Chapter 64 Chapter Sixty-four
Lena’s POV
I wake up feeling like someone glued my eyelids together.
Everything hurts—my head, my chest, my heart most of all.
My body feels heavy, drained, as if I was crying in my sleep and somehow ran out of water to release.
The room is bright—the sun is already up—but everything inside me feels dark.
I blink a few times until my vision clears, and when I shift, I feel the dull ache in my toe.
Right. That.
As if I don’t already have enough pain.
I reach for my phone with shaky hands.
7:48 AM.
Too early, too late—too everything.
My throat feels dry as I swallow and open my call log.
Sebastian’s name sits there staring back at me like a ghost.
I don’t call him.
I can’t.
Instead, I click on Tessa’s name.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”
My voice cracks. “Tessa… it’s Lena.”
Her tone softens instantly. “Oh honey. You sound awful. What’s wrong?”
“I… I’m not feeling well,” I whisper, which is the truth in too many ways. “I… I won’t be able to come in today.”
“That’s okay,” she says warmly. “Take the day off. Rest. Don’t worry about anything. Do you need me to tell Sebastian?”
My chest squeezes painfully, almost violently.
“No,” I whisper quickly. “No. Please don’t.”
She pauses, and I know she hears something in my tone—something broken.
But she doesn’t push. “Alright. Feel better, sweetheart.”
I hang up and stare at my phone like it betrayed me.
I feel sick because of Sebastian.
I feel hurt because of Sebastian.
I feel stupid because of Sebastian.
And yet my heart aches for him.
It’s pathetic.
A tear falls even though I thought I had no more left.
The door creaks.
Avery appears, hair messy, holding a mug of coffee she probably brewed at 2 AM. She’s still in her oversized T-shirt, blinking sleep out of her eyes.
“You didn’t come out of your room,” she says, voice thick. “Which means one thing—you’re dying inside.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Avery, please.”
“No,” she says immediately. “No shutting me out. Move.”
Before I can protest, she sits on my bed beside me, crosses her legs, and puts the mug on my nightstand.
“You’re calling in sick?” she asks softly.
I nod.
“Good,” she says. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m working from home today.”
I blink. “Avery… you don’t have to—”
“I do,” she cuts in gently. “You can’t be alone today. Not with that face.”
“My face?” I whisper, offended and hurt simultaneously.
“You look like you drowned in the Atlantic,” she says honestly. “Twice.”
I let out a sad, broken laugh and cover my mouth because it threatens to turn into a sob.
Avery immediately pulls me into her arms.
And I finally fall apart again.
It’s noon when I’m finally out of bed.
Avery sets up her laptop at the dining table, headphones hanging around her neck, eyes scanning me carefully like I’m a fragile glass about to shatter.
Because I am.
I sit on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, hugging a pillow to my chest.
My eyes sting each time I blink.
Avery brings me warm tea. “Drink.”
“I hate tea.
“I don’t care.”
I drink it.
She sits across from me and opens her laptop. “Alright. I’m working. But I’m here. If you want to rant, cry, break plates, burn his picture—I’m ready.”
“There’s no picture to burn,” I mumble.
“Good,” she says. “I’ll print one.”
I almost laugh. Almost.
But then it all crashes back.
His face yesterday.
His words.
His tone.
The coldness in his eyes.
“You should forget about whatever happened during the trip.”
“It was just a fling.”
“I’m tired of you.”
“I’m tired of fucking you.”
My throat tightens painfully.
Avery looks at me instantly. “Thinking about him?”
I nod.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “At least not today.”
I want to say I can’t help it.
But I don’t have the strength.
The day passes in slow motion.
Avery works beside me, glancing at me every five minutes like she’s monitoring my breathing.
Sometimes she touches my shoulder.
Sometimes she puts a snack in front of me without asking.
Sometimes she just sits quietly so I won’t feel alone.
I appreciate her so much I could cry.
I don’t want to cry.
But I keep doing it anyway.
By 3 PM, I check my phone for the twentieth time.
Nothing.
No message.
No missed call.
No apology.
No explanation.
Nothing from Sebastian.
It burns worse than the words he said.
Avery notices. “Still nothing?”
I shake my head.
She sighs and closes her laptop, giving me her full attention.
“Lena… I know you’re hurting. But something doesn’t add up.”
My heart clenches. “Avery—”
“No, listen,” she insists. “This man—this man who carried you off a jet, sent a truckload of food to our house, cared about your toe more than you do—this is not the same man who said those things to you.”
“People can change,” I whisper.
“Not in two days. And not like that.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to hear this.
I don’t want hope.
I don’t want theories.
Hope hurts more than heartbreak.
“You’re trying to make excuses for him,” I whisper.
“No,” she says calmly. “I’m saying the math ain’t mathing.”
I look away.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, my voice small. “He was clear.”
“And completely out of character,” she shoots back.
“Avery…”
“Fine,” she sighs. “I’ll stop. For now. But I’m telling you—something is off.”
I don’t respond.
“I’m tired,” I whisper.
“Then sleep,” she says softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The sun starts setting. The sky turns gold, then orange, then a quiet pink.
Avery prepares something small for dinner; I barely touch mine.
She doesn’t force me. She just sits with me, rubbing my back, humming under her breath.
We don’t talk much.
We don’t have to.
Pain hangs between us like smoke.
Around 9 PM, she finally stands. “I’m going to shower. Do not sit here in the dark and cry. Wait for me, okay?”
I nod.
She kisses my forehead and walks away.
I sit on the couch, wrapped in my blanket, staring at the TV without watching anything.
The apartment feels too quiet.
Too still.
Too heavy.
I check my phone again.
Sebastian still hasn’t called.
Still hasn’t texted.
Still hasn’t even asked if my toe is okay.
A trembling breath escapes me, and before I can stop myself, tears blur my vision
I bury my face in the pillow and muffle a sob
I don’t know how much time passes.
Minutes.
Hours.
My heart beating like it’s fighting with itself.
When Avery returns, she finds me curled up on the couch, crying silently.
“Oh, baby…” she whispers, rushing toward me.
I wipe my face quickly. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not.”
“No,” I whisper. “But I will be.”
She wraps her arms around me.
I cling to her like I’m drowning.
By the time I go to my room, my chest feels hollow.
My eyes ache.
My head throbs.
I lie down, pulling the blanket over myself, and stare at the ceiling.
I tell myself I won’t cry anymore tonight.
I tell myself I’m done giving Sebastian any more tears.
I tell myself I’m stronger than this.
I inhale deeply.
Exhale slowly.
“I won’t cry,” I whisper.
I want to believe it.
I try to.
But grief doesn’t listen to logic.
And heartbreak has its own rhythm.
A tear slips down my cheek anyway.
Then another.
And another.
Until I’m crying quietly into my pillow, shaking with every breath.
No matter how much I tell myself to stop.
I can’t.
I’m hurting too much.
I’m missing him too much.
I’m hating him too much.
I’m loving him too much.
And I can’t stop any of it.