Chapter Nineteen

I spend the first morning of November in bed.

The weather outside is beautiful. The sunshine calls my name. But I don't dare to venture out from my spot under the covers. I remind my dad over and over again that this is not, in fact, a depressive episode, but instead a regular teenage breakup thing. Still, he insists that I talk to Dr. Taylor. I roll out of bed not bothering to change out of my pajamas for the appointment.

The hospital is eerily quiet. I creep down the hallway, throwing open the door to Dr. Taylor's office with a scowl.

"You look . . ."

"Like hell?" I fill in his sentence. "My boyfriend cheated on me."

He raises an eyebrow. "You have a boyfriend?"

Now that I think about it, Elliott danced around the topic every time I brought it up.

"Well, no," I say. "I guess not."

I sit down in my usual spot, tapping my foot impatiently against the white tile floor. Dr. Taylor adjusts the clipboard in his hand. There's a pile of notes in front of him, all with my name scribbled on the back. A literal bible of my issues.

"What happened?"

"I walked in on him kissing another girl."

He shakes his head as if to say boys are idiots. "I'm sorry, Rose. You deserve a lot better. Don't you think?"

I shrug. "Does it matter? It's over now."

We slip into silence, and I realize that for the first time in a while, I don't have anything to hide. No hallucinations of my mom, no panic attacks. Just Elliott. I don't know if that's a good thing.

"How is boxing? Are you still going to class?"

"I have been, yeah. I'm supposed to have a private lesson this week, but I don't think I'm going."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. It seems like a lot right now."

"You shouldn't give up on something you love because you're hurting. You should channel your pain into something productive."

I cross my arms against my chest. The rational part of me knows that he's right, but the other part wants to crawl into bed and die. The two parts fight back and forth until the rational part gets the upper hand.

"Fine," I huff. "I'll try."

He nods approvingly.

"I don't want to talk about me anymore," I state, much to Dr. Taylor's annoyance. I focus on the crayon drawing of Dr. Taylor's family hanging on the wall. "How's your kid doing?"

He smiles. "Honestly, he's been a major pain in the ass these last few weeks."

"Ouch. You ever heard the phrase ‘therapists need therapists, too'?"

He laughs. "I suppose that's how we stay in business."

He tells me more about his five-year-old son, Charlie, and how he's been searching for a sport of his own to sink his teeth into. We go back and forth debating the pros and cons of baseball. To my relief, Dr. Taylor doesn't ask me any more questions about myself or Elliott. I guess even he must know we all have our limits.

"Same time next week?" he asks as the hour comes to an end.

"You bet."

When I get home from therapy, Gemma's waiting outside my front door, peppermint hot chocolate in hand. She passes it to me. I gulp it down, letting the sweetness calm some of my leftover anger.

"How are you?" she asks.

"Fine."

I take her inside. She sits beside me at the kitchen table, watching every move I make with intense concentration. She's as bad as Dr. Taylor.

"Have you heard from him?"

I shake my head. Elliott still hasn't texted. Or called. Or done literally anything at all to show that he cares. Every time my phone lights up with a text, I convince myself it's him. It never is.

"Are you going to school tomorrow?" she asks.

I've been actively avoiding thinking about school. In only a matter of hours, Elliott will be sitting right in front of me, and I'll have to swallow my pride and pretend like nothing happened between us. I'm not sure if I'm that good of an actor.

"I have to," I sigh. "I've missed too many days already."

She rests her hand over my own. I half-smile because it's all I can muster, even though she deserves better than that.

"I'll walk with you in the morning, okay?"

"Okay."

We spend the rest of the afternoon watching black and white cartoons on my dad's old television. I fall asleep on Gemma's shoulder, and when I wake up, she's no longer next to me. Day has turned to night. I pull myself off the couch and stroll to my bedroom, crashing face-first onto the sheets.

My sleep is dreamless, and the morning comes too quickly.

I drag myself out of my cocoon of blankets and make my way into the bathroom. I paint on a layer of concealer, but it doesn't hide the blotches across my skin. There's nothing I can do to make it look like I didn't spend the whole weekend in bed. I let my hair down in messy ringlets, bangs desperately needing a good brush.

"You sure you want to go?" asks my father, sipping coffee at the kitchen table.

He passes me a piece of toast. I take a small bite and leave the rest on the plate.

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

We both know that's far from the truth, but I can't miss another day of school. They'll hold me back a year if my absences keep up, and if there's one thing I want more than to never see Elliott again, it's to get the hell out of Dekalb High. I hug my father before meeting Gemma outside. She's dressed in a light pink dress with a floral pattern. Her cheeriness is infectious, and I smile.

"You look good," she states.

I know from the tone of her voice that she's lying, but I take the compliment. I ask about her college applications and Nishi. To my relief, she keeps talking, never stopping to ask about me. Even Gemma, queen of attention, knows how annoying it can be to have everyone worried about you.

