A Matter of Heart (48 page)

I’m brushing my teeth when
Jonah comes into my bathroom. His hair is still wet from his shower when he
sets a bottle of pills down on the counter in front of me.

I stare down at the bottle,
wondering which one he found. I don’t have to guess because he sets another
bottle down next to the first.

“I found these,” he says,
“while looking for my earphones.”

I close my eyes and mentally
smack myself for my stupidity. Jonah tends to store spare pairs of earphones in
the drawers next to both of our beds. He goes through earphones like kids go
through Halloween candy; he’s always losing them. I’d forgotten about that when
I’d tried to hide the bottles of sleeping pills and anti-anxiety meds I’d
procured in New York with Callie last week.

The day after she told me
about Kellan and his intensified efforts to refocus his pain, be it with
alcohol, sky diving, or the like, I broke down and found a doctor willing to
see me on extremely short notice. The way I figured it, a non doctor couldn’t
spill the beans on me—not that I think Kate Blackthorn is breaking
Shaman-patient confidentiality, but still. I wanted somebody that had nothing
to do with Annar. It took this doctor less than five minutes to diagnose me as
depressed; it took even less time to write me a script for drugs. I was
surprised at the ease of the whole process, but Callie told me later on there
are some doctors who, when you wave enough money around (which she actually
forced me to take from her), will give you pretty much anything you want.
Especially this one, who she’d apparently been seeing for over a year now
without her mother knowing.

I finish brushing my teeth
and rinse before turning around. I can’t meet his eyes.

“This one I can figure out
since it says to take at bedtime when you’re too stressed
to sleep. And
I can’t say I’m too surprised, as I know you’ve been having some trouble
sleeping lately.” He shakes the amber bottle and sets it down. “But this one
surprised me.” He picks the second bottle up. “Because, I’m an Emotional,
right? And I think I have a pretty good handle on the emotions you let me
feel.” He gives me a knowing look that’s filled with far too much hurt. “But I
must be the crappiest Emotional in Annar, because these are for acute anxiety,
something I haven’t picked up often from you in months.”

Not since I learned how to
block it from you, is what I should say. I take the bottle from him and wrap my
fingers around the label, like it’ll somehow hide the truth.

He steps closer; when he
speaks, his voice nearly breaks me. “Since when do you need Human meds?
Especially for emotions?”

I can’t do this anymore. I’m
hurting him even now. This—I thought this would help. I thought me getting a
handle on my feelings on my own would help. But once again, Chloe Lilywhite
manages to hurt those that matter the most.

An awful thought comes to
me. What if Jonah finds ways to hurt himself, too? Like his brother?

Pieces of me disintegrate as
I reach out and tug up his shirt. His leather belt is well worn but unmarked.
But my relief is short-lived, because when he grabs my hand and asks quietly,
“What are you looking for?” I notice a crisscross series of pink, freshly
picked scabbed lines midway up his forearm.

Is this what he’s doing?
Cutting himself? I burst into tears, my control immediately gone.

I’m in his arms, and he’s
asking me over and over again, why am I crying? Why won’t I let him in?

I blubber repeatedly how
sorry I am until he tells me he’s going to calm me down. I fumble with the lid
to my pills, but he knocks them out of my hands. “I’ve got you,” he tells me.
“Trust me.”

If
only he could trust me.

Later, when I’m calmer, and
I know he won’t let it go, I point to the lines on his arm. “Why would you do
that, Jonah?” I’m whimpering. It’s so pathetic, but I’m actually whimpering.
“I’m not worth it.”

He looks down at his arm,
which only moments before had held me close against his heart. “Do what?” And
then, before I can say anything, he adds, “And, for the record, whatever you
are referring to, you are absolutely worth it. You’re worth everything to me.”

I gingerly touch the pink
lines. I can’t look him in the face. I just can’t. How can he be so loving when
I’ve done so much damage to him? To his brother? To his family?

“Chloe, love—I’m confused.
Are you asking about these scratches?”

Scratches. Right.

“I . . . these are from
Emily’s cat. Remember? We were over at Karl and Moira’s on Monday, and Emily’s
cat jumped on my lap and then scratched me when I tried to encourage it to jump
off?”

Silence from my end.
Because, yes, that did happen, but . . .

His words are slow. “Did you
think I did this to myself?”

I don’t know. That’s the
problem. I have no idea what he does to relieve his stress and pain. And I
should. I am the worlds’ worst fiancée.

He’s quiet for a long moment.
“I’m not Kellan, Chloe.”

Now I look at him. Does he
know about Kellan’s belt? He seemed confused when I was checking earlier, so .
. .

“Is that what you thought?
That I’m like my brother, and I’m finding ways to hurt myself?”

Everything in me screams to
tell him the truth, but I can’t. The words won’t come.

He smoothes the hair around
my face. “Talk to me, honey. Let me help you.”

My
silence indicates I have nothing to tell, which is the biggest lie of all,
because I fear I’m going to burst all too soon from everything that needs to be
said.

Jonah decides we need to go
out to dinner. He says he’s found a restaurant that he guarantees I’ll fall in
love with. “It’s perfect,” he tells me as we head down our elevator. “It’s got
lots and lots of chocolate desserts.”

Tell him about the ulcer
,
Caleb urges.

But I don’t. And I don’t
have the heart to tell him that I don’t feel like eating anything anymore,
chocolate or no.

We are a few blocks away
from the restaurant, holding hands, when somebody yells,
“You asshole!”

