“Wait, I’m sorry.”
He stands still and I can feel him trying to hold on to his composure. Under his breath, I hear him softly counting down.
"Five, four, three, two, one."
Finally he speaks. “You hurt me, Gigi, and I can’t continue to allow you to have this sort of power over me. I feel out of control and that's never a good thing for me, so I’m done. I’ll be out of your house and your life by the end of the night.”
“You don’t mean that.”
He can't possibly mean it.
“Uncle Cut was actually right. We crossed a line. This thing of ours can’t continue or we’re going to end up hating each other and I wouldn't want that.”
"This thing of ours?"
"You know what I mean."
Panic floods my bloodstream.
"You told me I was yours. That I belonged to you," I say desperately.
I squeeze Knox tighter and apologize again. I need him to hear me. He's not listening.
“I’m sorry.”
He sighs heavily. “Let me go, Gigi.”
My chest tightens and my eyes water. I feel like I'm falling down a bottomless sinkhole.
"But…you took my virginity."
His head drops but he says nothing. It's as if he regrets everything that's happened between us.
“I’ll go out there and tell them all that we’re together,” I promise in desperation. "I'll tell them!"
“Gigi, we made a mistake.”
“I am not a mistake!” I yell as he pries my arms from around his waist.
As he exits the door, I yell it again, but this time I end up sobbing.
“I am not a mistake,” I say through choking sobs.
I don’t know how much time it takes me to get myself together, but once I do, I exit the library and into the kitchen where my parents, aunts and uncles are standing around the kitchen island. Knox is gone, and I can feel Uncle Cutter’s piercing gaze on me the whole time.
“Knox told us you weren’t feeling well, Gigi.” My mom comes over and puts the back of her hand on my forehead. “Your head is cool. What hurts? You want to spend the night at home and I take care of you like the old days?”
As angry as he is with me, Knox is still protecting me.
I squeeze my mom around her waist and cuddle with her like I did when I was a little girl and needed consoling.
“Yes.”
She smiles at my answer. “When we get home, I’ll make you some tea. What do you have a sore throat? Stomach ache?”
I don’t even know if there’s a special enough brew to cure what ails me–a broken heart.
Twenty-Four
