“Love you too.”
I hang up before she can point out the obvious crack in my voice, because I know she caught it. She catches everything because she’s a good mom, and that reminder only further fuels my need to cry. I miss my family so much; it kills me that I haven’t seen them in a year.
A year of being separated from the only support I have, being isolated and alone, because that’s whathewanted. He wanted to be the only person I had to run to, while also being the person to crush me every time. He broke me into tiny pieces and stomped on them, over and over again, until I didn’t know who I was anymore.
We’re not even together, and Landon is somehow still making my life miserable. I’m letting him control me,still. Why do I do that? Why do I let him have this power over me, knowing that’s exactly how he’d want me to feel?
Angrily swiping at the tear sliding down my cheek, I quickly close my books and stack them on top of each other as I stand from my creaky chair. My safe space doesn’t feel safe anymore, now that I just want to curl up into a ball and cry. The last thing I need is to break down in front of the random guy at the table, who’s probably already annoyed enough with me as it is for interrupting the quiet.
I’m tired and I just need to crawl into my bed.
With my heavy books teetering in one arm and my coffee in my other hand, I quickly head toward the library entrance, passing by the only other person in here. Except in my hurry, the toe of my boot catches the leg of his chair, making me trip and stumble slightly to steady myself. The four textbooks don’t stand a chance, though, as they topple from my arm and to the ground with a loudsmack. I manage to save my coffee, but nearly drop it again as the loud noise makes me flinch so hard that my heart stutters in my chest.
Stop.
Breathe.
Everything is okay.
It’s just books.
“Shit,” I say for the hundredth time as I kneel down to gather the mess I’ve made.
My hands shake feebly from the rush of adrenaline shooting through me, and I try ineptly hard to stop them as the guy appears next to me, helping me gather my books. I lift my head with a forced sheepish smile to thank him, but I’m momentarily thrown off even more to see that he’s also hot. This is who had been sitting at the other end of the table the whole time? Was I not looking closely enough earlier?
My eyes sweep over him quickly, taking in his messy brown hair, dark eyes resting behind the glasses perched on his nose, and his full lips, but I avert my gaze as he looks up at me.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “Sorry about that.”
“Yeah, no worries.”
His voice is soft, raspy, and I swear, he almost sounds more nervous than I do.
As we both stand, he gently sets two of my books back onto the others resting in my arm, before I give him an awkward, thin-lipped smile as I turn to leave. No need to embarrass myself any more than I already have. Why is it always so much more mortifying when things like this happen in front of a cute guy?
“I have a car.”
He speaks so low that I almost don’t hear it, but I do.
Freezing, my eyebrows knit together as I turn slowly to peer at him over my shoulder. “What did you say?”
“A truck, I-I mean,” he stammers, pushing his glasses up his nose as his cheeks redden faintly. “I, um, have a truck. Sorry, I o-overheard your…”
I don’t even know what to say as he trails off; all I can do is gape up at him. Jesus, he’s tall. I mean, seriously, my neck is straining just to gawk at him.
“I-I could drive you.”
My lips part as I twist to fully face him now, cradling my books awkwardly as I cock my head up at him. Even though he can’t keep eye contact with me for longer than one to twoseconds at a time, I can tell how kind his brown eyes are. In fact, his whole face has a softness to it, a warmth, especially with the blush that etches itself into his cheeks.
“You were listening to my conversation?” I ask, and it’s mostly sarcasm, but I can tell it doesn’t come across that way as he fidgets nervously.
“No. I mean, uh, not on purpose?—”
“It was a joke,” I say in almost a whisper, pressing my lips together to keep from snorting at the flustered panic on his features.
He tries to laugh it off, but it falters.
I don’t want to make him feel more awkward because I hate it when someone does that when I’m embarrassed, so I divert the conversation. “You don’t even know where I’m going.”
