Chapter 3

The dinner ended, and the rain came down in sheets under a low, sullen sky.

Lewis drove us home, and Janice sat in the passenger seat that had always been his.

Because, they said, that was how the two of them had sat since they were kids.

I was curled up alone in the cold back seat, like a passenger nobody had needed to bring.

The rain was heavy, the wipers swinging without pause.

The road was slick and hard to drive, and the tires slipped more than once.

Halfway home, the car ahead braked suddenly, and Lewis wrenched the wheel hard.

In that split second, instinct never lies.

I saw it clearly.

Lewis didn't hesitate for a moment. He threw out his arm and clamped it tight around Janice in the passenger seat, his whole body leaning her way without thinking.

His voice came out rattled. "Janice! Don't be scared! I've got you!"

In the instant that split life from death, every ounce of his care went to Janice.

In the back seat, I had nothing to protect me.

The force flung me forward, and my side slammed against the hard corner of the seat.

A sharp, bone-deep pain spread through me all at once, until my whole body went numb and my face drained white.

Once the car came to a stop.

Lewis's first move was to soothe Janice, patting her back gently.

He asked, soft, "Are you all right? Did you hit anything? Does it hurt?"

Janice's eyes went red, and she shook her head weakly.

"I'm fine, Lewis. Don't worry about me."

The two of them gazed at each other, comforting each other.

And forgot completely about me in the back, in too much pain to sit up straight.

Only after a few minutes did Lewis glance back at me, careless about it.

He saw me clutching my side, my face white, cold sweat on my forehead.

Then, in no hurry at all, he said.

"Now what's wrong with you?"

I bit down on my trembling lip and got the words out, my voice raw. "I hit my side. It really hurts. It might already be swelling."

One honest sentence, and all it earned me was a harsher rebuke.

"The car isn't even dented. How much could it possibly hurt?"

Lewis's brows drew together, his tone colder still.

"Celeste, can you stop grabbing every chance to play the victim and fish for sympathy?" "Can't you learn a little from how sensible and gracious Janice is?"

At that, Janice suddenly spoke up, soft and low.

"Lewis, don't be hard on Celeste. It's my fault."

"If I hadn't come along today, none of this would've happened to her. It's all on me."

"It has nothing to do with you at all."

Lewis defended her at once, no questions asked.

He turned to me. "You hear that? Even Janice is more sensible than you. Stop making a scene."

Last fall, Janice only twisted her ankle a little while walking and scraped off a bit of skin.

Lewis was frantic, drove her to the hospital that same night to get her checked and X-rayed, and sat at her bedside all night without closing his eyes.

I ran a fever of a hundred and two with acute gastroenteritis, throwing up and worse, too weak to leave my bed.

He never showed up, not once. All he said was to drink plenty of hot water.

Slowly I let go of the hand pressed to my side, the pain still spreading, bone-deep.

But my heart had already gone completely numb and cold.

I steadied my breathing and said it calmly.

"Lewis, let's break up."

He couldn't be bothered to argue, just started the car with a cold face. "Enough. Shut up. We're going home."

The rain hammered against the windows, a hard, rattling drumbeat.

Just like my broken heart.

Back at the apartment, I went up alone, lifted my shirt, and found a wide stretch of purple-black bruising across my side.

I took out my phone and messaged Anne again.

"The studio goes ahead as planned. I'll fly over soon."

This was the road I should have chosen a long time ago.