The Ninety-Ninth Goodbye

Eliana POV:

The ninety-ninth time Jax Little broke my heart was the last time.

We were supposed to be the golden couple of Northgate High. Eliana Carter and Jax Little. It had a nice ring to it, didn't it? Our names were practically woven together in the school' s mythology, spoken in the same breath since we were kids building forts in his backyard. We were childhood sweethearts, the quarterback and the dancer, a walking, talking cliché of high school royalty. Our future was a neatly drawn map: graduation, a summer of beach bonfires, and then, two adjacent dorm rooms at UCLA. A perfect plan. A perfect life.

Jax was the sun everyone orbited. It wasn't just that he was handsome, with that easy, lopsided grin and eyes the color of the California coast on a clear day. It was the way he moved, a casual confidence that bordered on arrogance, as if the world was his to conquer and he was just waiting for the right moment. He was the king of our small universe, and I, willingly, was his queen. His family, newly wealthy from his father's ventures in the oil and gas sector back in Russia before expanding aggressively into the American market, had ensured Jax never wanted for anything. He carried an air of entitlement, an unconscious expectation that his desires would always be met, his path always clear.

Our history was a tapestry of shared moments. First steps, first words, first kisses under the bleachers after his first big win. I knew the scar above his eyebrow was from a fall off his bike when he was seven, and he knew the melody I hummed when I was nervous was from a lullaby my grandmother used to sing. We were intertwined, our roots so deeply tangled that the thought of separating them felt like ripping a tree from the earth.

Then, in our senior year, the perfect map was torn.

Her name was Catalina Manning, a transfer student with wide, doe-like eyes and a story for every occasion. She was beautiful in a fragile, broken-doll kind of way that made people want to protect her.

The principal, Mr. Davison, had called Jax into his office. "Jax, you're a leader in this school," he'd said, his voice earnest. "Catalina is new here, having a tough time adjusting. I need you to show her around, help her feel welcome."

Jax had groaned when he told me later that day, slumping onto my bed and burying his face in my pillows. "Another chore. As if I don't have enough to do."

"Just be nice," I'd said, running my fingers through his hair. "It'll be over before you know it."

I was so naive.

It started small. He'd miss our study sessions because Catalina "got lost" on her way to the library. Then he'd be late for our lunch dates because Catalina "needed help" with a calculus problem he'd already mastered.

His apologies were initially sincere, laced with the