Page 339 of Mad Girl

“It isn’t like that,” you whispered. But I heard the catch in your voice. Like I’d struck a chord.

“It’s exactly like that.”

“Why tell me you’re ready?” you asked, voice breaking on the words. “Why fuck me at all if that’s how you really feel? Just to ruin it?”

I swallowed against the sting behind my eyes, against this horrible nightmare I’d set into motion and couldn’t bring myself to stop. “I thought I could ignore all that other stuff,” I forced out, “but I was wrong.”

“So that’s it,” you said. “After everything you said to me last night.”

The first tears slipped down my cheeks. “That was just…me getting caught up in the moment. It wasn’t what I really wanted.”

“Yeah? Then what did you really want?” you asked in a deep voice that made my stomach clench.

“Not that. Not…” I trailed off, swallowed. “I just wanted it to be simple.” A lie. “About sex.” Another lie. “About…getting it over with.”

“You’re lying,” you said, voice full of devastation. “This is typical you. Taking a good thing and twisting it into something it isn’t.”

I should’ve stopped it right there. Should’ve walked away. Should’ve stopped hurting you.

“I’m not twisting anything.”

“Then why did you cry when I told you I loved you? Why did you fall apart? If it wasn’t what you wanted, why are you crying right now?”

“Because…”

“Because what?”

“It was a mistake. I never should’ve gone that far with you.”

You went completely still. Then, hoarsely, barely above a whisper, you said, “A mistake?”

I let the silence stretch.

I didn’t take it back.

Even worse, I made the mistake of looking at you. You were staring straight ahead, throat working above your t-shirt, your face wet with tears. Still so beautiful, but broken. Because of me.

“Right,” you said, swiping the tears from your cheek. You let out a shaky breath that sounded like a laugh. “I guess I should’ve known better.”

Then, finally, you pushed back your stool and walked away.

February.

If I’d known that gray month would be my last full month at home, I might’ve taken the time to enjoy it more. Instead, I dragged myself through those bitterly cold days in a fog, missing us. Missing you.

There were no coffee dates, no Gossip Girl, no afternoon tea. We hardly crossed paths at all. You stayed in your room, and I stayed in mine. At dinnertime, we emerged, so lifeless and bleary-eyed that Nic asked, “What’s going on with you two? What happened?”

“Oh, you know,” you said flatly, looking down at your plate. “The usual.”

Nic turned to me, met my miserable gaze, and surmised I’d done something. With a weary sigh, he went back to his dinner. No one talked much after that.

Then one day, while Nic was at work, I came downstairs for a snack and stopped short in the hallway.

That voice.

Her tinkling little laugh.

Blood spiking, I stepped into the Garland Room and there she was, sitting next to you on the sofa.