Fold

"If love isn't complicated. Then clearly I'm just really bad at it." —Kit Bishop

“Are you close?”

The fact that she even has to ask should tell her I'm not.

Then again, most of our sexual relationship consisted of me pleasuring her all the time and rarely vice versa, so I guess it's really no surprise.

“I can't do this.”

I spring up before I do something stupid that will further add to my horrible lapse in judgment, like apologize for not having an orgasm.

She stands up slowly, incredulously. Like she's baffled that just the mere thought of her going down on me wasn't enough to get the job done.

And while I'll admit that in the past it might have, that was before.

Before she cheated. Before she got pregnant. Before she played the living shit out of me.

Her lips purse. “Last time I checked, you weren't the one doing anything.”

I glare at her. “I don't mean sex.” I tug my pants on faster than the speed of light. “I mean us.”

Her expression softens. “Come on, Kit. Don't be like that.”

She tries to reach for me but I back away. “You were wearing red lingerie.”

It comes out before I can stop myself.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“Yesterday,” I whisper, the memory tearing through me all over again. The very same one that's been ricocheting like a ping pong through my mind since the moment Becca parked her face between my thighs.

Why is it that hindsight only happens after you make bad decisions?

“You told me you never loved him and it was over, but you wore sexy lingerie for him yesterday.”

A shirtless Preston standing in a doorway flashes before my eyes and my teeth clack.

She blanches. “You know I like to wear pretty things. It doesn't mean anything, baby doll. I swear.”

I don't know what makes me queasier. Becca lying right to my face again, or her using her old nickname for me while she does it.

“I think you should leave.”

Her lower lip trembles and I hate the way my heart clenches. I wish the stupid organ was a machine that was immune to emotions, instead of worn on my sleeve like some fashion accessory. One that makes people treat it like it's nothing more than a passing trend.

People like Becca.

Her hand skims my cheek. “I know I hurt you.”

“You did.” You still do.

She ruffles the ends of my hair. “But don't make any final decisions about us right now, okay? Not without giving me a chance to fix this so we can go back to the way we were.”

“That's just it.” I turn away from her touch. “I don't want to go back to the way we were. Because the way we were ends with my heart getting broken.”

I force back the tears that are a heartbeat away from escaping. I don't want to cry in front of her anymore. I don't want to give her all my power so she can wield it to suit her own needs like she always seems to do.

“I'm going to shower. Be gone by the time I'm out.”

She starts to object, but I don't let her because I know that every vowel, every single syllable out of her mouth is meant to throw me off the wagon I just got back on.

“I need time to think and I can't do that with you here.”

After I safely lock the bathroom door behind me, the first tear falls.

And they don't stop falling.

Not until I scrub her off my skin, step out of the shower, and walk back to my room to find her gone.

When my alarm goes off at the buttcrack of dawn, I vaguely recall I told Breslin I'd cover her early morning shift at the coffee house.

With a grunt, I slip my hand out of the covers and grab my phone to tell Larry—whose name I only bothered to learn after working for him for the better part of two years—that I'm ru

After a solid minute of playing some version of Whac-A-Mole with my nightstand and finding no sign of my phone, I get out of bed.

Only to nearly trip over it a second later—which is strange, because I'm positive I put it on my nightstand to charge at some point last night.

Of course the thing is nearly dead when I pick it up, but I hope for the best as I co

Then again, it's not like I have anyone to talk to anymore.

Not since my relationship with Becca ended. Or since Breslin's been involved in her not-so-secret relationship with both Asher and Landon.

Or should I say just Landon...because she refuses to date, much less acknowledge her feelings for her ex-boyfriend, Asher.

Even though Asher and Landon are dating each other. I think.

I rub my temples and make a mental note to ask her what the deal with that is at lunch today. Last I heard, Asher and Landon got into a huge argument before Landon left to perform with an indie rock band in England during the winter break. And according to Breslin, he's barely talked to either of them since then because he's still mad at them.

I look up at the ceiling and give my head a shake. It all sounds like one heaping bowl of drama soup.

Even more so now because Breslin dropped everything to go back to her hometown with Asher yesterday.

Freaking Holdens. They have a way of complicating everything.

I try not to think about a certain Holden as I twine a braid in my hair and check my phone for any missed calls or texts.

When the only text that shows up is from some guy that I'm supposed to be going on a date with later this week, thanks to my incorrigible grandmother, I grab my purse and keys and jet out the door.

I'm halfway across the poorly plowed dorm parking lot when I slip and bust my ass on a sheet of ice.

“Nice to see our tuition dollars hard at work,” I shout to the maintenance man who watched my fall from his snow plow while enjoying his bagel.

Muttering a curse, I get back up, convinced the only upside to this dismal morning is that it's the first day of my last semester before I graduate college.

A knot forms in the center of my chest when I think about how much it sucks that my parents aren't here to witness it.

You'd think I'd be used to it considering it's been so long, but no matter how much time has passed, it still hurts.

Even more so with every milestone that approaches, because it's a reminder of how many they've missed...and how many more they won't be here for.

I square my shoulders and force myself not to dwell on it anymore as I unlock my car. I know that's what my parents would want me to do.

They'd want me to be happy and positive like they always were.

They'd tell me to let go of the past...because every sunrise is the start of a brand-new day. A chance to make some great new memories.

I'm the first to admit it's not always easy for me to be optimistic about things. More often than not, I'm angry at the world for taking my parents from me at such a young age.

But when I stop and notice the sunrise is pink this morning, I can't help but smile, because I know it's the universe's way of telling me that my parents are still with me.

Maybe today will be a great day after all.