“Go,” I whisper, the tears falling freely now.
How long has it been since we were standing at the bookshelves? Five minutes? Ten? It can’t have been long since he told me he loved me, and I wanted to say it back. But now everything has changed, fragmented, and I’m lostin the drama that’s unfolded. All I know is that I don’t want him arrested. I don’t want to see my father take him away.
I cover my face with my hand, my lip trembling as I sob, and when I feel his arms around me, I lean into him. I cry into his chest, the gun forgotten, the confessions forgotten, too.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, and it sounds like he’s crying, too. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I look up at him, but I can’t speak. His cheeks are wet with tears, and I can’t believe that this is goodbye.
Did I really fool myself into thinking he could be forever?
He kisses me, and despite myself, I kiss him back.
“I love you,” he whispers against my lips, and then he’s gone.
Chapter 21
Ella
The door closes and I sink to the floor, the gun clattering next to me as a sob tears from my throat. I’ve written about heartbreak, but never truly felt it. I can empathize from things I’ve read and seen, and I write it as well as I can.
But experiencing it firsthand?
It tears me in half.
I let myself cry so hard and so loud that my throat aches more than it already did. Tears burn my eyes and everything inside me shreds, slowly, painfully.
I’m so sorry, Ella.
“What do I do?” I whisper to no one, tears dripping from my chin.
What can you do? He’s a liar. He’s a criminal.
But …
But, what? Ella. You can’t run off into the sunset with a man like him. He’s the bad guy, remember?
The bad guy. He’s always been the hero to me. He never once made me feel an ounce of what a bad guy is supposedto make you feel. It had always been goodness and light and …
Sweetheart, this is real life. A few weeks of good deeds don’t cancel out a lifetime of bloodshed.
I drag myself to my feet in search of a tissues and pause. The door to the second bedroom is still open, and I head toward it. My books are neatly lined on the shelves, and as I walk over to them, fresh tears fall. I run my fingers along the spines and see a note.
Alphabetical,genre, or color order? I vote we go wild and order them by the author's hometown. No one will ever know our code.
I hope you like them.
Asher
The noteonly makes me cry harder.
“I love you.”
He loves me. He loves me, and the last thing he ever did was protect me. He could have hurt me at any time, but he spent our hours together making me feel good.
He loves me.
He loves me, and he thinks I hate him.
