I look back at the lake because I can’t bring myself tolook at him anymore, and when Echo finally heads back to the car, I trail a few feet behind him.
We drive back into the city in silence, and when we finally pull up to the bookstore, Echo still doesn’t say anything as he opens my door for me.
I get out of his car and head towards my own, parked a few spaces down. Echo watches me get in, and as always, he doesn’t pull away until I’m already on the road.
I watch him in my rearview, and when he finally takes a turn and disappears, the strangest wave of grief slams into me.
I’m losing him. Not entirely. He’s still in my life and he’ll probably text me before I even make it home.
But what we used to be... that messy, undefined, terrifying yet thrilling thing with no name and no rules, is over now. And I can’t even be sad about it, because I’m the one that killed it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Echo
She called me her friend.
I crack my neck and tap my fingers on the steering wheel to try to distract myself from the thought, but it digs in deeper.
She called me her fucking friend.
Bambi has hidden behind that label since the moment we met, and it never once bothered me. Partly because I knew it was just a guise meant to cover up the truth of what was really happening between us. And partly because every time she said it, I could tell she didn’t mean it.
But this time it felt different. Final. And the way she pulled away from me? That shit was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve been beaten to the point of passing out more times than I can count.
It’s like that word ripped a fucking hole in my chest, and now I’m just sitting here hemorrhaging all over the place.
I pull the car to a stop at a red light and grit my teethhard, hoping the pain will distract me from my pathetic thoughts. When that doesn’t work, I escalate.
Friend.
I punch the steering wheel with full force.
Friend.
I punch it again, harder this time, and the ache in my knuckles is a sweet distraction. I punch it again, and again, and again. Watching as the flesh over my knuckles rips and my steering wheel gets splattered with the evidence of madness.
A horn blares from somewhere behind me, but I don’t stop. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I need this release, like I need fucking air.
Friend. Friend. Fucking. Friend.
I press my forehead against the wheel and grip the sides of it, breathing through my nose as I try to remind myself of who the hell I am. Of what I am.
Someone bangs on my window, and I glance over to find a middle-aged white man standing outside my door.
He’s red-faced and balding, wearing a stained t-shirt that stretches just a little too tightly over his midsection. He’s screaming at me through the glass.
I reach for my gun, not even bothering to be discreet about it, and aim it at his shiny bald head.
The fucking prick stops yelling and his red face turns white at an impressive speed. He raises his hands with wide eyes and nearly trips over himself as he backs away from my car.
Goddamnit, I’m slipping. I know I am. I just threatened an inconsequential asshole because a girl called me her friend and I couldn’t handle it.
That’s where I'm at right now.
That’s what Bambi has reduced me to.
I press the back of my bleeding hand against my mouth and stare at the road ahead.
