Read Online A Week of Mondays by Jessica Brody - Free Book Online

should meet up with the band and strategize. We haven’t had a gig in a few weeks and we need to do something about that.”
    I nod sympathetically. “Of course. I’ll come with you. I have some great ideas about—”
    Tristan puts his hands on both of my shoulders, like he’s trying to keep me from blowing away. Yet he still won’t look at me. “No. You should stay here. I actually just came by to talk to you about something. I didn’t want to do it over the phone.”
    I try to swallow but my mouth is suddenly dry. “Okay.”
    â€œEllie,” he begins, his voice cracked and uncertain. He clears his throat. “I can’t do this anymore.”
    â€œWhat? The carnival?”
    â€œNo.” He bites his lip. “I mean, us .”
    My breath instantly grows shallow. Someone has locked my lungs in a too-small cage and thrown away the key. I watch, stunned and transfixed, as Tristan presses his thumb against each of his fingernails, like he’s checking to make sure they’re all there. It’s one of his little nervous tics. Something he does before he goes on stage. It used to be so endearing. Now it feels like a sign of the apocalypse.
    He closes his eyes. “I’m confused, Ellie. I’m so confused. I don’t know what to tell you. I wish I had all the answers, but I don’t. I just know that it’s not working. You and me. We’re not working. Something is broken and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if it can be fixed.”
    I open my mouth to speak, to say all the things my heart wants to say.
    What’s broken?
    We can fix it. I know we can.
    I love you.
    But my tongue is useless. Only air escapes.
    And then tears.
    Tears I try to hold back. Tears I don’t want this entire carnival to see.
    Tears that fall anyway.
    â€œOh, Ellie,” Tristan says. His voice is so soft. So full of compassion. It makes me cry harder.
    I can feel his hand encircle mine. I can see the scenery around us changing as he leads me to a nearby bench and makes me sit. I can’t seem to feel the ground beneath my feet. I can’t seem to feel my feet period . Are they still attached to my ankles?
    Tristan plops down next to me, keeping my hand tightly clasped in his. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It breaks my heart to do this, because I really did care for you. I still do. I mean, I always will. We had something good. Really good. Something I’ve never had before. It just … I don’t know … fell apart somehow. I wish it could have been different. I wish I didn’t feel this way, but I do. And I have to stay true to how I feel.”
    â€œB-b-but,” I stutter between quiet sobs. That’s all I manage to get out, though. The rest of the words—whatever they are—remain trapped inside me.
    Tristan lets go of my hand and it feels so final. Like I’ll never touch him again. Like I’ll never feel his warmth. Shiver at his touch. Fall powerless to his gaze. “It’ll be okay,” he says to me. “You’ll be okay.”
    I want to scream at him that I won’t. That I’ll never be okay. That I’ll never stop loving him. But the only thing that comes out is another sob.
    And now people are taking notice. Passersby are stopping. Nosy eavesdroppers are whispering.
    I can’t be here. I can’t have this breakdown here. In front of everyone.
    I leap to my feet and take off into the crowd. I swear I hear Tristan’s voice calling after me but I don’t turn around. Why would I? What could he possibly want to tell me? How sorry he is again? How certain he is that I’ll be fine? How broken up he is about this?
    What good will any of that do?
    There’s a crowd of people gathered around the ring toss game, watching someone toss rings at glass bottles like it’s a freaking spectator sport. Normally I would politely excuse myself, tap