Perfect Ruin

11. First

I don't talk to Jax for five days.

I haven't tried to text him, haven't tried to call him, and even avoided Breaking Point at all costs because I knew he'd be there. Knew he'll be waiting for me there. Waiting for me to come back to him.

Ever since that night, he's tried to call me at least 49 times, left 72 messages and 13 voicemails. No matter how much I try to withhold myself from looking at the texts or listening to the voicemails every time he'd leave on my phone, I always end up breaking and opening them up anyway. Most of them are the same thing.

Please call me back, princess.

I'm dying over here, baby. You need to call me. Please.

Breaking Point isn't the same without you.

You don't understand, princess. Please call me. I'll explain it again if I have to.

Sienna, please.

I miss you. Call me back.

There was no I'm sorry or I'll tell you everything, I promise. No, none of that. He's not even going to try to explain what happened to him. He's just going to make me accept that he can't tell me.

I sigh out of frustration. Why can't he tell me? Does he not trust me enough to keep it a secret? Doesn't he know I'll do anything for him—anything at all?

His lack of trust hurts me. I'm fully invested in this relationship; I've given my heart and soul to him, the only thing I hoped was to expect his in return. I hate that no matter how many times he says that I'm his and he's mine...

He's never truly mine.

The part of him—the part of him that he doesn't want to give up to me—belongs somewhere else, somewhere so far out of reach that even I don't think he knows where it is. I want nothing more than to free him of that darkness, that evil that's clouding him, but if he's not willing to show me that part of him, then really, what's the damn point?

Letting out another sigh, I grab all my things from my desk and shove them into my bag. When the school bell rings, I'm the first one to leave the class.

I can't handle Jax today. I can't even afford to think about him today. I got more pressing matters to worry about.

When I get back home, my heart sinks when I see mom's car parked in the driveway with most of her luggages.

I knew the day would come when my mom's plans finally became reality and she was really going through with her trip to Puerto Rico. Apparently, she had a friend over there who would gladly take her in for a couple of months until she can get on her feet.

I still don't know why she's going through with this. My hate for her hasn't simmered at all ever since she first announced that she was going to leave us. I always hoped that even though the divorce went through, she would change her mind and stay with us. I didn't care if she wasn't going to be living in the same household with us; at least I knew that she would be in the same country.

But fortunately for her and unfortunately for me, she hasn't changed her mind and I highly doubt she would now.

When I get out of the car, I slam the door shut and trudge into the house. I'm so angry—and maybe that anger has been partly fueled by the fact that my boyfriend refuses to tell me what's going on with him—and even though I want nothing more than to say goodbye to my mom, what I want even more is to not say goodbye to her at all.