Page 85 of Playing the Player

“I’m coming!” I yell. Jesus. Impatient much?

The second I swing the door open, a broad shoulder slams into me, forcing me backwards. The smell hits me before I even look up. The cheap cologne. The one I used to bury my face in. Now it makes my stomach turn.

“How do you know where I live?” I close the door gently behind me, walking over and standing at the end of the couch where Max seems to have made himself at home.

“I asked Rose for your new address months ago. I thought I should have it just in case.” Just in case what?

“What are you doing here, Max?”

“I ended things with Jessica.” He’s out of breath. Probably because he was practically ramming his body against my door just to get inside.

“That doesn't answer my question. Why are you here?”

He runs both hands over his face before looking up at me. “I miss you, Sash.” Before I can move, he’s on his feet, taking both of my hands in his. His grip is so tight that I can’t pull away even if I tried. “We were so good together and I didn’t realize that until it was too late.” He tugs my hands, trying to pull me towards him, but I don’t move an inch.

“Why now?” I ask him, finally finding my voice after a long moment of silence. “It’s been almost a year. Why are you only figuring this out now?” I try to keep the bitterness out of my tone but fail. I don’t want him to know how much this all still affects me. I hate how much it still affects me.

Max’s eyes fall to the floor. “Because I saw you with him.” Hearing him refer to Conor with such distaste does something to my insides. It’s like he’s poured acid down my throat, the liquid burning my stomach. “Hearing about you being with him and seeing you with him are two completely different things. The sight made me feel sick to my stomach, Sasha.”

A short, bitter laugh escapes me. “Really?”

“You have no idea what that felt like.”

I stare at him for a moment, my mouth hanging open. “Are you fucking delusional. I have no idea what that feels like?” He opens his mouth to speak again but I don't let him. “What about me, Max? What about how I felt?” The words explode before I can stop them. “I knew you cheated on me. I stayed with you regardless of that fact. I thought we could overcome it but I couldn’t look at you without wanting to pound your face against the wall. I felt dirty when you got into bed beside me at night.”

He’s crying now, but I don’t care. “When you kissed me, I wondered if you wished I was her. When you told me you loved me,” My voice cracks and I have to force the rest of the words out, “I thought you still meant it. I thought I was still someone worth having your love. But none of it was true. All the kisses, all the sweet words and kind acts, it was all fake.” Ironic, huh?

“I hated you so fucking much for what you did to me. And you know what made it worse?” He stays silent, looking more guilty now than he ever has before. “What was worse, was that at the end of it all, I still loved you.”

There are tears streaming down my cheeks. Not tears of sadness but of anger. I am so fucking angry right now. Only one thing could calm me down right now but he’s not here. He’s halfway across the country.

“You need to leave, Max.”

“Sasha, please.”

“No.”

“Just give me one more chance.”

“No.”

“Please.” He pleads with me, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around me. Every muscle in my body locks up tight before I wrench myself free.

“I don’t want to be with you.” The words come easier than I thought they would. “I don’t love you anymore, Max. And being with Conor has made me realize that I never really did.”

Something inside him breaks. I can see it the moment it happens. He lets out a defeated sigh before turning and heading for the door. Hand on the handle, he faces me one last time. “He’ll hurt you, Sash. Worse than I ever did.”

The second the door clicks shut, my legs give out. I slide down the wall, put my head in my hands and cry. Not because I miss him. Not because I feel guilty or want him back.

I cry because for the first time in almost a year, I finally said everything I’d been carrying around inside me. Every ounce of anger. Every ounce of hurt. Every question that never got answered. It’s over. He’s finally just someone I used to know.

The only thing that lingers is his final words. He’ll hurt you. I hate that they stay with me. I hate that they leave a sour taste in my mouth. I hate that some small, frightened part of me wonders if he’s right.

Maybe that’s all the confirmation I need.

Conor and I are ending this anyway. I guess I’ll never have to find out.

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