He grabs my shoulders, his tall form towering over me. "Talk to me, Amy. Tell me what's wrong.”
A sob catches in my throat, and panic grips me by the chest.
Don’t cry, Amy. You’re stronger than this.
I inhale deeply. “We have nothing to talk about. I’m not into you, and that’s the end of the story.”
He huffs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you. This is who you really are, huh?”
The contempt in his voice sends a chill down my spine. “What do you mean?”
He sneers. “You’re playing games with me.”
“I’m not playing games.” My voice is weak. “You’re the game player. Literally. You entered me into the game just to mess with me. You lied when you said you were trying to make Harper jealous.”
His jaw clenches. “That’s all over. I’m done playing games. I have been for weeks now.” He sneers. “But look at you. You can see how miserable I am, and you’re enjoying it. You’re drawing it out. Punishing me without even telling me what I did wrong. You’re a coward, Amy. I almost pity you.”
The word "coward" is like freezing cold water dumped over my skin. Isn't that what Serena was implying earlier, too? I hide myself away because I'm too fragile for the exquisite highs and despairing lows of life. I live in a languorous middle ground instead, as exhilarating as a tepid bath.
What could I possibly say to him in response? I've spent the last six years living in a world of my own creation—my fanfic—where I have complete control and nothing to lose.
He grabs me by the chin, forcing me to look at him. I strain every muscle in my body to keep the sob locked in my chest. "Is this how the rest of your life is going to be? You're going to stay locked inside yourself and run away at the slightest conflict?"
An uncomfortable heat vibrates over my skin.
"If you are…" He takes a step back, shaking his head. "I was an idiot being mesmerized by you telling me every thought that entered your head. I thought you were dazzling. I was wrong. If we ever got together, you’d bore me to tears.”
The dam breaks. Tears spill over, hot and relentless, searing my cheeks.
It’s really happening. I’m crying in front of him.
And it’s not nearly as painful as finding out who I really am. I also thought I was the type of person who speaks her mind and embraces her passions no matter what people think. The most meaningful endeavor of my life has been writing fanfic most people would deem cringeworthy. But what does it matter if I can’t speak my mind when it’s difficult, when my emotions threaten to make me look weak?
I’m a failure, even at being myself. I don’t know who I am anymore.
"Shit, Amy, I didn't—" Tristan's voice is as gentle as I ever heard it. He reaches out, hovering his hand over my shoulder. I try to jerk away and stumble on a rock behind me. I fall to the ground, and a sharp sting shoots up my spine.
A stifled sob bursts out of me. A distant voice tells me I'll be mortified later. The thing I most feared is happening. I’m sitting here on the dusty ground crying like a baby in front of Tristan Wolfe.
I don't care.
"Oh God, Amy." Tristan sounds frantic now. "I really didn't mean it. I promise I didn't mean it."
I nod jerkily, wiping the tears from under my eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for. You’re right.”
“No.” He reaches out to lift me up, and I notice that his hand is shaking. I don’t take it. I lift myself off the ground and dart away. The trees skate by me until Serena comes into view.
Tristan's thumping footsteps sound behind me. "Amy, please!"
When I get to Serena, her eyes grow huge before resting on Tristan. "What did he do?"
"I need to go home.” My voice is breathless. "Can you make an excuse to the director?"
Tristan
There's a roar in my head. It’s so loud that I can't hear Serena's words to Amy.
Unbearable anxiety claws through my insides. Why the fuck did I say that? It wasn't even close to the truth, and here I was accusing her of hiding away from me.
