This isn’t real.
This is a prank—a practical joke, just like that time I gave her the cornstarch donut and she pretended to faint. She’s about to wake up and say, “Gotcha”. Then she’ll laugh and laugh, and I’ll be so pissed off at her, but so, so relieved that she’s okay.
But that doesn’t happen.
She is still, lifeless, and I flash back to Blizzard lying on that dog bed in the middle of the hospital room looking eerily similar.
“No… God, no, Cora. Come back to me. Fucking please don’t do this…”
I pull my phone out of my pocket, almost dropping it as my hands start violently trembling. I punch in the numbers 9-1-1 and ramble off the situation to the dispatch operator, sounding like a crazed, desperate man. And I am.
I am.
I’m instructed to perform CPR. I carry her from the bed and lay her down on the floor, pressing against her chest like I’ve seen in the movies. Then I tip her head back, pinch her nose, and breathe my life into her mouth.
“Is she breathing?” the operator asks over the speaker.
I reach for her wrist and try to find a pulse. I place my ear to her heart again.
God, I can’t tell.
“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know….”
“Okay. Just stay on the line and help will be there soon. Continue the chest compressions, fast and hard…”
The voice fades out as I continue to press against her chest, occasionally stopping to search for a sign of life. “Don’t you leave me, Corabelle. I fucking love you. Don’t you dare leave me.” I gather her petite frame in my arms, bringing her up to my chest, sobbing into her hair. I cling to her, trying to zap her with my lifeforce, trying to bring her back to me with nothing but my tears and words and love. “Come back,” I whisper through my grief, then lay her back down to continue the chest compressions.
The sirens sound in the distance as I break down on top of her, weeping and shaking.
What have I done?
What the hell have I done?
Chapter Twenty-Four
“You probably should have thought about that before you fucked me.”
Dean smacks a handful of money into my palm like I’m some kind of hooker. I stare at him, wide-eyed and wounded.
“For the pill,” he adds.
I watch him storm out my front door, and he slams it so hard, it rattles on its hinges and the dogs leap up from their place on the giant dog bed. My feet remain frozen to the wood planks of my living room floor, and my eyes are glued to the door, secretly hoping it will swing back open and he’ll come running through.
And secretly hoping it doesn’t.
I swallow down the acrid lump in my throat before I choke on it. A tiny paw jabs my bare calf, and I’m reminded that I’ve been staring at the door for at least five whole minutes with a wad of crumpled bills in my hand that Dean gave me to purchase the morning after pill.
Because we had sex.
Because I had sex with Dean.
The reminder almost knocks me off my feet. I realize he’s not coming back, but I haven’t decided if I’m okay with that or not. I blow out a slow breath, making a humming sound. It’s the sound I make when mind-numbing pain is crawling its way up my throat, looking for a way out.
Dear God, I had sex with Dean Asher.
And then I told him it was over because I’m weak and unprepared to deal with the consequences of my own selfish actions.
I pace backwards until I reach the couch, collapsing onto it as the pain comes spewing out. I toss the money on the coffee table and draw my legs up to my chest, burying my face between my knees. Sobs pour out of me in waves and my ribs start to ache.
Jude appears in front of me, sitting at the edge of the couch with perky ears and a swiftly moving tail. Penny hops up beside me with her little legs, resting her chin against my hip bone. This only makes me cry harder, knowing these sweet animals are trying to console me when I don’t deserve it. I made my bed.
I made my bed, and then I screwed my sister’s ex-fiancé in it.
And holy crap, it was good. So, so good. Hot, intense, rough—unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, physically and emotionally. Mind-blowing is the term Dean used, and I wholeheartedly agree, despite the fact that I couldn’t tell him that because even acknowledging what happened between us feels like a slap in the face to Mandy. And to my own dignity.
I run my fingers between Jude’s ears as I scoop Penny onto my lap, stretching my legs back out. I’ve never been so torn like this before, so split in half, pulled in two different directions. I’ve never wanted something so badly, while rejecting it at the same time.
Dean is like the ocean.
Compelling, calling to me, within reach…
So much magic. So much beauty.
Something I want with every aching layer of my soul.
But I’m that little girl again, frozen in the sand, afraid of the dark waters in front of me. There’s so much uncertainty. There’s so much I can’t see. I’m scared I’ll lose myself to the tumultuous waves and drift away, barely treading above water, hardly able to breathe.
I’m scared I’ll lose everything—my sister, my parents, myself.
I’m scared I’ll drown.
It’s safer here at shore.
I tell myself this as I go about my day, running out to grab dog food and Plan B. I try not to die of embarrassment as I keep my oversized sunglasses on at the pharmacy, while tugging my beanie down as far as it will go in case I have the words ‘Totally Banged Dean’ scrawled across my forehead. I don’t check my phone as I clean the house later. I already cleaned yesterday, but I vacuum again and wipe down the windows just to distract myself.
I don’t text him. I don’t call him.
I don’t go near the bottle of wine in the fridge in fear of texting or calling him.
I can do this.
But when my sister shows up unexpectedly with Mexican food that evening, I almost faint from crippling anxiety.
“You look like hell.” Mandy breezes through the entryway also looking like hell, and I can’t help but feel like there is one common denominator that is responsible for our mutual hells. “I brought a shit ton of tacos. Cilantro has cleansing powers.”
“That’s because it tastes like dish soap.”
Mandy scoffs at me as she slips out of her knee-high boots. She saunters through the living room to the kitchen, tossing the brown paper bags of food onto the dining table. Then she wavers, taking a few steps back, and glances towards the corner of the room. She looks up at me. “You have dogs.”
I shrug, my arms crossed. “You would have known that if you hadn’t dodged my calls and texts all week.”
A bleak silence stretches between us. I take in the way Mandy’s eyes lower to the floor, lacking their usual sparkle, rimmed with dark circles. Her hair is pinned up in an ultra-messy bun, her roots growing out. She blows back a strand of hair that has come loose from her bun and leans her hip against the back of the couch. “I’ve been avoiding you.”
“I noticed.” I dig my fingers into the fuzzy fabric of my sweater, my insides clenching with unease. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through this night without confessing all of my dirty sins to Mandy. I clear my throat, braving a few steps forward. “How are you?”