The Heartbroken - S01 E192

Story 2 years ago

The Heartbroken - S01 E192

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 192

To Cedric’s credit, the ending of Life

of Pi really did need to be discussed

properly. As the credits rolled in, I

turned to Cedric with wide eyes

and began asking him multitude of

questions about his thoughts on

the ending.

Soon, we were both rambling on

and on, our words overlapping,

both of us jumping in to finish the

other’s sentences.

“I can’t—I can’t wrap my head

around the idea,” I told him. “It’s

so… so open-ended. My brain can’t

process it.”

“Mindfucked, I told you,” he

pointed out. “See? This is why I

needed you to forget about your

—”

“Literary values?”

He made a face. “Will you ever let

that go?”

“I probably won’t.”

We had both agreed that the

ending was basically forcing us

choose whether we were realistic

or idealistic when I spotted the

electric guitar on the corner of the

room.

It was slightly obscured from our

view I’d forgotten about it up until

now. I stood up from the floor and

nearly tripped on some wires in my

hurry to get to the guitar.

It had been sitting there, collecting

dust for months, and for the

longest while, I had no idea what

to do with it. Now, I was glad I

hadn’t put it up for sale or

whatever.

I grabbed it and brought it back to

where Cedric was sitting.

He got to his feet, eyeing the black

guitar case. “Kyla, is that—”

“Yes.” I held it out to him. “It was

supposed to be your birthday gift.”

His eyes flew back to mine. “You

didn’t return it?”

“I couldn’t make myself.” I took a

deep breath and looked down at

my feet. “I think, all this time, I

always thought we’d get back

together.”

He took it from me, slightly in awe

as he carefully set one end down

on the floor. For a moment, he just

looked at it, unmoving, then slowly,

he zipped it open.

He inhaled sharply, then he let his

hands trail over the smooth black

and white surface. “Kyla. I can’t…”

“It looks good, yeah?”

“It’s not just that.” When he looked

at me, his eyes reflected a storm of

different emotions. “You kept it.

After all this time.”

“Of course,” I said, “of course, I

did.”

—

Only when Cedric left did I let myself

think of the whole writing contest

thing.

I still couldn’t come up with

anything, which was alarming,

because the deadline was

tomorrow. I was supposed to send

something by 11:59 pm the next

day. I considered pushing my luck

and trying to write tomorrow

instead. I might have a stroke of

luck or inspiration or whatever that

could convince me to write.

Then again, I might not, so I heaved

a sigh and brought my laptop to my

bed and opened Word.

I wanted to write about Dad. Or

Cedric. Or even Seth. All of them

meant so much to me, in their own

ways. But I’d spent the whole week

trying to write about each of them

and I couldn’t seem to get past the

first few paragraphs.

. It wasn’t like I’d lose anything if I

decided not to join. The only one

who knew I’d be writing was Seth

—and he was the only one I’d be

letting down.