The Fine Print

Rowan

I exit Zahra’s hospital room with a tight throat and a burning sensation in my chest. Hurting her was the last thing I wanted to do, but it’s necessary. Loving her isn’t an option. I have too much at stake and not enough flexibility to have her and the lifestyle I’ve spent my entire life pursuing. Earning my shares of the company needs to come first. If not for me, then for my brothers. 

Zahra might not see it my way, but this is all for the best. We never had a future past two months, and it would have been cruel for both of us to keep pursuing something that had an end date. I didn’t realize how much my feelings were developing until I found her bleeding in my bathroom. Breaking her heart was inevitable. But I found my timing less cruel than leading her on because I wanted more time before I left Dreamland for good.  

This was the right choice, no matter how hard it feels right now. If difficult decisions were easy, everyone would make them. These are the kinds of choices that make me good at my job. 

That’s what I tell myself as I walk out of the hospital despite the heavy feeling pressing against my lungs.

For the fourth time tonight, I turn my body and try to find a comfortable position. It’s been three days since the hospital, and I have had maybe ten hours of sleep total. 

I swipe my phone off the nightstand and check the time. 

Three in the fucking morning. 

If I can’t get a full night’s rest, I’ll be ru

I grab a pillow and tug it against my chest. It still smells like Zahra’s perfume, and I feel stupid pressing it against my face and taking another sniff. 

The tightness in my chest returns with greater force. 

You’re the one who wanted this. Think about your end goal. 

But what good is an end goal if I don’t feel happy when everything is decided?  

My blood heats in my veins, and I launch the pillow across the room. It lands with a soft thump near the door. Instead of feeling relieved, it feels as if someone is squeezing my throat. 

Nothing makes the uncomfortable feeling go away. All my rationalization tactics fail, and I’m stuck staring at the ceiling, wondering if I made the right choice. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. 

Not even a little bit. 

I thought I could get information out of Ani about Zahra’s recovery, but she is ignoring me. Every text I’ve sent Ani has gone unanswered. I’m going a bit crazy since Zahra took a whole week off after she was discharged from the hospital.

All I want to know is if Zahra is feeling better. But Ani didn’t show up to our usual meet-up spot last night, and I was stuck eating my pretzel and hers. The ripple effect of my actions is starting to hit me like a tsunami. 

I’ve resorted to stalking my buddy at her workplace because I hate the fact that she’s mad at me. If she were anyone else, I wouldn’t care. But Ani’s grown on me during my time at Dreamland. 

“Hey.” I tap on Ani’s shoulder.

She tenses before turning around. “Hi. Can I help you with picking out some candy, sir?” 

“Come on, Ani.” I pretend her words don’t bother me. 

Her frown adds to the growing tension in my shoulders. 

“I don’t want to talk to you.” 

“Too bad. I’m your boss.” 

She makes a disgusted noise as I grip her elbow lightly and take her to the empty back room of the candy store. 

“Spit it out.” She stomps her foot. 

The fist around my heart tightens as she shoots me a hard look I’ve never seen on her before. 

“I thought we were friends.” Ani and I built a bond over the last few months, and I don’t want her pushing me away. I’ve grown to like her as a friend. The idea of her not talking to me anymore makes me sadder than I care to admit. 

She shakes her head. “That was before you hurt my sister.” 

“So what? We’re not friends anymore?” 

“Nope.” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

She scowls. “Zahra’s my best friend and you made her cry.” 

The inhale I take burns my eyes. “Your sister and I are—” 

“Done. She told me.” Ani’s bottom lip wobbles.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you too.” 

“I helped you hurt her. With the pumpkins, and New York.” Her eyes shine from unshed tears.

Fuck. Ani feels responsible for my actions? I never meant for her to carry the burden of my decisions. 

“None of this is your fault.” I place my hand on her shoulder and give it a squeeze. 

“No. It’s yours because you’re a big baby who can’t admit you like her.” 

I can’t hold back my sad laugh. “If only life was that simple.”

“You told me excuses are for losers.” 

Damn. I never thought she would use my own mentor advice against me. I had told her the same words in the context of trying to move out of her parents’ apartment and become independent. 

It might seem like an excuse to her but I have my reasons.  

She sighs. “Thanks for helping me and making me feel better about moving.”

Is she seriously trying to give me the brush off right now? “Ani—”

“You’re not my friend or buddy anymore. I quit.” She lets out a heavy breath. 

Her rejection stings. I’ve genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. We bonded over many things from being the youngest sibling to our love for pistachio ice cream. 

The fact that she can’t even look me in the eyes anymore sours my already darkening mood. 

“Ani!” Someone opens the door.  

“I’ve got to get going. Merry early Christmas, Rowan.” She offers me a half-assed wave before she escapes the room. 

I’m left with an empty feeling I can’t seem to shake, no matter how hard I try.

Silence greets me when I walk into my house. After meeting with Ani, my day went from bad to complete shit. Nothing could keep my mind from drifting to thoughts about Zahra. I even caved and texted her, only to be ignored. It was supposed to be a simple conversation to lessen the building pressure inside of me, but Zahra didn’t even bother answering my message asking how she was feeling. 

I change into workout gear and go for a punishing run around the property. My feet slamming against the pavement helps relieve some of the tension from my muscles, but it’s not enough to calm my mind. 

By the time I run toward the gravel driveway of my house, my breathing is ragged, bordering on painful. 

My eyes land on the forsaken swing. The one I never found the time to take down because I was too busy. 

Or too much of a coward. 

My molars smash together. I stomp through the house and toward the garage where my grandpa kept some tools and his old drill. I’m on a mission to remove that damn swing. 

The same swing my mother read fairy tales to us on. Where she and my father would cuddle together while my brothers and I ran around the front yard. And the place where she took her last breath, with my father clinging to her cancer-riddled body while we all cried together. 

I hate that fucking swing more than anything in the world. There’s nothing I want more than to remove the bolts and turn the whole damn thing into a bonfire.