What is wrong with you, Callie?
What is wrong with you that you lo…
No.
No, no, no.
I can’t. I won’t.
And suddenly I’m so angry at myself. So angry athimfor pulling this, for being so cold, that I pant and heave. I march to the glass door and slam it shut.
And lock it.
I turn every lock on the door as if I’m keeping something out, and I am.
I’m keepinghimout.
Even though I know he has a key and it’s his friend’s house — I still don’t know who — and he can get in any time he wants, I won’t let him.
As irrational as it is, I won’t let him come inside.
As soon as I’m done, my knees give out though and I slide down to the floor. And I completely smash the promise that I just made myself. Propped up against the locked glass door, I let myself go and cry.
I hug my knees and I sob.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
I hate him so much and the thought of it makes me cry all over again because it’s a lie.
I don’t hate him. That’s the problem.
Because I’m still stupid.
Because even though all I wanted to do was forgive him and move on, I know that I haven’t. Not completely. Not how I wanted.
Because all I have moved on from is the past, not him.
I’ve already committed the crime.
He’s right.
It’s done and I can’t… I can’t bear it.
And so I sob and sob for hours and days and an age.
Until I hear a sound.
A screech.
Tires burning the gravel that dulls out the sounds of my broken sobs. And then comes a flood of light pouring through the glass door and chasing away the shadows.
I spring up from where I’m sitting on the floor and spin around to find his Mustang coming to a jerking stop.
Out of which he climbs.
My gorgeous villain.
Chapter Twenty-Three
