Click to Subscribe - By L. M. Augustine Page 0,20
promised she’d have on.
But how could Cat have on Harper’s shirt?
Unless…
Oh my god…
“I’m Harper Knight,” Cat whispers, her blue eyes locked on mine. She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, just takes a deep breath and says, “I made her up.”
As soon as the words leave her mouth, my mind explodes with thoughts. I feel my insides go cold, and my whole stomach tightens. Harper isn’t real? I’ve been falling for a made-up human this whole? Oh god, oh god, oh fucking hell. Somehow, this is even more pathetic than falling for a sixty-year-old creeper.
“So you did this all… why? As a joke?” I stand up, my hands shaking. This cannot be real. My one last chance at love, gone in an instant. I had my heart set on Harper, and this is what I get? A slap in the face?
“No—” Cat starts to blurt out, but I cut in again.
“You’re my best friend,” I whisper, not turning away from her. “I thought I trusted you.”
“West, that’s not—”
“Not what?” I shake my head and run my hands through my hair. This can’t be happening. This can’t be. I finally thought I’d found someone, someone for me, and it turns out the person I trust most in this world made it all up? Shit shit shit. What is even going on anymore?
She closes her eyes. “Not… how I meant it,” she says softly.
“Then how did you mean it?” I’m angry now, and I can’t help but let the rage slip into my voice.
This time, she stops. She looks at me, hard and sad. I’ve never seen Cat look at me like that before. “West?” Her hands tighten at her sides, and I can feel the old ladies watching us with excitement, like we’re their newest soap opera. The sad thing is, they’re probably right. My life in the past year has been just about the equivalent to that of characters in soap operas. “You really want to know?”
In that instant, by the seriousness of Cat’s voice, I know I don’t, in fact, want to know. But I’m too curious for my own good. “Yes.” I taste bile in my mouth as soon as I say it, and the nausea washes over me in a rush. All I want to do is leave, run away and keep screaming and crying until I wake up from this nightmare.
Cat takes one last breath, reaches out, and brushes the tips of her fingers against my arm. Our eyes lock—hard—and we stare at each other for the longest time before Cat finally whispers, her eyes misting with tears, “I didn’t make up Harper because I wanted to prank you. I made her up because I love you.”
***
When your best friend tells you she loves you, you can do one of three things:
1) You can tell her you love her too and then make out with her passionately.
2) You can run away.
3) Or you can just stare at her for what feels like a century without speaking a word like a senseless idiot and only create more awkwardness for everyone.
Guess which reaction is mine? You betcha. #3. I think it’s a solid five minutes of me gawking, not knowing how to respond, not knowing what the hell I’m supposed to do, before anything happens. Yeah. That awkward.
My heart is hammering now, and I swear my tongue has refused to work because as much as I try to open my mouth and speak, no words will come out. Beads of sweat drip down my neck, and the throbbing in my head pounds harder, harder, harder.
Cat is in love with me.
Oh my god.
“You know what? Forget it,” Cat says when I don’t react, shaking her head and gathering up her things. “This was stupid. Forget it ever happened.”
“Wait, Cat,” I say, reaching blindly for her arm, as if I could possibly make this anymore awkward. (Hint: apparently, I can.)
She pushes past my grip. “No, no…” She grabs her bag, turns, and starts to fast-walk to the exit. “I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have done this to you.”
“Cat,” I call after her, but she’s already rushing to the door, pulling it open, and getting the hell out of here like I should’ve done long ago. My whole body screams at me to just do something and to fucking fix this already, but I can’t. I can’t think. Can’t move. “That’s not…” I start to blurt out, but she’s already gone. “…what I meant,” I finish, dropping my voice,