Free A Tragic Heart by S. Elle Cameron

a mistake in everyone’s life.
    “Are you going to the party for his birthday?” he asks.
    “No. It’s stupid. An after-Christmas party? What a stupid idea,” I say.
    Jagger finally reaches our apartment. I get out and thank him for the ride.
    He says, “Anytime.” He also says that if I need anything, to call him. Do I look that badly off or is Jagger just practicing being human for a while?
    I go into our place and as soon as I close the door I sob. I cry because of my life. But most of all, I cry because of Peyton. He’s the only one besides Mason and Jackson who get me. I was beginning to feel normal around him.
But he’s gone
. I don’t know for how long, but I know he’s gone for now, and it already seems like forever. I reach into my pocket for my box cutter, lift my sleeves, and then I cut. I do what I haven’t done in a long time. I used to have Peyton to talk to and make me feel better whenever I had a bad day, but now Keely has him. I want my Peyton. I
need
my Peyton. He’s
my
Peyton Giordano.
    I fall asleep until Mason comes home. He couldn’t stay because he had to work, but what should I expect? We’re two married seventeen-year-olds who live on our own. He works for his parent’s architecture company, so he gets paid a little more than the average seventeen-year-old does. His parents always make sure we are okay financially. They refuse to see their son and daughter-in-law struggle through anything. I think it’s kind of nice. They’re the only family I have. Brian, Jean, and…well, it used to be Peyton. The thought of Peyton just upsets me all over again. He found a way toconsume my mind once again. I’m really worried and pissed off at him all at the same time.
    I decide I can’t take it anymore. I’m going over to Peyton’s place to speak with him. We can’t go the rest of our lives without speaking to each other. Not if we are going to be a part of the same family. I rush to my car and drive full speed to Peyton’s apartment. When I park, I get out and slam the door. I’m angry. It’s as if my depression committed suicide and got reincarnated as anger. I quickly walk into the building, get into the elevator, and push the button that has the number eleven engraved on it. I never noticed before how nice Peyton’s apartment building is. He pays for it with the money his mom left him after she died. I don’t know exactly how much she left him, but I do know it’s enough for him to pay his rent, not have to work, and still have money left over. She was a surgeon—a renowned surgeon—so I guess that explains it. Plus, he gets money for his gigs with his band sometimes, but I know that couldn’t be enough to pay for this.
    When I reach his door, I ring the doorbell, anxiously waiting for him to answer. I wait a while and ring it again. He finally answers with his pants unbuckled and no shirt on. He has muscles; I guess he has the body of a boxer, since that’s what he does during his free time. He can be a bit of a weight-training freak. I ignore his appearance and begin to speak.
    “We need to talk.” The words come out very easily.
    “Can’t.”
    That’s all he gives me. A one-syllable answer.
    “Why not?” I’m getting annoyed.
    “Busy.”
    Again, one word.
    “Can you give me more than one-word answers?” I say, completely ticked off.
    “Okay, how about this? Stay away from me! If I wanted to speak to you, I would’ve done so today,” he says with no expression on his face.
    “What happened to you? What is wrong, Peyton? People just don’t up and change like this in one day. What’s going on with you?” I say, almost in tears.
    “Stay out of my business, please. You should really leave. Call Mason or something. Or maybe go back to Jackson. I don’t care, as long as you stay away from me.”
    “Why are you being like this?” I say, almost completely broken. “You’re my best friend. What happened? Peyton, talk to me, please! Is it your dad?”
    “’Bye,