Unrequited

The scissors in Jayde's hand felt heavy. A single, decisive snip, and a lock of long, black hair fell to the floor. She watched it for a moment, then continued, cutting away ten years of careful cultivation. Ten years of growing her hair out because Brendan had once said he liked it long.

She stared at her reflection. The girl with the choppy, shoulder-length hair looked like a stranger. A stranger who was finally done waiting.

Her hands trembled, so she set the scissors down and walked to the kitchen. She opened the liquor cabinet, a place she never touched, and poured a glass of whiskey. The burn in her throat was sharp, unfamiliar. It was a new kind of pain, one she chose for herself.

With the glass in her hand, she walked to the living room, sat on the floor, and pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her contacts, past her mother's name, past Brendan's, until she found the number she hadn't dialed in years.

Farrell Conner. Her biological father.

She pressed the call button. He picked up on the second ring.

"Jayde?" His voice was full of surprise.

"Dad," she said, her own voice sounding rough from the whiskey. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Of course. Is everything okay?"

"I want to change my college application," she said, getting straight to the point. "I don't want to go to NYU anymore. I want to apply to schools in California. Near you."

There was a pause on the other end.

"California?" he repeated slowly. "That's a big change. I thought your heart was set on staying in New York... on being close to Brendan."

The mention of his name was a dull ache. It always was.

"I've changed my mind," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"He's getting married, Dad."

She forced a laugh, but it sounded brittle and fake.

"He and Chloie are engaged. It's time for me to grow up, right? Stop clinging to my big brother."

"Jayde..." Her father's voice was gentle. "I'm glad you're thinking about your own future. Of course you can come to California. We'll figure out the applications. Whatever you need."

"Thank you, Dad. I'll handle the school stuff. I just... needed to tell you."

"Anytime, kiddo. I'm here."

She ended the call and leaned her head back against the wall, the empty glass tipping in her hand.

She stood up and went to the bathroom mirror, staring at her new, short hair. It was a mess, uneven and raw. Just like her. She splashed cold water on her face, the shock of it grounding her.

Three weeks. Her flight was in three weeks. She would survive until then.

She had to.

Leaving the bathroom, she saw the light on under Brendan's study door. He was home. A part of her, the foolish part she was trying to kill, wanted to see him. To say something. Anything.

Before she could stop herself, she was walking down the hall.

She took a deep breath and knocked.

The door opened. Brendan stood there, wearing a simple grey t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked tired, his brow furrowed as he stared at his phone. He hadn't even looked up to see who it was.