I walked away and sat inside my car. This was it. My relationship had ended. I inhaled a deep breath and pressed my head against the steering wheel. The pain at the center of my chest threatened to engulf my whole body. With trembling hands, I started the car and drove back home. Though tears blurred my sight once in a while, I didn't lose control.

While driving, a hurricane of thoughts hit my mind ruthlessly. I went through every little detail, wondering what caused Zach to break up. And all the thoughts led to one question: was I not perfect?

I tried so hard to be a pleasing girlfriend. Where did I go wrong? I took a quick glance in the rearview mirror and noticed the smudged mascara around my eyes. I winced on seeing how ugly I looked.

The sight made me put all the blame on my outer appearance. Perhaps, that was the reason Zach dumped me. Breakups are strange. It brings out all the self-hatred you had managed to suppress inside. My vision was fogged by love I felt for Zach, even if it meant that I blamed solely myself for the breakup.

I remembered how Emma, my ex-best friend, continuously warned me about Zach cheating on me. Instead of heeding her advice, I ended our friendship. How silly I was to ignore all the red flags that popped right in front of my eyes!

Soon, I parked my car in front of my house. As I stepped out, I looked at the dark sky embellished by a few stars. Thick clouds were hiding a dull half-moon. I closed my eyes to make sure that they were not moist anymore.

I took out a handkerchief and a compact mirror from my purse. With a habitual twist of the hand, I wiped away the mascara. I fixed my hair and forced a smile on my face. My spirit was dejected, but I could not show how weak I was. I exhaled a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

"Brooke, you are late!" My Mom said as soon as she opened the door.

I bore a resemblance to my mother. I had brown hair and green eyes—just like hers. Except that her face lit up when she smiled, while I looked battered.

“Take it easy, Karla,” came the bubbly voice of my mother’s best friend, Meredith McGuire from behind. “You can’t look scary, no matter how hard you try.”

Mom grinned and let me enter. She wrapped her arm around my shoulders, engulfing me in her motherly warmth. “You don’t look good, Brooke.”

Mrs. McGuire smiled. "She must be tired."

“Yes,” I whispered. “Tired.”

Mrs. McGuire was a beautiful woman. Her soft blonde locks fell over her shoulders while her blue eyes were affectionate and amiable.

Meredith McGuire and her husband, George McGuire were our neighbours. The McGuires had been our friends for as long as I could remember. We were like a big family.

We walked to our living room where Mr. McGuire and Dad were already sitting. It was a small room with all-white walls. A brown sofa was set at the center with a glass table right in front of it. On my right was the dining table where Mr. McGuire and Dad were chatting and laughing, while patting each other’s shoulder every now and then.

I greeted them and took a seat beside my Dad. Soon, Mom and Mrs. McGuire entered with a bowl brimming with macaroni. Today was a typical Sunday evening. Like a custom, the McGuires and the Parkers had dinner parties at each other's house every Sunday. Today it was our chance to host the dinner.

"Where is Adrian?" Mr. McGuire asked his wife, Meredith.

George McGuire was a man with an athletic build with dark brown hair. He wore dark-rimmed glasses and had a light beard on his face.

"I called him. He will be joining us soon," Mrs. McGuire replied while pouring some macaroni on my plate.

"No, thank you," I said, shaking my hands. "I don't eat macaroni anymore. Only Salad."

Mrs. McGuire slapped her forehead. "Oh, I forgot that you are dieting.”

"Have this." Mom pushed a plate of salad in front of me. “But you don’t need to diet, Brooke. You are fine.”

“Mom,” I groaned. My mother found me quite hard on myself, as I had been trying to lose some weight for the past few weeks.

As soon as I shoved a piece of cucumber into my mouth, the mouth-watering smell of macaroni wafted to my nostrils. I would be lying if I didn’t accept that surviving only on the salad was sheer torture.

"Adrian is such a good guy," Dad said. "He got my cell phone repaired."

I rolled my eyes. If there was anything worse than my broken heart, it had to be the constant praises in favour of Adrian McGuire.

Adrian had made it his lifelong mission to annoy the hell out of me. He was a spawn of Satan. He was the only one who had always managed to beat me in academics or sports or in absolutely anything I was good at.

I wondered how he managed to perform so well without hardly making any effort. He was inconsistent, careless, and unfortunately, the most popular guy in our school. The sound of the doorbell snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Oh, Adrian is here!" Mom chirped.

"Let me open the door," Dad said and scurried out of the room. It was astonishing to see how lazy my Dad was, but here he was, running an Olympics race for his dear Adrian.

My Dad was certainly fond of Adrian. They made a funny pair when they started talking about anything related to computer games.

I heard their hurried steps rushing back to the living room, and Adrian came into view with his usual smile.

Adrian had dark brown hair, set messily atop his head. His tall body towered over my father’s. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt and a pair of ripped blue jeans. His bright green eyes glinted like stars, as his intent gaze turned towards me. I could not help but gaze at his face.

His lips turned into a little smirk, and I shook my head.

It was going to be a long evening.