The Anatomy of a Broken Heart //Completed//

46. Caleb

Mondays were the worst. So were Sundays. I guess every day sucked when you felt like crap and the girl you loved had effectively ditched you forever, and the girl you were pretending to date wouldn't answer your damn text. Texts.

I was as pathetic as they came.

On Saturday, I slept in until two, only waking up when Ansel body slammed me, practically snapping my neck. Marcus wanted to hang out. His idea of hanging out was going to the races and bombarding me with questions about Santana. The cold seeped in through my jacket and I had to keep my hands in my pockets to keep them from falling off. The starting pistol went off and out went the horses. Their muscles contracted as they strained against the wall of air in front of them, hoping to avoid the crack of the whip on their flanks as their riders fought to win.

"Where is she from?" Marcus began. I was surprised he hadn't brought a notebook to jot everything down.

"From here, but her dad's from Mexico." She'd visited her family a few times, I remembered her telling me. Somewhere up north.

"I knew that tanned skin couldn't come in a bottle," he mused. I felt a little annoyed at his interest in her. Sure, she wasn't my actual girlfriend, but he didn't know that.

"What kind of music does she like? EDM? Country?" Ha! Did he want to take her clubbing?

"She's more of an indie girl."

"Meh. Okay, scratch that." He shrugged. "Where should I take her? What restaurants do you take her to?"

"Uh..." Restaurants? I'd never taken her out to the corner store, let alone a restaurant. The only elegant place we'd been to was dad's event. I had a feeling she'd hate any posh place Marcus had in mind.

"You know she loves going where there are a ton of people. Take her somewhere she can dress up and stand out." I smirked when Ansel caught my eye and mouthed, What are you doing? He sniggered and did a poor job of disguising it as a cough, but Marcus didn't notice. He was too busy making a reservation on his phone to notice.

"I know just the place. All girls are the same, no matter where they're from." He smiled like a dolt and, right then, I wanted nothing more than to see the look on Santana's face when he picked her up in one of his limos and the look on his face when she slapped the smile right off. Maybe I could go undercover and follow them, just to get a good picture.

"Caleb!"

My eyes snapped to attention. "What?"

"I asked how long you guys have been together for, and if it was serious."
"I, what?" Was he serious? "She's my girlfriend you prick, and you're asking me if you can, what? Try to get with her?" Maybe I would be the one punching his smile right off.

"A little healthy competition never hurt anyone." He was dead serious. I knew he was an ass, but this was too much. He stood watching the horses beat their hooves into the dirt, looking like a young Adonis in his crisp white suit and golden gelled hair and my throat tightened in panic for a second. Would she actually go for him? No. No way. Her idea of the perfect guy didn't wear suits or have so much money he could afford to rent out the whole restaurant for their date. Her perfect guy wore cigarette burns and tracks on his arms for jewelry. He was blonde, but he didn't care if he styled it, and she didn't care either. No, Santana would never go for a guy like Marcus. She'd never go for a Rosethorn.

On Sunday, I went to church. "Our love for God must be renewed every morning," the pastor preached from the stage, surrounded by the choir's musical instruments. "We cannot live off of old love. I married my wife 40 years ago, but our marriage isn't sustained on the love I had for her years ago. So long ago. My love has grown and changed and transformed. Just like God's love for us. This, this is how we must love Him."