The Heartbroken - S01 E102

Story 2 years ago

The Heartbroken - S01 E102

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 102

There was a white

plastic bag on the dining

room table when I got

home. My thoughts

whirred to a stop as I

peered inside the plastic

bag. The familiar made

my stomach lurch.

That was the moment

my mother decided to

walk into the dining

room. She was probably

coming down for a

glass of water before

climbing up to her room

to finish up some work.

She stopped upon

seeing me.

“Oh. You’re home,” she

said.

“Is this from Xin

Zhao’s?” I asked her,

pointing at the plastic

bag.

“Oh. Yeah,” she said. “I

ordered some takeout. I

was planning to eat

with you.”

“Oh.” I looked down at

the floor. “Sorry. I didn’t

know. I had some pizza

with a friend.”

“No, no. I should have

made sure you were

home.” The expression

on her face was so hard

to look at. She was

forcing out a smile,

taking the blame for

the whole thing.

I swallowed past the

lump in my throat. “No. I

should have told you I

was going out.”

She looked at me,

pressing her lips

together. “It’s okay. It

was my fault.” She

waved her hand in a

gesture that clearly

meant It’s fine, it’s

fine. “Did you have fun?”

I nodded. I felt so bad

about the whole thing.

Xin Zhao’s was a

Chinese restaurant at

the edge of town. It

was Dad’s guilty

pleasure. He loved

everything about the

place. At least once a

week, we used to have

these lazy nights where

we’d just order some

takeout and eat,

straight out of the

carton, the three of us

together while

watching some bad

reality TV show.

We’d never eaten

anything from Xin

Zhao’s since the day he

died. It had been nine

years since then. The

fact that she bought

some now seemed like

a big thing, like a big

moment. And I missed

it.

“Have you eaten?” I

asked her, eyeing the

plastic bag, and I knew

she hadn’t.

“I’m not hungry,” she

replied. “It’s fine, fine. I’ll

just put the food in the

fridge for now and we

can just heat it up

tomorrow.”

She forced another

smile before heading to

the kitchen, grabbing

the plastic bag from the

table on her way.

I stood there for a

second longer before

leaving to go to my

room, wondering if the

night would have gone

differently if I didn’t go

out, wondering why life

always played these

kind of awful tricks

when you’re least

expecting them.

At some point between

taking a quick shower

and watching a movie,

my phone started

ringing. It was, needless

to say, Seth. I put the

movie on pause and

answered the call.

I hadn’t even said hello

when he began talking

in that confident, cocky

way of his. “So tell me,”

he said, “why is one of

my best friends sending

me death threats for, I

quote, being the worst

boyfriend ever?”

“Hello to you too,” I

said, turning away from

the laptop and letting

myself lean back

against my pillows, my

phone pressed against

my ear.

“There’s no time to say

hello when my friend is

preparing a guillotine for

my untimely death,” he

replied without missing

a beat.

“Shall I assist her with

the preparations, then?”

I offered.

“Kyla, if you wanted me

to take you out on a

date, you should have

just told me,” he said

and as usual, I could

clearly imagine him

smirking like the jerk he

is. “No need for

medieval death

contraptions and my

crazy best friend

sending me death

threats to be involved.”

Bigheaded jerk. “Okay,

first off, I don’t want

to go on a date. Second,

why can’t I take you

out on a date?”

“So you do want to go

on a date,” he said in a

triumphant voice.

“No. I’m just making a

point, you sexist pig.”

“You don’t have to

pretend to be a

feminist just so we

could go on a date,” he

tried again, making me

roll my eyes at his

stubborn and cocky

attempts.

“I really don’t want to

go on a date with you,”

I insisted.

“And I,” he said, “don’t

want to die early. So,

Saturday night sounds

good to you?”

“No. I don’t want—”

“Okay, good. I can’t wait

too!” he said, much too

cheerfully.

“Seth,” I warned.

“Kyla.” He matched my

tone.

“We can just pretend

we went on a date,” I

said. “Make up the

details and stuff.”

“Or we can go on a real

date,” he shot back.

“Come on. Do you really

think Alyssa’s going to

let this go? I half-

expect her to spy on us

during the date.”

“Oh, my god, she’s

totally going to spy on

us. I know it. She’s

crazy, that girl.” I was

only half-joking when I

said this.

“Crazy is sort of an

understatement,” he

replied. “What normal

person threatens your

life with a guillotine?”

“She probably has an

underground medieval

torture chamber with

wall braces and stuff,” I

said.

“With enough room for

the two of us when

she finds out that we

didn’t really go on a

date.”

“Why do you want to go

to this date so badly?” I

asked him. “It’s not like

we really have to.”

“Has it ever occurred to

you that I might

actually want to spend

time with you?” He was

starting to sound less

cocky, more irritated.

“Is this the moment

where you confess your

undying love for me?” I

asked him in a very flat

tone, every word

dripping in sarcasm.

“It’s the moment

where you should admit

that you enjoy my

company enough for

you to agree to go on a

friendly date with me.”

His voice rose, so I

knew he was getting

agitated. “Come on,

Kyla.”

“Why do you keep

assuming that I enjoy

being with you?” I

snapped at him.

“Well, don’t you?” he

snapped back.

“That’s not the point,” I

said. “It’s just that, you

keep assuming I would

go along with every

little thing that you

want to do without

even asking me.”

He fell silent, so that all

I could hear through the

static was his quiet

breathing. After a

moment, he said, “Well,

sorry I’m such a bother

to you.” His voice had

lost its edge,

completely devoid of

emotion. “I wasn’t

aware you hate my

company that much.”

“Seth, that’s not what I

—”

He hung up.

He freaking hung up on

me. I looked down at

my phone in shock.

What the f--k just

happened? The

conversation was such

a blur. Guillotine…

Medieval contraptions…

Crazy best friends…

How did it go from that

to me, staring in shock

at my phone?

Pissed, I tossed my

phone (on my bed)

away. Why was he

turning it into such a big

deal?

Too mad to continue

watching the movie I’d

been busy with for the

past thirty minutes, I

decided I should just

sleep and forget all this

ever happened.

Except, of course, I

couldn’t.

I kept thrashing around,

uncomfortable in every

position as I messed up

the sheets of my bed.

Every so often, I would

pick my phone up, only

to toss it away again. It

was stupid.