The smell of nicotine, followed by the sound of a revving car engine, stops both of us in our tracks. Gemma grimaces as Elliott's car races down the narrow road. Maddy laughs from the passenger seat.

"He's such an asshole," barks Gemma.

"Do you think he actually likes her?"

Her cheeks turn green with disgust. "Hell no. I think she's a distraction."

I'm really, really trying not to hate Maddy. Feminism and shit, right? Plus she hooked up with him first, and there's no way she could've known that I was anything more to him than a body. Real emotions aren't exactly his thing. As the convertible turns into the parking lot, barely missing the curb, I duck my head and follow Gemma through the back entrance of the building.

Everyone stares as I walk by, which I'm sure has to do with the fact that videos from the party have been shared on at least ten Snapchat stories.

Elliott isn't in English by the time I arrive. I quietly sit at my desk and pull out the Poe anthology we're studying from my bag. He shows up five minutes late. I try to focus on Mr. Ruse, but one of my ears is tuned only to the wavelength of his voice. Everything he says, I hear. He insults poetry under his breath during Ruse's lecture. He talks to one of the girls beside him about supplying alcohol for her party.

"Rose?" Mr. Ruse asks.

Crap. I wasn't listening.

"What do you think is the story behindAnnabel Lee?"

A breath of relief. I've read it a hundred times before.

"That love survives anything," I murmur. "Even death."

Ruse tilts his head.

"But, is the narrator really living in her absence?"

"No," I confess.

At least, it doesn't feel like living to me.

*

Nishi and Gemma distract me at lunch with a game of twenty questions. Every time I'm able to focus on something else for long enough to forget, Elliott laughs, and the cycle starts all over again.

I want to hit a punching bag. But Elliott has first dibs on Midtown, and there's no way in hell I'm risking seeing him there.

ROSE: I can't make practice tonight. Private lesson tomorrow?ANDRE: Sure. Meet me at 5:00.

"Earth to Rose?" Gemma waves her hand in front of my face.

"Sorry," I say. "I was texting my coach."

"You missed Harris spilling soda down his shirt."

I glance toward the front of the room, watching with amusement as Harris curses and stands up from the table. Elliott is two seats down from him. He watches Harris with a sly smile, right hand poised at his side. I wonder if he's the one who knocked the can over.

"What are you up to tonight?" Nishi asks me.

"Suffering. What's up?"

"We're going to dinner. You want to come?"

I'm not sure that I want to punish myself by hanging out around lovebirds right now. I shake my head, mumbling something about homework and cleaning. The bell rings. I stand up from the table with a yawn. All I've done the last two days is sleep, and yet I can't wait to get back to bed.

Elliott's in his car by the time I leave school for the day. He must be heading to practice. From behind the steering wheel, his eyes meet mine, and I pause. He opens his mouth like he might try to say something, but as he does, Maddy slips into the passenger's seat.

"Let's go," says Gemma.

I don't look back toward the parking lot.

*

Come Tuesday, I've tried to evade all thoughts of Elliott by replacing them with thoughts of boxing. Too bad the two overlap, and by the time I get to Midtown Ring, my head hurts from overthinking.

"Hey," Andre says, stepping out of his car. "I'm going to go out on a whim and guess that something happened between you and Elliott?"

"That obvious?"

"I know teenage angst when I see it. I'm glad you texted."

He unlocks the door to the gym and leads me inside. It's quiet. Remnants of sweat and shoe marks from practice yesterday are scattered across the floor. I picture Elliott at the bag in the corner before forcing myself away from it.

"There's a competition downtown in two weeks. It's a beginner's match, so you don't have to worry about getting your ass kicked. Plus, cash prizes for winners."

A cash prize? I could pay my dad back for the stitches in my hand. I perk up.

"How do I get on the roster?"

He smirks. "Already done. Let's get you ready."

Andre does not take preparation lightly. He makes me run laps around the gym to warm up. Right as my legs are ready to collapse, he moves into bag work.

"Three crosses, five jabs. Go."

My punches land, but they're not nearly as powerful as the ones I've learned to throw. The bag swings only a few inches. Andre grabs my wrist midair, stopping my movement.

"You're not focused," he declares. "Stop thinking about him."

"Trust me, I'm not doing it on purpose."

Andre doesn't let go of my arm. I face him, frustrated. "What do you want me to do?"

"This practice is for you, not Elliott. You're here because you want to be a good boxer. I recognized that drive in you the moment you first stepped through that door. So, forget about everything else and put in the work."

I exhale. I narrow my gaze on the punching bag, focusing on the tiny threads of material holding it together. Unconsciously, my arm swings and slams into the side of the bag. It rises into the air, almost hitting Andre.

He grins. "Great. Now do that fifty more times."

I do. I hit the bag until my knees buckle beneath me, and I crash onto the floor. The tile is cold and refreshing, and I lay flat on my back, letting the coolness revive me.

"You okay?" asks Andre.

"I'm fine," I huff. "Give me a second."

