Page 7 of Break my Heart

“I hate that you’re letting what happened take away the one thing you’ve always been so passionate about,” he says, his tone low and full of sadness.

I open my mouth, but no words come out.

What can I even say?

It’s not like he’s wrong.

A year ago, everything blew up. My life went up in flames, and after all this time, I’m still sifting through the ashes, picking up the charred pieces.

“Dad…”

With a sigh, his shoulders sag. “I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want to, but would you at least think it over?”

“Sure.” The lie slips out easily, even though we both understand that I have no intention of following through with it.

I’ve been telling people what they want to hear for months now.

It’s just easier that way.

Easier than explaining how I can barely breathe when I think about the past. How I spent months in therapy trying to process it all, and I’m still not there.

Still not okay.

If I’d had my way, I would’ve walked away from skating for good.

But I just couldn’t do it.

The ice is the only place that makes sense.

The only place where I can find any peace.

Irony’s a bitch, isn’t it?

The thing I love the most is also the thing that inflicted the most damage.

After months of fighting the impulse, I returned to the rink. I still skate, but not competitively.

It’s doubtful I’ll ever do that again.

Dad clears his throat, as if unsure how to keep the conversation going. “Have you been out with anyone lately?”

The question catches me off guard, but it’s not a total surprise. Mom’s usually the one who wades cautiously into these turbulent waters. For whatever reason, Dad seems to be picking up the slack this afternoon.

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I just need time to think and figure out what I want to do with my life.”

What I don’t say is that dating is the last thing on my mind. That I’m too screwed-up to even think about being with someone right now. It’s not something I felt comfortable explaining to my therapist. How can I tell anyone that I’m still messed-up, that I haven’t been able to find anything that feels good, or that the guys I’ve been with couldn’t give me what I needed?

What I secretly craved.

Dad would probably keel over if I admitted any of that to him.

When it looks like he might say more, I do the only thing I can and rise to my feet.

“Sorry, I really need to go. But I’ll see you later?”