"I wasn't," I murmured.
"Oh really? I thought maybe you'd jump to conclusions and assume I was trying to pick her up."
I shook my head wordlessly.
"I mean, that's clearly what you think I do, isn't it?" he continued. "Just keep on picking up girls left and right?"
"That's not—"
He cut in. "You think I don't get enough judgement already with media reporting on every girl I'm photographed with?"
"I never meant to hurt you," I whispered.
"My mom was pretty sad when you stopped visiting," he said. "She thought maybe it was something she said. I guess you don't care whose feelings you hurt, do you?"
"I'm sorry!" I cried, twisting my hands into the fabric of my skirt.
"Why are you even here?" he bit out, changing the subject. "Were you hoping to run into me to rub some more salt in the wound? Hoping to accuse me some more? And here I used to think you were so nice and sweet. I guess you're just pretty and judgmental like everyone else."
"I was seeing a doctor!" I yelled. "Okay? Is that good enough for you?"
The red flush of anger didn't leave his face. "I thought you didn't need to go to the doctor for every little thing," he said mockingly.
"Well it's not little this time!" I blew up, tears finally springing free and falling as my own anger and fear and pain couldn't be contained any longer. "It's fucking big and it fucking sucks and I knew it was going to happen sooner or later but it doesn't make it any easier!"
Nathan's eyes went wide, taken aback by my shouting. Some of the anger faded from his expression.
"What are you talking about?" he asked slowly.
"My heart is fucked up again, is what I'm talking about," I said, choking back the tears. "A part of my pulmonary valve is tearing off. I'm going to need a replacement. And unlike all the others times, because of my age, they're doing open heart with an adult conduit."
His lips parted, moving silently, as if repeating the words.
"What… does that mean?" he asked, his face going from red to white.
"It means more surgeries," I bit out. "It means more time spent in the hospital. More time bedridden, unable to take care of myself."
"Becca…" Nathan whispered, sounding stunned, not knowing what else to say.
"Do you know how long it takes to recover from open heart surgery?" I asked. "It could be as long as six to eight weeks. Weeks where I can't lift anything heavier than a fork. Weeks where I can't drive myself anywhere. Weeks where I can't go to work and collect a paycheck. Weeks where I might not even be allowed toclimb a goddamn staircase."
The hurt on his face wasn't for himself this time. It was for me. Full of sadness and pity.
I didn't want his pity. I didn't want him to be sad.
It was bad enough I'd dragged him into my life this far. He didn't need to be dragged in any further.
"Never mind." I rubbed at my wet cheeks with the back of my hand. "I shouldn't have said anything. Just forget it."
I turned on my heel, stalking off in the opposite direction, trying to put as much distance between us as fast as I could.
I thought maybe Nathan would call out to me, or reach for my hand to stop me from leaving.
He didn't.
