She looks up at me, and the sadness in her eyes makes something vicious turn inward. I want to punch myself for every second I hesitated, every moment I let her doubt herself.
“Don't lie to me,” she croaks out. “You left me hanging last night. I thought you felt the same, and I was wrong. And today I tried to make you admit your feelings by dressing like this,” she points to her outfit. “But it all backfired. Lesson learned.”
She swallows, shoulders squaring like she's bracing for impact. “I’ll back off. But my feelings are real. They don't happen easily for me, and I’m not staying somewhere I feel stupid for having them. I’ll find somewhere else to live.”
“No.”
“Stop the car, please.”
The confession hits harder than any accusation. I shift in my seat, stunned, because I didn't expect her to be so honest.
“I’m not stopping. Not until you listen to me.”
“Just stop the car.”
Her lip trembles.
If it were up to me, I’d keep driving forever if it meant keeping her here—but she reaches for the doorknob.
I slam on the brakes.
The car skids slightly as I pull us onto the side of the deserted road, rain lashing down from the clouded sky. I don't even have the time to curse her out before she's already opening the door.
She's so fucking frustrating. Who storms off into the rain in a dress like that, on a quiet road where nobody could hear you scream?
Good thing I’m not some masked murderer looking for his next victim who happens to be a pretty redhead.
I'm out of the car before I can talk myself out of it.
“Where the hell do you think you're going?” I shout after her, rain already soaking my jacket.
She doesn't slow down. “Away from you.”
“The house is miles away. Get in the car instead of stomping off like a child.”
She spins around, anger flashing across her face. “There you go again. Calling me a child.”
“I said like a child,” I snap, then rein myself in. “I don't think you are one. But you didn't even give me a chance to explain.”
She drags her hand through her hair, shoving rain-damp strands back from her face, laughter breaking out, but it's humourless. “You don't have to explain. Why would you even like me? I’m a mess. I’m so much younger than you.” Her eyesdrop for a second before lifting again, defiant and wounded all at once. “I look just like her.”
Not once have I thought of Rose when I look at Willow, and she is nothing like her mother.
I’m not letting Rose ruin this. Not now. Not ever. No fucking way.
The other factors don't matter because to me, she's perfect, far from a mess she claims to be and fuck the age gap.
I step toward her, but she throws her hand up, palm out like a barrier. “Don't,” she pleads. “Don't make me get back in that car with you. I can’t—I can’t be around you right now.”
Her voice wobbles, then breaks completely.
“God, I hated you,” she sobs, the words tumbling out like she's been holding them in for weeks. “I really did. I hated you. And then you showed up, and you were kind. You didn't give up on me even though you were annoying. You made me laugh when I thought I never would again.” She drags in a shaky breath, rain sliding down her cheeks, blurring the line between tears and water. “Why did you have to do that? Why did you have to make me like you?”
That's it for me.
Whatever restraint I had left snaps clean in two.
If she won't believe me, I’ll just have to show her.
