Page 100 of Hannah.

She shoves them into my hands, and I shuffle through them, pretending to compare one to the other while Astrid drones onand on. All I can think is that he’s left me, that Johan and Astrid are getting engaged, and that everything has changed.

Even as I help her select a pretty cream-colored paper, my heart breaks, and there is nothing I can do about it.

“Obviously, you’re invited,” Astrid continues. “We’d both love to have you there.”

My jaw works, but no sound comes out. How in the hell am I hearing these words coming from her mouth right now? It’s Wednesday, and just a few days ago, Johan took my virginity with such careful tenderness that I was positive there was something more to it. Hell, he told me how strong his feelings were! How he saw me as part of his future! Now I’m helping his fiancée pick out envelope colors?

A horrible thought starts taking shape in the back of my mind. Could he have just screwed me out of curiosity before settling down with Astrid? Was I just something he needed to get out of his system before following his parents’ expectations and marrying his perfect match?

“Hannah?” Astrid asks, and I shake myself out of the dark place my mind has wandered to.

“Sorry,” I say, my voice shaky. “You know, I forgot about an assignment that’s due, and I really need to go work on it.”

“Oh, okay,” she answers, her smile faltering.

“Congratulations,” I manage to choke out.

Then, grabbing my things and abandoning my half-eaten meal, I rush out of the café and as far away from Astrid and Johan’s engagement party invitations as possible.

This must be some sort of mistake. I refuse to believe that he’s abandoned me like this. All of the sweet things he told me, all the promises he made… surely Johan wouldn’t be that cruel?

Would he? I hurry back to my dorm and lock the door behind me. Once inside, I pull out my phone and check my text messages and emails, hoping that maybe there’s a note there.Some sign that Johan is still thinking of me. There’s nothing, though. I call him several times, but unsurprisingly, no one picks up.

I pull up Astrid’s contact, my pulse pounding in my ears. I’m going to tell her about Portmeirion. They’re not going to do this to me! Johan is not going to use me like some sex doll and then turn around and propose to Astrid as if he wasn’t whispering the most emotional things into my ear as he thrusted inside of me. I’m going to tell her, and he’s going to have to deal with the fallout!

But, with my fingers hovering over the digital keyboard, I just…can't.

Because what would Johan say when confronted? Would he deny sleeping with me? Or would he admit it and then twist the story somehow? Maybe claim that he had been drunk or that I was the aggressor, pushing him into bed.

What if, by telling Astrid, I destroy my own reputation and friendship with her anyway?

I put the phone aside. Johan is gone, and it’s because he wants to be.

All at once, my anger turns to overwhelming grief, and my eyes fill with tears. My shoulders shake as I sob, covering my mouth and curling into a ball on my bed.

I’ve never felt so used, so stupid, and so…betrayed.

I can’t believe he would do this to me, but even as the thoughts are spinning around in my head, Johan is making arrangements for his engagement party and buying Astrid a fucking ring.

This has all been nothing but a lie.

And I’m the idiot.

I’m the one who’s been played for a fool.

I’m alone here at Cambridge. Surrounded by people my age, all my peers, and utterly alone. All because I managed to insertmyself into the middle of a small group of postgraduate students who just didn’t have room for me after all. I had wanted Johan badly enough to give myself over to him, but now that he’s gone, I have nothing.

So I do what any girl does when she’s heartbroken and has been spurned by a man. I call Mom.

She answers on the third ring. “Hey, baby.” I sigh; her voice is like a balm to my wounded soul. “It’s so nice to hear from you.”

“Hi, Mom,” I reply, sniffling.

“Is something wrong, angel?” she asks, concern lacing her words.

I close my eyes, willing the pain in my chest to dissipate. It doesn't go anywhere, and when I try to speak again, my voice breaks. “Everything.”

“Oh, honey,” she says softly, the tenderness in her voice almost breaking me. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, okay?”