She never came through for me. Those shifts in plans, which already made me uneasy to begin with, created a wall of frustration and anger, solid as a brick barrier. It took weeks and months and years before I got over the anger and the resentment. To this day, I’m not sure I ever really have.
Disappointment sits in my stomach like a blacksmith’s anvil, weighing everything down. It makes me feel like I am the problem. I am the reason.
I am not worthy.
It’s the same thing. It’s always the same.
I’d foolishly hoped that this one moment in time, this victory, would make me deserving of admiration, of respect…
Of love.
Jenna told me she loved me, but she’s not here by my side showing me that love when I need her most. I close my eyes, trying to imagine her standing here next to me in this cold, horrible hospital instead of Mia.
But I can’t. Instead, I only burn with hurt and rage. I try to breathe through it so I can make it through these next few hours before I’m out of here.
Mia sits down and is talking, but I’m not listening. And once Adam returns, the only thing I can do is sit here and wish that Adam and Mia were Jenna instead, and that she’s sitting beside me and holding my hand. But reality is a cold harsh distance from that fantasy—as cold and harsh as this hospital room, where the only thing I have to warm me is my burning anger.
Chapter 35
Jenna
It was just past lunchtime when we got home, but instead of grabbing a bite to eat, I poured a shot of tequila left over from our drinking night escapade and chased it with some juice.
“Jenna—”
I jerked my hand up to stop Alex from whatever she was about to say.
“No, Alejandra. I don’t want to hear it.”
I grabbed the bottle of Cuervo and took it into my bedroom. Then, divorced from all emotion—and all logical thought—I calmly started packing up my stuff.
Everything went into boxes. The two suitcases would go with me, and I’d ask Alex to store a couple of boxes at her mom’s house. The rest I’d give away…to friends, to charity, whoever. As long as I could get rid of it all.
Old things just brought back old memories—and I didn’t want any of those. They hurt too much. My heartbeat raced with fear and misery with each box I packed up, so I’d take another drink and continue, my hands working as if independent of my feelings.
Fate was calling. It was time to move on. But every time I had that thought, my heart hurt like it had been scraped by a piece of glass.
I heard Papa’s voice in my head…“Budi hraba, kci.” You must be brave…
It had been chilly that April morning as he loaded me up on the refugee truck in the outskirts of Sarajevo, along with my sister and my aunt. We’d finally had the opportunity to pass safely through the warzone to Zagreb. That day he’d pressed the tiara in my hand, assuring me it would be safe inside the beautifully lacquered case. Explaining how my grandmother had worn it on her wedding day, as her mother had before her. “You’re a princess and you need to be kept safe. I’ll see you soon. Obecavam.” I promise.
He’d broken that promise. Mama told me he’d died in minutes, bleeding out in the gutters on a street we’d walked down nearly every day of my young life there.
Papa...I can’t do this anymore. It hurts too much. Please take this pain away.
Even in my tequila stupor, everything was too tight—my clothes, my chest, my fists. The doorbell rang and I glanced out my bedroom window, astonished to see that it was dark. The entire day had passed me by in my heartache-induced daze.
“Hello?” I heard a familiar voice call into the apartment. Helena.
I’d used all the tissues in my room, so I bolted out the door and toward the bathroom, but she was standing in the hallway, blocking my progress.
“Oh Janjica!” she said, taking my face in her elegant, long-fingered hands. “What are we going to do with you?”
Instead of answering, I sniffed and hiccupped, my lip quivering. I thought about the tragedy that linked the two of us, and how fitting it was that she was here right now. Helena pushed the hair from my face back behind my ear. Over her shoulder, I could see Alex watching us, and I knew then that it was Alex who had called her.
“Don’t be mad at Alex,” Helena said, reading my mind—as usual. “She’s worried about you. And so am I.”
I shivered and the tears came in a rush again. Helena pulled me into a hug, and I pressed my face to her shoulder and sobbed. “I can’t forget that night, Helena. I can’t.”
She knew what I was talking about without even having to ask. “You never will…and neither will I,” she said, switching to Bosnian. “That night changed us all forever.”
She gave me a little nudge toward my bedroom. As soon as we’d entered, Alex handed me a fresh box of tissues and then shut the door behind us.
Helena sank down on the bed beside me as I rocked back and forth, fisting my hands. She gave the bare room a onceover, her eyes landing on the boxes lining the wall. In mere hours, my life had been condensed into those boxes and I was ready to move on.
“Tell me what happened…”
I inhaled a shuddery breath and let it go. “There’s a boy…and…” My voice trembled, and I glanced up at her before quickly looking away. “He’s a man, actually, but…”
Helena placed an arm around my shoulders, watching my face carefully. “Go on, Janja. Tell me about him.”
My cheeks heated and I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, feeling oddly guilty. Like I was cheating on her…and Brock.
“Last night I, uh…I told him I loved him.”
She nodded. “And it’s the truth? Do you love him?”
That shard of glass scraped over my heart again and the air hissed from my lungs. I doubled over. “Yes. I love him. I love him so much. So much it hurts. Oh God, Helena. I’m sorry.”
Her arm tightened, pulling me back to a sitting position. “Love is nothing to apologize for. And we are not meant to love only one person in our lives. You loved Braco. And now you love this man, too. That’s not a betrayal.”
My pitiful sobs started up again, drowning out her noble speech. “He’ll die, Helena. He’ll die, just like the others. Like Papa. Like Brock.”
She inhaled sharply and reached to push my hair back from my face. “Stop this. Right now. You have the right to love a man, and you have the right to be loved. Stop hurting yourself because you lived and Braco didn’t.”