When My Boyfriend Let His Best Friend Torture Me

Drake didn't ask. He didn't even slow down.

He crossed the room and grabbed my wrist. Not my arm this time. My wrist. His thumb pressed right into the bone, the same spot he used to kiss when I came home from double shifts.

He started walking. I went with him for three steps. Maybe four.

Then I stopped.

My burned feet hit the carpet, and I dug in. Pain shot up my legs. I didn't care. I leaned back with all my weight.

He felt it. He turned around.

His face went dark. Not angry-dark. Something worse. Something flat and cold I had never seen on him before. Or maybe I had, and I just never wanted to look.

He pulled me close. His mouth was right against my ear.

"My family's business is drowning," he whispered. His breath was hot and sour. "You know that. Dad's three months from losing everything. Nico could save us. One phone call from his father, and we're fine."

"Drake. It's forty feet."

"People jump it all the time in summer."

"It's October."

His grip got tighter. My fingers started going numb.

"I have done *everything* for you," he said. "I picked you. A maid. Do you know what people say about that? And now I need one thing. One." He pulled back just enough to look in my eyes. "If you won't do this for me, then you never actually loved me."

There it was. The same trick he always used. Make the cruel thing my choice. Make the knife my fault.

I opened my mouth.

He didn't let me answer. He shoved me hard toward the terrace doors.

---

I stumbled through them. My shoulder hit the frame. The doors swung wide, and the night came in.

The wind hit me like a wall. It went straight through my wet uniform. It felt like knives. Dozens of them, all at once. My whole body locked up. My teeth slammed together.

The fire pit was low now. Just orange coals. The metal tray still sat beside it.

I walked past it. Toward the railing. Toward the little gap where the path went out to the ledge.

I looked down.

Black water. That was all. Black water, moving like something alive. It rose up white against the rocks and fell back and rose again. The sound was huge. It filled my chest. Forty feet down, the Atlantic was waiting.

Behind me, I heard the crowd spill out onto the terrace. Shoes on stone. Somebody laughing. Somebody saying, "Oh my God, is she actually gonna do it?"

My hand went into my pocket. My fingers were so cold I almost dropped the phone.

I hadn't checked it since the bathroom. Somewhere between that mirror and this railing, the hour had bled away. I had been standing there dripping, listening to Nico talk, and I hadn't even felt it go.

I turned the screen toward me.

**00:00:47.**

Forty-seven seconds.

I stared at it. The number dropped. 46. 45.

Three years. Down to the length of a song's chorus.

I put the phone back in my pocket.

Then I turned around. Slowly.

The wind whipped my wet hair across my face. It stung my cheek. I didn't move it. I didn't wrap my arms around myself. I didn't shiver anymore. I don't know how. My body just stopped.

I stood perfectly still.

They were all there in the doorway. Gold light behind them. Nico with his bottle. Chloe with her phone up. Nyra in front, her screen glowing pink, the little red dot blinking.

And Drake. Right in the middle. Hands on his hips. Waiting for me to jump.

I looked him dead in the eyes.

"We're done."

Nobody said anything. One second. Two. Three.

The ocean hit the rocks behind me.

Drake blinked. Just blinked, like I had spoken another language. His mouth opened a little. Nothing came out.

Then Nyra laughed. A bright, tinkly little laugh. She turned the phone toward her own face.

"Oh my gosh, you guys," she giggled. "She's breaking up with *him*. On a *cliff*. I literally can't."

Nico rolled his eyes and took a swig from the bottle. "Boring. Is she jumping or not?"

Drake found his voice. He gave a short laugh, but it cracked in the middle. "Lil. Come on. Don't be dramatic. Everyone's watching."

"I know," I said. "Let them."

"You're cold. You're upset. You don't mean it." He took a step toward me. He held out his hand, palm up. The way you reach for a scared dog. "Just come here."

I didn't move.

In my pocket, the phone buzzed once against my hip. I didn't need to look. I could feel the seconds. Like a pulse that wasn't mine.

*00:00:31.*

I held his gaze. I didn't blink. I didn't flinch. For three years, I had looked away first. Every fight. Every time he made me the problem.

Not tonight.

"You and I are finished, Drake." My voice was quiet. It didn't shake. It sounded like ice on the edge of a glass. "Completely and permanently finished."

His hand stayed out in the air between us. Empty.

For the first time all night, something flickered in his eyes. Not guilt. Not sorry.

Fear. Small and confused, like he didn't know where it came from.

Behind the crowd, far off at the front of the resort, I heard tires screech on gravel.

Nobody else noticed.

I did.