Chapter 2

Elinore POV:

The line went dead, leaving a deafening silence. For a long moment, the only sound was my own breathing, ragged and uneven. Then, the phone rang again, vibrating violently in my hand. Carter. I stared at the caller ID, a cold resolve hardening my features. I wasn't going to pick up. Not this time.

He called again. And again. Each ring was a desperate plea, then a demand, then a threat. I let it all go to voicemail, my finger hovering over the block button. Not yet. I needed him to hear this. I needed to say it one last time, with every fiber of my being.

My phone buzzed with a text. Carter: Don't you dare do this, Elinore. Don't you dare! You'll regret it. You'll come crawling back.

My lips curled into a humorless smile. Crawling back? Never. Not after everything.

The phone rang one more time, and this time, I answered. "What do you want, Carter?" My voice was flat, devoid of the emotion he probably expected.

"What do I want?" His voice was a strangled roar, bursting through the speaker. "What in the hell do you think you're doing, Elinore? Ending things? Just like that? After everything we've been through? Do you think I'm some disposable toy you can just throw away when you're bored?"

"Disposable?" I retorted, a sharp laugh escaping me. "You're talking about disposable? Who was disposable when I was lying in a hospital bed, barely able to breathe? Who was disposable when I needed you most?"

His voice faltered for a second, a flicker of something that sounded almost like guilt. But it was quickly replaced by anger. "That's not fair, Elinore! Brittney needed me! Her grandmother was wandering around, confused. You were just having a panic attack, you've had those before!"

The words hit me like a physical blow, even though I'd expected them. Just a panic attack. He said it with such dismissiveness, as if my body seizing and my lungs refusing to work was a minor inconvenience compared to Brittney's manufactured drama.

I remembered that night with visceral clarity. The air felt thick, heavy, pressing down on my chest. Each breath was a struggle, a desperate gasp for life. My inhaler was useless, my vision blurring at the edges. I had called Carter, my voice a desperate croak. "Carter... I can't breathe. It's bad. I need you."

He had been on his way, speeding across town. I remembered the relief, the faint flicker of hope that he would be there, would save me. Then his phone rang. Brittney's panicked voice, frantic and exaggerated, sliced through the static. "Carter! Oh my god, Grandma's gone! She just walked out! I don't know what to do! I'm so scared!"

I heard Carter sigh, a frustrated sound, but then his voice softened. "Brittney, calm down. I'm coming. Where are you?"

My heart had plummeted. "Carter, no!" I choked out, tears streaming down my face. "Please, Carter! I'm dying! I need the hospital! You said you were coming here!"

He had hesitated. A long, agonizing pause where my life hung in the balance. Then, his voice, laced with what he probably thought was reason. "Elinore, Brittney is alone. Her grandmother has dementia, that's serious. You just need to try and calm down. Take deep breaths. I'll call an ambulance for you. I'll be there as soon as I can, after I help Brittney."

Just calm down. Just a panic attack. The memory was a fresh wound, festering and putrid. I had pleaded, begged, even threatened to never speak to him again if he left me. He had simply said, "Don't be dramatic, Elinore. Brittney needs me more right now. This is an emergency, yours isn't." And then, he hung up.

I ended up calling for an ambulance myself, my fingers fumbling, my vision swimming. I was alone when the paramedics arrived. Alone when they rushed me to the emergency room, pumping me with oxygen and medications. Alone when I finally stabilized, weak and terrified, the ghost of his betrayal a cold weight in my chest. He never showed up. Not that night. Not the next day. He finally messaged me two days later, asking if I was "over my little episode."

"Don't worry, Carter," I said now, my voice dripping with venom, "I don't need to try and make you look like you don't care. You do a perfectly good job of that yourself."

"Elinore, you're being hysterical!" he shouted, snapping me back to the present. "This is your fault! You're the one throwing away everything we built! You'll regret this! You'll come back begging, I swear to God you will, and when you do, I won't take you back! Not after this! You want to end it? Fine! But don't expect me to be waiting around!"

I could almost see his face, contorted in rage, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing. This was his usual tactic. Yell, blame, threaten, then watch me crumble and apologize. But I wasn't crumbling. Not anymore.

"I won't be begging, Carter," I said, my voice steady and cold. "And you know what the funny thing is? I feel absolutely nothing. No regret. No sadness. Just... relief."

His breath hitched. He had clearly expected a fight, tears, a desperate plea for him to reconsider. Not this utter indifference.

Then, Brittney's saccharine voice, a whisper that was meant to be heard, floated from his end of the call. "Carter, baby, don't let her upset you. She's just lashing out because she knows she lost you. She's always been so jealous of our friendship."

I rolled my eyes. The same old song and dance. "Save it, Brittney," I cut in, my voice sharp. "Your performance is getting old. And Carter? Before you start another one of your pathetic rants, just know this: I'm coming over to collect my things. And then, we're done. For good. You and I, we're strangers."

I didn't wait for his response. I just hung up. The finality of the click echoed in the quiet room. It felt good. Really good. This was not a fight. This was an execution. And I was the one pulling the trigger. The surge of anger, the bitterness, the pain – it was all being transmuted into something else. Something clean and resolute. It was the moment I chose myself. And I knew, with absolute certainty, I would never look back.