“If that’s what you want.”
He sniffs, grabs my bag, and slings it over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m ready to go.”
Shoulders square, he turns to me, eyes filled with pain and something else. “We’re going to head back to the apartments. I’ll help you carry your bag up. And then…I want you to forget about me. You hear?”
Daggers to the chest, sharp and crippling at the same time, cut into me.
What?
No.
He’s pushing me away because he doesn’t like how vulnerable he’s feeling. Maybe for the first time ever, he has a friend who’s willing to be there for him.
It takes a lot for me to cry in front of people, but those words with that face kill me.
A burning sensation works up the back of my throat, making my nose burn. I blink, trying to push away the pinch of discomfort that pricks them.
“Why?”
“We’re not doing this. I’m not making room for you in a life that’s as fucked up as this. It isn’t fair to you, and this is my life, Violet. I can’t magically change it, but I can make sure that it doesn’t impact you.”
“That’s bullshit,” I say.
The jerk has the audacity to shrug at me like what he’s saying isn’t a big deal, like it doesn’t ruin me.
“It’s not.”
“Yes, it is.” I shove at his chest. “And you know it.” I twist around, pinching the bridge of my nose, hating the way my heart stings. I’m drained from constantly being let down. My dad. Webber. Even Sylvia’s behavior and Everleigh’s distance. And now this?
“Let’s go.” He says it like it’s final. Like I don’t have a say in where I go and when. Like it’s no big thing that he just told me to fuck off.
“Don’t do this,” I plead.
“It is what it is. Come on.”
Like hell it is. He’s going to have to try a lot harder than this to get rid of me. If that’s even what he really wants, but I don’t think it is. It can’t be.
“No.” I turn back and look him in the eye. “No.I saw everything that happened tonight. You need someone now more than ever. I’m not going to walk away. I’m not going to let youpushme away.”
“I’ve dealt with it on my own for this long. I’ll be fine.”
“Why are you punishing me for other people’s actions?”
Looking down, he says, “I’m not punishing you. I’m protecting you.”
Punishment.
Protection.
Both sound the same to me, and they hurt like hell. From the start, I’ve confided in this man. He has listened and offered advice. What would my life look like without him in it?
“Fuck that. You can’t deal with having something good in your life. That’s why you’re pushing me away and trying to run.”
“No. You and me, we can’t coexist. What would your parents and friends think if they knew what you saw here? What would they think about you being friends with me?”
I don’t care what they have to say about him, about us. “What they think doesn’t make a difference. It doesn’t matter.”
“Everything always matters,” he reminds me.