"That's enough for today. You did good, kid."

I stay on the floor for another long moment before forcing myself back to my feet. Andre hands me a bottle of water, which I finish in one giant gulp.

"Will you be at practice tomorrow?"

"Do I need to be?"

He shakes his head no. "Do some cardio at home if you have to skip, but I expect to see you back next week."

He's a good coach. He's never been so harsh with me before, but I know he's only doing it because he cares. We leave the gym together, my arms and legs trembling during my walk to the train. When I get home, I fall asleep to the sound of thunderstorms outside my window. Even though every part of me aches, I feel better than I have all week.

After another rude awakening courtesy of Nirvana, I get out of bed and put on an outfit that hugs my body in just the right way. After watching Elliott and Maddy drool all over each other, I think that it's time to remind him of what he's missing. The green lace tank top is tight against my chest, and my skinny jeans make my butt appear a little more round. I throw my hair into a messy bun and let my bangs rest on my forehead.

I make sure that Elliott notices me when I walk into English. Even Maddy's jaw drops.

"You look hot today," Gemma comments, meeting me in the courtyard after last period. "Any particular reason?"

"Nope."

"Okay," she says sarcastically. "Want to come over?"

We arrive at her house a few minutes later. The smell of takeout from Simone's wafts from the kitchen to the doorway. My stomach growls audibly, making both of us giggle. We shove orange chicken and spring rolls into our mouths until neither of us can take another bite. I slump into the chair. My stomach is now two sizes too big for these tight jeans.

"How's everything with Nishi?" I ask.

"I thought we agreed on no talk of romance?"

"We said no boys. Nishi's a girl. Loophole."

Nishi's been keeping her distance from the two of us after what happened with Elliott—probably trying to give me as much alone time with Gemma as possible. It's a kindness that doesn't go unnoticed.

"Things are really good," Gemma confesses. "Like so good it doesn't feel real."

She opens her mouth, then shuts it again.

"What?" I question.

Gemma buries her face into her palm. "I think she wants to have sex."

"Oh my god. Are you going to?"

There's excitement and fear in her brown eyes, but she has nothing to be afraid of.

"I want to," she admits. "But what if I mess up?"

"There's nothing that you can possibly mess up, Gemma. It'll be perfect."

I've been hearing stories about Elliott's sex life for years now. He's always the topic of some rumor involving a back of the car session or a crazy threesome. I never bothered to ask him how many of those stories were true. Maybe I should have. Might have saved me some heartbreak.

"I want to spend more time with you both," I tell Gemma. "I'm so sorry that my life got complicated right when you found the perfect girl."

"For the record, you've always been complicated. That's why we're friends."

She gets up to put away the leftovers, and I go to the bathroom. Staring into the rustic gold mirror, I look like a completely different person from when Gemma and I first met. My hair is shorter. I've lost weight. Most notably, there's something in my hazel eyes that wasn't there before. A certain darkness that I can't shake.

I turn away from the mirror and shut the door behind me.

*

Staying away from Elliott proves to be more difficult than I thought. Every time I turn the corner at school, he's somewhere in my line of sight. His voice is so loud that I can't tune out the sound. I never realized before how intertwined our lives are.

"I am so tired of hearing about weekend plans," I complain on my walk home from school on Friday. "Does anyone here talk about things other than partying?"

"Nope," Gemma replies. "It's high school. That's all we have to live for."

"I'm over it. College better be different."

"I've got bad news for you—"

"We should do something tomorrow," I interrupt. "Maybe catch a movie?"

Honestly, sitting in a dark theater alone with my thoughts on a Saturday night feels like the most depressing thing humanly possible, but Gemma's excited, so I go with it. At the theater, she picks a cheesy romance movie that results in me thinking about Elliott more than I care to admit. I do my best to pretend like it doesn't bother me, but Gemma can see right through the facade.

"I'm sorry," she moans for the fiftieth time.

"Oh my god, Gem. I'm not mad because you picked a romance."

"I didn't think it would be so . . ."

"Romantic?"

She facepalms.

"It's okay," I reassure her. "I'll watch Saw when I get home to flush out the images."

I do actually watch it, but the sounds of my empty house start to freak me out too much to keep it on. I yawn before making my way upstairs to my bathroom.

The darkness in my eyes has grown stronger. Their usual greenish-brown color has faded completely. I step closer to the mirror and lean in to inspect the dull, lifeless gray.

I blink.

Mom smirks with skin so pale that it chills me.

I let out a gasp that sounds more like a scream, tripping backward away from the mirror. My back slams into the shower curtain, and I grab the wall to stop myself from falling.

It's happening again, it's happening again, it wasn't happening, but now it's happening again.

When I raise my chin, all I see is myself. My face is exactly as it should be, minus the colorless shadow that won't vanish. I bite down on my lip and turn toward the doorway. The image of my mother's face blending with mine stays plastered in my brain, unfading.

No more mirrors,I decide. No more reflections.