Cross The Line

CHAPTER FOUR

"He probably only dates bad girls. Perfect. I'm bad at pretty much everything."

- Phoebe West, giving herself a pep talk.

Okay, so, that's a lie.

I'm not done.

I can't be.

Where Nate is concerned, I don't think I'll ever be completely able to cut ties. Not unless I want to cut my heart from my chest, as well.

But I'm most certainly done dreaming about some kind of deluded happily-ever-after with him — a big white dress and him waiting at the end of the aisle, eyes tearing up with joy at just the sight of my beauty. A disheveled fixer-upper house we lovingly restore together, until each floorboard is imprinted with the strength of our relationship. A nursery painted a safe, gender-neutral yellow.

Phoebe, you lunatic, you are not the heroine of a Nicholas Sparks novel.

After I hear the faint click of my front door closing as Nate leaves, I let Boo out the back for one last pee break onto the tiny patch of grass my real estate agent called a "hidden city gem" just so he could charge me five grand over the initial asking price. Staring up at the stars while Boo makes a show of sniffing every square millimeter of the property in his quest for the perfect spot, I have half a mind to pull out my cellphone and dial Parker. The rage fraying my nerve endings needs an outlet — screaming at my big brother for giving Nate my brownstone key might just do the trick.

My cell screen glows blue-bright in the darkness as I click it on and look at the time.

Midnight. The witching hour.

Fitting, since I was just visited by a demon in black leather and combat boots.

It's barely dawn in Europe — Parker won't bother to answer, this early. My best friend, Lila, is no doubt out on the town at some fabulous party or another — chances of sober conversation at this time on a Friday night are nil. My father's away on yet another business trip — China or Japan, I think. He's gone so often, it's hard to keep his destinations straight.

I sigh deeply.

I've got a gorgeous house in Boston's most desirable neighborhood.

I've got more money in my trust fund than I'll ever know what to do with.

And I've got not one single person in my entire phone contact list that I can call, right now.

I wonder fleetingly if it had been an intruder tonight, instead of Nate, if I really had fallen, cracked open my head on a coffee table, and died of an improbable aneurism... how long would it take the people in my life to notice?

A day?

A week?

A month?

Could I just disappear one instant, like a star winking out of existence, without anyone close enough to realize I'd gone?

Poof! Phoebe West evaporates in a puff of stardust and smoke.

One less bright dot on the far-reaching edges of the universe. Already so far removed from everyone peering upward, it could take ages for anyone to recognize my absence.

I shiver in the damp April air, hugging my arms closer around me. It does nothing to warm the lonesome chill inside my chest.

Maybe I should call him. The devil incarnate.