Page 65 of Ruined

When the elevator doors open, I walk toward my car. “I think it’s best if you sleep at your place tonight.”

“But… I have the weekend off. I thought we⁠—”

“I know. We can see each other tomorrow.”

“Why not tonight?”

I open the door to the passenger seat. “Come on. I’ll take you home, and you can get some rest.”

I expect him to argue more, but his mouth sets in a hard line, and he climbs into the car and slams the door.

I’m doing this for him, I tell myself, hands clenching around the steering wheel. Not for me. Okay, it’s a bit of both. After what happened with Mason, I wish I could act like nothing’s wrong and give Oliver all the affection he craves from me, but I can’t. Not tonight.

After the short trip, I come to a stop outside his apartment building. The car is dead silent when I kill the engine, and Oliver doesn’t undo his seatbelt.

I sigh, hands resting on the wheel. “I’m not sending you away.”

“You literally are,” he mutters.

That stings. In some ways, he’s right, but I don’t know how else to protect him.

“I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.” My voice is subdued, thick with everything I want to say, torn between the need to be near him and the need to give him space.

Once he’s away from me, even for a night, maybe he’ll change his mind about me—about us. As Mason needlessly reminded me, he’s nineteen years old, and the way I remember, the mind can change quite often at that age.

I don’t want him to change his mind about me, but I don’t know what else to do to lessen the guilt in my heart.

“Fine.” He unbuckles his seat belt, opens the door, and climbs out. Then he slams the door shut, the car rattling with the force.

No hug. Not even a goodbye.

I watch him practically run upstairs, and my heart aches when I imagine him holding in tears in front of me and then letting them go when he’s alone. When he was younger, he was a sensitive child, and he used to cry in my arms over the smallest thing.

I left him once, and I don’t want to leave him again.

“If you walk away from him again, it will destroy him.”

I’m afraid Mason is right—not because I’m right for Oliver, but because having and losing is worse than not having in the first place. And he’d lose me twice. He’s the boy I left in tears, not because I wanted to, but because I had to, and he’s the young man who looks at me like I’ve hung the moon—who thinks far more highly of me than I deserve.

I’d leave them both, and both times, it wouldn’t be because I wanted to, but because I had to.

I drive home half-blinded by tears, the thought of losing Oliver like a stake through my heart. I don’t want to let him go. Not now, and not in the future. But is that my own selfishness talking, or is it what’s best for him?

When I’m old and tired, he’ll still be a young man, in the prime of his life. Would I be holding him back? Am I already holding him back?

Sometimes, I feel like he’s more mature than his years would imply, but other times, he shows his age in the most adorable and sad ways. Sad, because it creates a distance between us that I’m not sure we can overcome.

I could regret what I’ve done, regret giving in, but there’s no point. It’s done. And now I have to deal with it.

That night, I toss and turn, unable to fall asleep. It’s becoming clear that being with Oliver requires a certain amount of bravery, and right now, I feel like a coward. I did it again. I pulled away instead of talking to him. Taking a step back felt like the right thing to do, but now I’m not sure anymore.

Through my misplaced need to take care of him, I hurt him instead. I’m such an idiot.

The next day, I text him “good morning,” but he doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even read my message. My heart clenches with worry, and the need to be there for him, to care for him, rears up stronger than ever.

Because we belong together. That’s what Oliver said, and would it be foolish to hope that he’s right? I want to be with him so bad, but I still can’t tell if I’m being a selfish idiot for wanting him—I still can’t tell if I’m bad for him. Simply wondering that probably means it’s true.

And yet, by dinnertime, my emotions get the best of me, and I get into my car and drive to Oliver’s apartment. I told him I’d pick him up today, and I can’t break my promise, even if he’s hurt—especially if he’s hurt.