The Straw That Breaks

I shouldn't have turned on the TV.

It was a Friday night—one of the rare evenings where I'd finished rehearsal early and had nothing scheduled. My apartment felt too quiet, too empty. I'd tried writing music, but the words wouldn't come. I'd tried scrolling through social media, but every other post seemed to be about Parker's show.

So I did the thing I'd been avoiding for weeks. I pulled up the streaming app and clicked on Hearts in the Highlands, Parker's new TV series.

Just to see how it turned out.

I made it exactly twelve minutes before I had to turn it off.

Parker appeared on screen in that period costume, looking unfairly handsome. His character was some kind of brooding aristocrat, all intense gazes and barely restrained emotion. He was good—really good. I felt proud watching him, seeing how much he'd grown as an actor since our Treehouse Summer days.

And then Sienna Park's character walked into the scene.

I watched them circle each other with crackling tension. Watched Parker's character say something that made her character laugh. Watched the way the camera lingered on their faces, building anticipation.

Then they kissed.

It was a good kiss. A great kiss, actually—the kind that romance fans would gif and replay and swoon over. Parker's hand cradling her face. Her fingers clutching his jacket. The way they pulled apart just slightly before going back for more, like they couldn't help themselves.

It was acting. I knew it was acting. I'd been in enough scenes like this to know exactly how mechanical and awkward they were to film, with directors calling out instructions and cameras inches from your face.

But watching it, something twisted viciously in my stomach.

I grabbed the remote and shut off the TV.

The silence felt even louder now. I sat in the dark, remote still in my hand, trying to understand the feeling crawling under my skin. It felt like anger and sadness and something sharp and ugly that I didn't want to name.

My phone buzzed.

Parker: hey! finally done for the day

Parker: miss your face

I stared at the message. Two hours ago, I would have been thrilled to hear from him. Now, all I could see was that kiss playing on loop in my mind.

Parker: still overworking yourself?

Parker: cee, you need to rest

Something hot flared in my chest. "I need to rest?" I said out loud to my empty apartment. "You're the one doing sixteen-hour days and romance scenes with beautiful actresses."

I didn't send that, obviously. Instead:

Me: I'm handling it.

Parker: want to video call? i miss seeing you

I looked at myself in the black mirror of my TV screen. Messy hair. Dark circles. Old sweatshirt with a hole in the sleeve. I looked exhausted and sad and pathetic.

Me: Can't tonight. Need to work on some music.

It was a lie. I had no creative energy left. But I couldn't look at him right now, couldn't pretend everything was fine when I felt like my chest was caving in.

Parker: okay. rest well cee

I threw my phone onto the couch and pressed my palms against my eyes. What was wrong with me?

***

My phone rang. Parker calling.

I let it go to voicemail.

He called again.

"Hello?" I finally answered, trying to sound normal.

"Okay, what's actually wrong?" Parker's voice was concerned. "You're being weird."

"I'm not being weird."

"Cee. I've known you for seven years. You're being weird."

I wanted to hang up. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to scream and cry and ask him why he had to be so good at kissing other people on camera.

"I watched your show," I said instead.

Silence on the other end. Then: "Oh."

"You were really good. Great, actually. Very convincing."

"Cee—"

"Especially the romance scenes. Very... passionate." My voice sounded strange even to my own ears. Too bright. Too brittle.

"It's just acting," he said quietly. "You know that. I’m sorry."

"Of course I know that. I'm not dumb." I laughed a little; a forced, tinny laugh. “Why are you even sorry?” The words came out sharper than I intended. "I'm just saying you were convincing. Sienna too. You have great chemistry."

"Cee. This is a weird question, but–”

“But what?”

“Are you..." He paused. "Are you jealous?"

The word hung in the air between us. Was I jealous? That implied I had something with him, some kind of real relationship to be threatened. We’re just friends. Friends don’t care if they make out with hot actresses or something. I’m the one at fault in this situation.

"No," I lied. "Why would I be jealous?"

"Then why do you sound upset?"

"I'm not upset, I'm tired. There's a difference."

"Celeste—"

"You know what? Maybe we should just end this." The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "The fake dating thing. It's served its purpose, right? You've got your show. I've got my concert. We don't need to keep pretending anymore."

The silence stretched so long I thought the call had dropped.

"Is that what you want?" Parker's voice was carefully neutral.

Was it? I didn't know. I didn't know anything anymore except that watching him kiss someone else had made me feel like I was breaking apart, and that couldn't be normal for a fake relationship.

"I think it's time," I said, each word feeling like pulling teeth. "We're both so busy anyway. It doesn't make sense to keep up the performance when we barely see each other."

"We barely see each other because we're both working. That doesn't mean—"

"It means this was always temporary. We both knew." My voice cracked slightly. "And now it's time to stop, you know." It was odd. I was telling those words to Parker, but it almost felt like I was talking to myself.

Another long silence.

"Okay," he said finally. "If that's what you want."

"It's practical."

"Right. Practical." Something in his tone made my chest hurt. "So what, we just announce it? 'Thanks for the support, but we're better as friends'?"

"Something like that. We can figure out the details later."

"Sure. Later." He sounded tired now. Defeated. "I should go. Early call tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Bye, Celeste."

He never calls me Celeste. It was always Cee, or occasionally Cee-cee when he was being playful. Hearing my full name felt like a door closing.

"Bye."

The call ended, and I sat in the dark with my phone in my lap, feeling like I'd just made a terrible mistake but unable to articulate what exactly I'd done wrong.

I didn't sleep that night.

Instead, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation over and over. The way Parker's voice had gone flat when I suggested ending things. The way he'd said "okay" like I'd just told him something he'd been expecting all along.

At 3 AM, I grabbed my phone and opened our text thread. Scrolled up through months of messages. Good morning texts. Random photos. Inside jokes. "Miss you" and "can't wait to see you."

I’m pretty sure I was making myself more miserable, by looking through these messages, but I couldn’t stop myself.

***

Violet was at my door with her overnight bag and a look that said she meant business.

"Spill," she said, dropping onto my couch.

And I did. Everything came pouring out—the TV show, the kiss, the phone call, the breakup that wasn't really a breakup because we weren't really together in the first place.

"I don't understand what's wrong with me," I said, burying my face into my hands.

Violet looked at me with half-amusement and half-pity. “Do you really not know?"

"Know what?"

"You're in love with him."

I stopped pacing. "No. No, I'm not. We're friends. Best friends."

"You write songs about him. You light up when he texts. You've been miserable ever since his schedule got busy because you miss him—not the fake relationship, but him."

"That's just... we're close. Of course I miss my best friend—"

"When was the last time you checked to see if I texted you back within thirty seconds?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

"When was the last time you felt physically sick watching Diana be affectionate with someone else?"

"That's different—"

"It's not different, Celeste. You're in love with Parker. You have been for months. For all I know, you’ve been in love with him for years. You just didn't want to see it."

I sank onto the couch, Violet's words echoing in my head.

"Oh god," I whispered. "Oh god, I'm in love with him."

Violet nods.

"And I just told him we should end our fake relationship."

"Yep."

"Because I got jealous watching him act in a romance scene."

"Uh-huh."

"And now he probably thinks I don't want anything to do with him anymore."

Violet sat next to me and pulled me into a hug. "So what are you going to do about it?"

I had absolutely no idea what to do. All I knew was that I might have just ruined everything, and I desperately needed to fix things. Fast.