I shouldn’t be able to hurt more than I do, but I feel like I absorb her pain into myself and add it to my own. It’s unbearable. I can’t contain it all. I feel myself breaking open as I say, “My last chance was months ago. He’s not listening now. He doesn’t want any of this. We’re torturing him because we can’t let him go.”

“Don’t say ‘we.’ You don’t have that problem. You’re tired of taking care of him. You told me you want him to die,” Priscilla says, pointing a finger at me as that sneer from before twists her face.

My mom gasps and covers her mouth as she stares at me in horror. All the people standing in the room stare at me the same way. Shame and humiliation swamp me.

“I’ve been trying as hard as I can, but it’s not enough,” I say in a choked voice. “I can’t keep going on like this. I’m tired, and my mind is sick. I need help. Can we please get help so we don’t have to do this alone anymore? Why does it have to be just us?”

“You know what?” Priscilla says. “Since you’re so ‘sick and tired,’ why don’t you pack up and leave? You haven’t been doing anything anyway, and I’ve been cleaning up after you nonstop. You’ll make everything easier for me if you go back to your apartment and sit on your ass there.”

Her words feel like the worst kind of treachery, and wild hurting tears through me. I told her that I’m sick and I need help, and she threw my words in my face. There’s no recognition of what I’ve done or how hard I’ve struggled to be here for everyone, including her. It’s nothing to her.

Why have I been tormenting myself like this, then?

I shove the remains of my violin in the plastic container and run up the stairs to my room to pack my things. I have to get out of here.

“Hey, are you, uh, okay?” Julian asks from the doorway.

“I’m fine.” I don’t mean for it to happen, but my words come out as a shout.

He looks at me like he doesn’t recognize me. He’s never seen this side of me before. No one has, not since I learned to mask. But now my mask is just as shattered as my violin is. I messed up. I talked back. I said no. People know about the awful thing that I told Priscilla.

You want him to die.

I’m no good anymore.

I can’t be loved anymore.

Working as fast as I can, swiping at the tears streaming continuously down my face, I shove my clothes, clean and dirty, into my bag. Then I move to the bathroom and get my toiletries. As I’m forcing shut the zipper on my bag, there’s a jingling sound as Julian pulls the keys out of his pocket.

“I’ll take you back to your place,” he says.

The thought of being trapped in a car with him for an hour right now is intolerable. There’s no way I can deal with that. “I need to be alone. Thank you, but no,” I say with what remains of my control.

And there’s that word again. I feel like I have nothing good left in my life, but at least now I can say no.

He looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. “Anna, we live five minutes apart from each other, and we’re getting married. I can’t let you leave here without me.”

“I don’t want you to take me.” The words come out forcefully, but slightly slurred. I’m losing the ability to talk as I crash from all this overstimulation, I can feel it. “And I don’t want to marry you. You didn’t even ask me, and you announced it to my entire family.”

“I asked. You knew what I meant,” he says, as if it was so obvious.

“No, it wasn’t entirely clear. And I don’t want to be with you anymore. I’m breaking up with you, Julian.”

He flinches back in shock. “What the heck? That’s totally an overreaction. Be reasonable, Anna.”

There’s a lot I want to tell him, things like how to propose to someone so they know it’s happening or not to have your mom ask for you or to double-check with your partner before you make an engagement announcement. But I’m running out of energy and my tongue doesn’t want to move.

In the end, all I can do is look him straight in the eyes and say, “No.”

Throwing my bag’s strap over my shoulder, I go. Everyone’s returned to the party, so I make it out the front door without incident. From there, I walk to the nearest park, and I order a ride home to San Francisco.

THIRTY-FOUR

Quan

I BREAK EVERY SPEED LIMIT AS I RIDE AWAY FROM ANNA. I don’t care if I get in an accident. Maybe part of me even wants it to happen.

I’ve lost everything. My job, my girlfriend, my fucking manhood, it’s all gone, and I don’t know how to deal with the wreckage that’s left over. The wreckage that is me.

Five years ago, nothing could have shaken my confidence this way. I walked my own path with swagger, covering myself with tattoos, giving the world the middle finger. But success seduced me. People seduced me. And since then, I’ve been fighting to be the man they think I am without even realizing it.

That fight is over now. I don’t have anything to offer anymore. No fame, no fortune, no future. When I raced to see Anna, what I needed was reassurance that those things don’t matter, that me, the person I am, is enough.

That didn’t happen.

When I reach the city, I head straight for the liquor store. My plan is to buy ten bottles of booze, hole up in my apartment for days, and drink until my brain sloshes around in my skull. But when I’m stuck at a red light, I catch sight of my gym. Through the windows, I can see a bunch of people on the treadmills—an old guy, a hot chick, some rich ladies in neon-colored yoga outfits, and a ripped dude who looks like Rambo. They’re running, sweating, completely lost in their physical suffering. The light turns green right as I notice the empty treadmill by the wall, and I make a split-second decision and pull over.

Inside, I put on the spare workout clothes that I keep in the locker that I rent from the gym and claim that last treadmill. The trainers—cool guys, I know them all because I’ve been going here for a long time—try to chat and shoot the shit, but when I crank up the speed on my machine and start running, they get the idea and leave me alone. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to listen to music. I don’t want to watch the TV. I only want to run.

So that’s what I do. For hours.

When I catch myself thinking about Anna and my job, I run harder, like I can escape everything if I’m fast enough. That works for a while, but I can’t run full-out forever. Eventually, my strength fades, and I slow down enough that thoughts creep back to me. The events of the day replay in my head. Learning that the LVMH deal won’t go through unless I step down. Seeing Anna smile as that guy announced their engagement, seeing him kiss her.

Tears threaten to spill down my face, and I swipe at my eyes like sweat is stinging them and max out the speed on the machine again. I run and I run and I run. Until I can’t anymore. And then I drag myself home, sleep, eat, and repeat the same cycle on Saturday.

Sunday morning, my body is sore. But not sore enough. I need a longer, more grueling run, something that’ll push me to my limits and truly clear my mind.

As I load up on granola and high-calorie healthy shit and ice my knee, I watch YouTube videos of people running the Grand Canyon in a day. Apparently, this is called a “rim to rim to rim” or R2R2R run because you go from one rim to another and then back, for a total of more than forty miles. Everything that I see cautions runners that this is not for the faint of heart, lots of planning is needed, you might die, blah blah blah. I’m not exactly mentally stable right now, so this seems like the best idea I’ve ever had. Impulsively, I book myself a ticket on the next flight to Phoenix, Arizona, arrange a car rental, nab a room at the hotel close to the South Rim due to a last-minute cancellation, and go to the airport, planning my route and water logistics on the way there.