Chapter 48 #2
“I’m not moving on,” I say desperately. “I’m drowning.
I’m barely sleeping, I can’t focus, I’m so exhausted I can’t think straight half the time, and every time I try to talk to you, I make it worse because my brain won’t work properly anymore.
” I curl my hand into a fist. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit unfair about all this? ”
She’s quiet for a long moment, arms wrapped around herself, her body angled away from me at the small table. And I can see it happening—can see her building up walls, protecting herself from more hurt. From the hurt I cause.
Finally, she shrugs one shoulder and says, so quietly I almost miss it, “Maybe . . . Or maybe we were just fooling ourselves.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “What?”
“Maybe this was always just . . .” She can’t seem to finish the sentence, but she doesn’t need to. I can see it written all over her face.
“Temporary?” I finish for her, and the word tastes bitter on my tongue. “You think what we have is temporary.”
“I didn’t—” She flicks her gaze to me, and I lean back, as if her words are a physical thing pushing me away. “Aric, I didn’t mean—”
“No, you’re right.” Something cold and hard settles in my chest, like ice forming over water.
It reminds me of when Ma died, of how I learned to shield myself from the pain by trying to become numb to it all.
“You’re absolutely right. I mean, why would you want to stay with someone who can’t even show up for you?
Someone who’s so wrapped up in his own shit that he forgets how to be a decent boyfriend? ”
“Stop it,” she says, her voice sharp now, lavender eyes narrowing even as tears continue to run from them. “Don’t twist my words.”
“I’m not twisting anything. You just said we were fooling ourselves.
” It feels like something is breaking inside me, but I’m too exhausted to stop it, and I’m not even sure I know how.
“If that’s what you think—if you think I’m already halfway out the door—then maybe you’re right.
Maybe we should just call it now. Save ourselves the trouble of dragging it out. ”
Her face crumples, fresh tears spilling over. “Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know what I want anymore,” I say, voice losing steam.
“I’m too tired to think. I can’t—” My voice cracks, and I clench my teeth, trying to center myself despite it feeling like my world is spinning out of control.
“I can’t have this conversation right now, Poppy.
Finals start tomorrow. I’m running out of time, and I’m trying to not completely fuck up my entire future, and I—”
“So, that’s it? You’re giving up? Just like that?”
“You gave up first,” I shoot back, and I hate how petty it sounds even as the words leave my mouth. “You said we were fooling ourselves.”
“I said maybe!” She’s crying openly now, not bothering to hide it. “I said maybe because I’m scared and confused and you’ve been treating me like I’m an obligation instead of someone you actually want to be with!”
“Of course I want to be with you!” The words burst out of me, loud and desperate.
Several students turn to stare. I lower my voice to a harsh whisper.
“But I’m failing, Poppy. Can’t you see that?
I’m failing at everything—at being a good student, at being on the runeball team, at being your boyfriend.
And I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to be what everyone needs me to be. ”
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” she says, her voice breaking. “I just need you to be here. With me. But you’re not. You haven’t been for weeks.”
And that’s what finally makes me understand that she’s right.
I haven’t been here. Not really. I’ve been drowning in my own worries, so consumed by the fear of failing that I’ve already failed at the thing that matters most: her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, but my voice sounds hollow, even to my own ears. My shoulders feel weighed down, as if I’m carrying sacks of grain. “I’m so sorry, Poppy. You deserve better than this. Better than me.”
“Don’t,” she whispers, lavender eyes blazing even as she continues to cry. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this about you not being good enough.”
“But it is about that.” I look at her—really look at her—and see the damage I’ve done. The hurt in her glistening eyes, the way she’s holding herself together by a thread. “You were right. We were fooling ourselves. Because I can’t be what you need. At least, not right now.”
“What are you saying?” she asks, even though I think we both know.
“I’m saying . . .” I have to stop and breathe. My heart feels like it’s trying to burst through my rib cage. “I’m saying maybe we need to take a break. Just until finals are over. Until I can actually think straight again.”
“A break,” she repeats, and there’s something dead in her voice now. “You mean a breakup.”
“I don’t—” But I can’t finish. Because maybe that’s exactly what I mean. “I don’t know. I just know I can’t do this right now. I can’t be in a relationship when I’m barely holding myself together.”
She nods slowly, stiffly, like she’s gone somewhere else entirely. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I blink. I didn’t expect her to agree so easily. A selfish part of me wants her to fight for it—for us—even as I’m pushing her away.
She stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder and gathering her books against her chest like armor. Armor against me. “If that’s what you need, then . . . okay.”
Fuck.
“Poppy, wait—”
But she’s already backing away, shaking her head, making her soft lavender hair dance around her tearstained cheeks. “No. You’re right. This isn’t working. We’re not working. Not right now.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” Tears still track down her cheeks, but her voice is steady now. “And maybe that’s okay. Maybe we both need this.”
She doesn’t sound like she believes it. But she turns and walks away anyway, her footsteps quick and purposeful, drawing looks from nearby students as she flees from me.
I watch her disappear around an aisle of books, every instinct screaming at me to follow her, to take it all back, to pull her into my arms and do whatever it takes to make this right.
But I don’t move.
I sit there at that stupid narrow table that’s too small for me, surrounded by textbooks I can’t focus on anymore, and I let the most amazing woman I’ve ever met walk out of my life.
I’m too exhausted and cowardly to fight for her the way she deserves. And by the time I realize what I’ve done—by the time the shock wears off and the horror sets in—she’s already long gone.
I prop my elbows on the table and drop my head into my hands, my textbook forgotten, and try to understand how everything fell apart so fast.
How I lost her.
And how I let her go.