare for it, I’m still stunned into silence. The pain in my chest takes my breath away, and all the places I’d tried to protect with numbness flare and burn.

I can’t say anything, so I just nod.

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’ve tried so hard to find an excuse to stay with you, but I can’t. I’ve tried to conquer my issues so I didn’t infect you with them, and I’ve failed. Every day I see you shut down a little more, and I know it’s my fault. If I stay, I won’t just kill your spirit, I’ll kill your career. I can already see it affecting your acting, and that f*cking slays me. I can’t do it, Cassie. I can’t drag you down with me. As much as it kills me to go, it would ruin me more to stay.”

I swallow with effort, while desperately trying to deaden the pain. I breathe in and out a few times. Hold myself upright and tall, and pretend this isn’t happening.

He’s leaving me.

Again.

He told me he could be in a relationship with me, but it was a lie. A beautiful lie I really wanted to believe.

I’m so incredibly stupid.

“Cassie,” he says as he takes a step toward me. “Please say something.”

“What do you expect me to say?” My voice is flat and disconnected. I beg my emotions to be the same way.

“I don’t know. Tell me you understand.”

I look at him, still dazed. “I don’t.”

“Tell me you don’t hate me.”

That makes me laugh. It seems strange that I can make such a happy noise when I’m filling up with misery. “When did you make this decision?”

“Right after we were given our offers.”

I stare at him. “But … you took Hamlet.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“So you lied to me?”

“No, I never told you I took it. You just assumed I would.”

I’m so close to screaming my head off, it’s scaring me. “When exactly were you going to tell me? On your way to the airport?”

He looks down at his hands. “I’ve tried to find the courage to tell you dozens of times. Then I think about actually leaving, and this … hole … opens up inside me, and it hurts too much for me to even think about it.”