Hailee looks at me after Oliver shuts the door. “How are you actually doing? Have you even had time to process anything yet? I remember bits and pieces and the things I’m remembering are not pleasant.”
“Ask me in an hour, Hails,” I tell her, needing time to try to replay the pieces of last night. “Do you know what happened after I threw up?” Embarrassment washes over me and I feel my skin grow warm.
“Oliver got us out of there,” she says. “I can’t tell you how we got home, though.”
“At least Oliver’s a decent man,” I mumble.
I cannot comprehend what happened last night. Things finally seemed to be going in my favor and now this? He didn’t even respect me enough to tell me he was having a baby with another woman. It’s painfully obvious they weren’t—or aren’t—over.
A text comes in. I consider not looking at my phone because I have a nagging feeling it’s River. My curiosity gets the best of me as I unlock my phone.
River: I’ve called you nonstop all night. Haven’t even slept, Ava. Talk to me.
He hasn’t slept all night? Poor baby. He won’t be sleeping ever again once Jackie pops his kid out.
I don’t reply but he doesn’t take the hint.
River: I wanted to tell you last night but then the guys got there and everything started happening so fast.
I don’t care, River. Leave me alone.
River: Ava, please fucking talk to me. I’ll go crazy if I lose you again. You don’t understand how much I love you. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. Please.
He loves me? Real cute. He loves me. Fuck him.
I decide to call my dad. His voice always calms me down.
Two rings in and he answers. “Hey, kid. I was just thinking about you. Your mom and I were playing an old Tina Turner album. Remember when you were just a little girl and you’d run around the living room dancing and singing her cover of Proud Mary into a hairbrush?” He laughs, a deep throaty belly laugh—one of my favorite sounds in the world.
I smile despite the sadness. “Yeah, Dad, I remember. I could use a moment like that right about now. No cares in the world.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks, concern growing in his voice.
“Not really. I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all. It always helps.” And it does. Just hearing the comforting voice of my father helps mask the pain I’m currently avoiding.
“More good days than bad, kid,” he reminds me, and I clench my eyes shut tightly, refusing to allow the tears to fall this morning. “More good days than bad.”
I ask about his treatments and how he’s feeling, as I always do. His answers are the same most of the time. Good, good, good.
Once we hang up, I undress and step into the shower, hoping it’ll help soothe me. My anxiety is on another level, my mind racing.
I hear my phone ding another three times before it falls silent and I lather, running the sponge over my body as I watch the soapy water circle the drain. That’s when I realize the weight of it all. The weight of River Jacobs. No amount of water will ever rinse him from my skin. He’s left his mark, a permanent one, an invisible imprint penetrating deep down into my soul.
That’s when I finally let the tears fall. A mix of water and tears and heartbreak and a permanent loss that I will never heal from.
Track Thirty-Four: Good Things
by The Menzingers
AVA
This manuscript I’m working on is slowly killing my creativity. Unless my personal life is to blame.
I thought, after Blurred Lines, that I’d have more creative control over my writing. I’d heard horror stories about agents and publishing companies dictating the shit out of an author’s work, but I thought maybe things would be different for me. Especially considering my first book sold so many copies.
I was wrong. Now, I’m working on a book that feels like it’s only half-mine, just to appease the mainstream.
I close my laptop for the night, not wanting to see the manuscript anymore. I’m close to finishing but I honestly have no idea what comes next. After this book, I’m determined to call the shots. Even if that means a new agent and a new publisher—or none at all.
Scouring my bookshelf, I pull out the old journal I wrote Blurred Lines in. I start flipping through the pages of heartbreak and loss, laughing at some of the dramatic theatrics I wrote.
I pull out my favorite pen, positioning my hand on the page.
I haven’t written in this journal in a long, long time. I’ve all but forgotten how to write anything other than what my agent or publisher wants, and that’s kind of sad now that I think about it.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy writing. I do. But I miss writing about things that are real. The sounds and the feelings, the places I go when I hurt. I miss putting my pen to paper instead of my fingers to keys.
The last time I wrote in a journal, I was seventeen and reeling from heartbreak. I suppose things aren’t all that different now.
I’m in love with River Jacobs. Again.
I thought he was in love with me too, but he decided to go and get someone pregnant. And not tell me about it. Did he cheat on me? I have no idea. I guess it depends on how far along Jackie is. But honestly, I don’t want to know. I just…I don’t.
River leaving for California was a pain that had been indescribable at the time. It was undoubtedly the hardest time of my life, considering we received the news of my dad’s health at the same time. The combination was unlike any heartache I’d ever felt up to that point.
I’m different now. I’m older and I have to be at least a little bit wiser. I’m stronger because I know what I deserve.
River and Brady are on the same playing field now, neither of them able to be content or happy with what they have.
I gave my all to Brady and I gave my all to River, and it wasn’t enough.
Time to move on.
Track Thirty-Five: Torn
by Natalie Imbruglia
AVA
Six weeks later…
“Get your ass out of bed! You have a sexy hunk of Australian man meat to see!” Hailee hits me over the head with a pillow and I reach for the closest thing to throw at her—a book.
“Shit!” she says, ducking out of the way and turning back once she’s in the clear to give me a dirty look.
“Oops.” I say, smirking at her. “I can’t be held responsible for what I do when I’m awoken from my beauty sleep.”
“Girl,” Hailee rolls her eyes, “the last thing your ass needs is beauty sleep. You are one hot tamale.” She whistles. “That heartbreak regimen of yours is fucking fire.”
Her eyes meet mine and I can tell she’s testing the waters. “Relax, Hails. I’m fine. It’s fine. We’re all fine. I’m okay.”
She narrows her eyes at me, but lets it go. “Good, then get your ass moving. We have a cocktail date to get to!” She walks out the door and pops her head back in, adding, “And let’s try to be on time for the boys, please?”