No. She was lying. Having sex with me tonight wasn’t a spontaneous whim. It was part of a calculated plan. She ambushed me.
Everything in her words and body language told me she didn’t believe a word I said to her, and like the lovesick sap I am, I willfully ignored it.
An unholy rage flares through my body like wildfire. I told her some of my deepest, most fiercely kept secrets tonight, and she fucking hid herself away from me. She didn’t have the decency to tell me what’s really going on in her head.
She thinks she can slip away from me after tonight? Not a fucking chance.
I’ll strip away her defenses and uncover the truth, and I won’t be nice about it this time.
CHAPTER 23
Amy
Moonlight spills across my cluttered dorm room, throwing long, ominous shadows over the tattered carpet.
I haven't slept at all since I left Tristan's room a few hours ago.
That text. Oh God, that awful text…
Me: Turns out you really are boring.
How could I have written something so mean? Why couldn’t I just say that I loathe him? It would have been a lie. Even after everything he’s done, I can’t find it in me to hate. Not when he’s made me feel more alive in these past few weeks than I’ve ever felt in my entire twenty-one years of existence. He may have betrayed me, but he yanked me out of my safe inner world that provided tranquility but never joy.
Still, I should have said I hated him in that text, even if it’s not the truth. Boredom is so much worse than hatred. It’s tepid and soft. I pride myself on being blunt, and I couldn’t even be honest about the intensity of my feelings for him.
I never expected this unbearable weight bearing down on my chest. Regardless of what he feels for Harper, he’ll be hurt when he reads my text. Is he hurt already, wracking his brain trying to figure out what he did wrong?
It wasn't supposed to be this way. Sneaking out of his bed and sending that text was supposed to be empowering. Instead, my childish pettiness clings to my skin, making it hot and itchy.
A sudden, violent pounding on the door shatters the silence. Jenna stirs, rubbing her eyes as she sits up. Confusion is etched on her face in the dim light.
"What's happening?" Her voice is scratchy from sleep.
"It's Tristan," I whisper, panic flaring up like a match struck in the dark. "Don’t open it."
I can’t see him now. Not in my current state, with self-recrimination squeezing my chest. I don’t even know myself. Turns out this soft, fragile heart of mine is edged with thorns.
My roommate glances at the door and then back at me. Her eyebrows knit together in a silent question.
"I don't want to see him," I mouth. My heart hammers in my ears, muffling the steady thumps on the door.
“Whoever you are, go away!" Jenna calls out, but I catch the wariness in her voice.
"No." Tristan's voice booms through the door. "I need to talk to Amy."
The pounding doesn't stop. It grows louder, more insistent, like a drumbeat. My stomach knots, and I sink further into the mattress, willing myself to become part of its fibers—anything to escape the reality waiting on the other side of that door.
He's furious. I can almost feel his anger radiating through the room.
Jenna's gaze locks onto mine, searching for guidance. I shake my head at her. "Tell him I'm not here," I whisper.
Jenna's face grows pained. Poor thing. Given Tristan’s current mood, I wouldn't want to be forced to lie to him either.
"Amy's not here!" Jenna calls out.
I put both hands on the center of my chest and mouth, "Thank you."
"You're lying,” Tristan shouts back, his voice laced with a mix of desperation and rage. “I know she’s there. Amy, we need to talk. Now."
