Knife's Edge

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It's difficult to describe what heartbreak feels like. It's not like in the movies, where after a good cry and some ice cream things seem to get better. In fact, it's impossible to know when things even start to get better because it's just too unpredictable.

One day, you're bawling your eyes out, cocooned up in bed like a sad little burrito, then the next you're cleaning the house from top to bottom in a frenzied attempt to keep busy. The next day, you go to work and start to think that things are getting better and then, without warning, you revert back to being a mess, cutting up a vase full of carnations sat on your bedroom windowsill.

Heartbreak is hourly changes of emotion: hurt, anger, confusion, numbness, determination, and heart-wrenching sadness. It's pretending to feel none of these things because there's this constant need to prove to everyone that you're actually okay, even when you know you're not. Honestly, if someone asked me to sum up heartbreak in just one word, that word would be this: exhausting.

It's been less than a week since I broke up with Dylan but it feels like a lifetime has passed. Maybe it would be easier if he actually got the message and stopped thinking he could fix things. Countless texts and calls from him a day (each shortly followed by a voicemail after I've left my phone to ring off) is just making everything harder.

He's even been to the house a few times to see me – apparently he wants to talk, whatever the hell that means – and each time he's had Owen tell him to go and eat a particular part of the male anatomy, before having the door slammed in his face.

Owen can be a pain in the ass at times, but you've got to love the kid.

As for Megan, I haven't heard a peep from her, at all. She tried calling a few times the day I ditched her at the pub, but either she spoke to Dylan or figured it out on her own. She hasn't tried calling again because, apparently, she's a thief and a coward.

My phone begins to sing out in my back pocket as Dylan tries to call again. I don't have time for him – or a pity party for myself – so I press ignore and keep walking. There's somewhere I have to be.

My footsteps tap against the cracked pavement as I make my way towards the Coleman's house, kicking the odd stone out of my way as I go. Bailey has been there for a few hours by this point, finishing off the Krueger marathon with Alex after school and, as promised, she messaged to let me know that she'd be finishing it late. It's turning to dusk now as I make the journey to pick her up, having told Stella that she's busy at an after school sports club.

I'm not entirely sure when to break it to Bailey that she's going to have to brush up on her netball knowledge; she's not really the sporty type.

When I reach the house, I knock on the door and wait. Then, I wait a little more. When the door doesn't open, I knock again, unsure if anyone heard the first time. Still, it doesn't budge.

Right as panic is starting to claw its icy grip, the front door swings open to reveal Finn. He looks stressed and, if I had to guess, I'd say it has something to do with the yelling I can hear travelling through from the living room.

As I'm sure you can imagine, the sound doesn't ease my panic all that much.

"Where is she?" I ask.

"Living room," he replies, opening the door wider as I invite myself in, pushing past him.

"Jade, wait... I should warn you–"

The door to the living room is slightly ajar and, when I push it open fully, I freeze at the sight of Andrew. He sits on one of the sofas, inky bruises scattered over his bare torso as his t-shirt sits discarded next to him. The fabric appears torn, as if sliced with scissors for easy removal – and it's no wonder why.