I meant everything I said. It wasn’t just the heat of the moment or empty words. I’m done with his constant hot and cold, with the fact that he can so easily put a mask on and pretend thatI’mthe only one affected. Done with him. Seriously.
Except why does even saying that make me feel so… empty? Why does it suck so badly if I truly meant what I said.
“Mais,” Lennon says, waving her hand in front of my face, causing me to snap out of thoughts that I shouldn’t even be having right now. Since, you know, I’m done with him. “Babe.”
Her voice is softer now, and I glance up, refusing to let silly tears well in my eyes, so I bite the inside of my cheek as I paste on a smile that I don’t feel.
She lowers herself onto the bed beside me and slides her arm around my shoulder, pulling me tightly against her side.
“I know you’re sad, and I’m not saying that you shouldn’t feel sad. I support you a hundred percent if you want to stay home and cry with some ice cream and our favorite shitty TV.”
I laugh.
“But also it’s your twenty-first birthday! You only turn twenty-one once, and you shouldn’t spend it stuck inside, crying over an asshole who doesn’t appreciate what he could have.”
“I know. I’m not crying.”
She pulls back and looks at me, her perfect brow arched high. “Okay, true, but I know you, Maisie. We’ve been best friends for literally our entire lives, and I can feel when you’re sad.”
She’s right. About all of it. But it doesn’t change the fact that I am, in fact, sad on the night of my twenty-first birthday.
Wilder doesn’t deserve my sadness. I know that. He doesn’t deserve anything from me; he’s proved that.
It’s the same thing I’ve told myself for the last couple of weeks, pretending that every single time I’ve seen him, there hasn’t been a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach or a slight ache inside my chest.
It was over before it even started with us. We had a kiss, yes, that was out of this world, but still. We weren’t dating or together in any capacity, but it still really freaking sucks.
Maybe it’s better this way.
“Look,” Lennon muses, sliding off the bed and standing in front of me, her hand on her hip. “I say that we do the exact opposite. Let’s go out for your birthday. A club, or a party, or something stereotypically college. And we celebrate you turning twenty-one, have some drinks, forget about anything outside of my best girl’s birthday.”
“Me? Drinking? Partying?” I mutter.
She nods. “Yup. It’s yourbirthday, Mais. Your twenty-first birthday. It’s like… the most iconic birthday you’ll have, and youdeserve to be celebrated by your friends and to have fun. In a safe, controlled environment.”
And by that, she means…
“Saint?”
A slight flush moves to her cheeks, and I giggle.
“You know he’s basically my bodyguard, which means… he’s yours too. He’ll make sure we can have fun and we’re safe. He doesn’t drink, so he will be fully alert, watching over us.”
“Like he would let you out of his sight for a second. The man goes to the bathroom with you.”
Her flush deepens, and she scrunches her nose. “Yeah, okay, he does do that. But this is one of those times where it’ll be appreciated.”
I sigh.
Flopping onto the mattress, I stare up at the ceiling, contemplating the entirety of my existence.
Lennon crawls onto the bed beside me, shoulder to shoulder, her hand finding mine, our fingers curling together.
My best friend. My person. The girl I’d follow into the dark.
The one I have no clue how I would survive life without.
I turn to look at her, and she grins. “Boys suck, Mais, but you’re hot and young and single and have the best tits out of anyone I’veevermet.”