We both stop and turn around
to find Sophie Greenfield darting across the street; if looks could kill, we’d
be dead, that’s for sure. But when she’s just a few feet away, the anger on her
face melts into embarrassment. “I thought you were your brother, Jonah. I am so
sorry.” She manages to appear heartbreakingly gorgeous in her effort to ooze
charming contrition. “Hi Chloe. It’s nice to see you again.”

Even still, her eyes are
rimmed in red; it’s clear she’s been crying. All of her pale beauty isn’t marred
by this, though. It just makes her look more delicate, more sympathetic.

I inch closer to Jonah, who
loops an arm around my shoulders. Yet another person I’ve damaged. I basically
forced Kellan to dump her. And what for? So he could be miserable and alone
while I’m here with Jonah?

Breathe, Chloe.
Breathe
.

Jonah tells her it’s okay,
no harm, no foul, but when he makes a move to lead me away, she stops us. “It’s
just . . .” A pair of tears slide down her face. “I’m not taking the breakup
with your brother well, I’m afraid.”

I study my shoes. Jonah
tenses, clearly uncomfortable, but his voice is even when he tells her, “I’m
sorry to hear that.”

“I . . . I love him.” Her
voice is tremulous, like a wounded angel’s. “He won’t even talk to me right
now.”

Jonah is silent. I count the
cracks in the sidewalk.

“We were . . . it was real.”
she says to us. “And now . . .” She stifles a sob. “How can a heart just change
course like that?”

“Sophie, I am truly sorry to
hear that you’re having a tough time,” Jonah says gently, “but I really don’t
think we’re the best people for you to be talking to this about.”

If she heard him, she shows
no sign of it. “Did you know he broke up with me via text?” She emits a gurgly
laugh. I think she pulls out a phone, because I hear some beeps. “Who does
that?”

Jonah mutters something
under his breath. Louder, he says, “Sophie, I really think—”

“Can you talk to him for
me?” She takes a step closer to us. My heart thumps jackrabbit fast. “Let him
know how much I love him?”

Jonah doesn’t answer. Me,
I’m still just trying to breathe.

“When I met him, I saw our
whole future together.” She wrings her hands. “Wedding. Baby. Gray hair. The
whole package. He’s the one.”

Searing anger consumes me
before I can block it from Jonah. And I know he feels it, because his arm turns
to stone around me.

“I won’t let him go,” she
continues. “I can’t. Tell him I’ll fight for him. He’s worth it.”

Then she walks away, and
Jonah’s arm drops like I’m on fire. Panic replaces the anger, quick as a flash.

I start shaking and then
cry. I’ve finally, completely lost the control I’ve been so desperate to
maintain these past few months. I don’t even have the luxury of being
embarrassed about being caught like this on a busy, crowded sidewalk because my
stomach is flaring and cramping and I feel like there are more cracks in my
poorly constructed façade than I can count down below my feet.

I’m drowning. I can’t even
keep my head above the waterline anymore. I’m flat out drowning.

“Forget the restaurant.”
Jonah grabs my face, makes it so I have to look up at him. “Forget Sophie.
Forget all of this. We’re going to go away, okay? Just you and me. Tonight.”

All I can do is nod. We
don’t even go back to the apartments to pack bags—he tells me he’ll get
everything taken care of later. He just wants to get me out of Annar as fast as
possible.

I don’t question him when we
get to the Transit Station. I don’t bother to look which doorway he leads me
through. I know I ought to be looking around me, seeing which gorgeous location
he’s brought me to, but I don’t. I feel so hollow, so lost.

When
he gently pushes me down into a bed, I don’t even remember coming in through a
door. “Sleep, baby,” he says quietly in my ear, and I do, because he makes me.

There are voices somewhere
nearby, maybe in another room, and I know them well, even as drowsy and
disoriented as I feel, because they’re speaking in half sentences.

“Thanks for these,” Jonah
says.

Silence. And then, “She’s
taking
pills
? From some non quack in New York, no less. Let me guess—Cal
showed her where to find this shit. How long have you known?”

More silence.

“Look, I just want to go and
talk—”

“No.” Jonah is quiet but
firm.

“You don’t get to—”

“Today, I do.”

The silence stretches out
before us.

And then, “Fine. I’ll go.
But I swear, if you don’t tell me next time—”

“I’ll tell you,” Jonah says.
“But today, there can’t be any more stress. Please.”

This
time, the silence remains after Kellan leaves. And the cramps return,
full-force.

We are in Italy, the only
one of Jonah’s homes not located by a superb surfing spot.

“Why did Joey pick this
place?” I ask as he sets down a plate of fruit and biscuits for me. He’s so
optimistic, but I can’t stand the thought of that bread touching my lips.

“Who can resist Italy?” His
dimple is adorable. “Technically, we’re not too far from water.”

Beyond the window is a
bustling city filled with beautiful architecture and honking cars. If there’s
water, I’m not seeing it. “Where are we?”

He spreads jam on one of the
biscuits on my plate. “Rome.”

I have to laugh. “So by
water
,
you’re actually referring to the Tiber river.”

The dimple deepens. “Did you
know that my mother’s family is from Italy?”

I didn’t, actually. But I’m
thrilled to learn this. Jonah so rarely speaks of his mother that any little
piece of information about her is as valuable as gold. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He nudges my plate
closer. “She was born in Annar, but spent much of her childhood here in Rome.”