Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
No matter how badly I wish things could go back to normal, they don’t. They can’t. I feel the world around me splintering, and despite many attempts, I can’t hold things together.
I go through the motions, sleep-deprived and spiraling, tottering on the edge of my own sanity. With every day that passes, the truth festers, and with it, anger.
Anger at myself, for being weak. Anger at the world, for continuing to rotate like everything’s fine. And perhaps the most misplaced anger of the three—anger at Wes, for not deducing the truth. For not being a mind reader. For being oblivious to the fact that his friend is a monster.
For being friends with him at all.
“Is everything okay, Ives?” he asks in class on Tuesday.
My head snaps toward him. “Why?”
He glances pointedly at my knee, which won’t stop bouncing beneath the desk. “You seem a little on edge.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, forcing my limbs to relax, but I know I’ve been acting off.
Twitchy. Restless. Distant. I do my best to behave normally for the rest of class, faking through the motions, masking my true feelings.
Afterward, Wes asks me back to his place, but I make up a lie about having plans with Quinn.
I continue to lie for the rest of the week, fabricating a headache, a stomachache, a study session, a test. I zone out in all my classes and feign normalcy when I can. But every lie winds me tighter. Every fake smile sets me more on edge.
By Saturday, I know I can’t avoid him any longer, so I meet Wes at his house in the late afternoon. He pulls me into an immediate hug, and my body tenses up before I can force myself to relax. If he notices (which I’m sure he does), he doesn’t comment.
We watch a movie in the living room, but I don’t curl up against his side like I normally would. Again, he doesn’t say anything, but I can sense the shift in his energy. Fifteen minutes into the film, he reaches across the couch to grab my hand, but I pull it away unthinkingly.
Wes pauses the movie and turns to face me.
“Did something happen?” he asks slowly, his eyes searching mine.
I stiffen, wrapping my arms around myself. The words tangle around my tongue for a moment. “W-what? No. What do you mean?”
His eyes roam over my face, searching for any hint into my mental state. “You’ve been acting different since we got back from the trip.”
I blink at him. He’s right, but I have no explanation for him.
His brows pull together, and I see the anxiety swirling behind his eyes. “Did I do something, Ivy?”
Mason’s face pops into my head, and I push it away. “I’m just tired,” I lie. “Stressed. I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Ivy.” He reaches for my hand again, but I get to my feet, suddenly agitated.
I’ve hardly slept this week, and it’s catching up to me.
The world seems warped and off-balance. I feel disembodied and detached, like I’m not a real person anymore.
I shake out my hands, and they don’t feel like mine.
“I know I’m not crazy,” Wes continues. “You’ve been distant from me.
I feel like I’ve barely seen you this week. We haven’t kissed since spring break.”
I freeze, a sour feeling churning my stomach. That furious thing inside my chest prickles and paces, a caged animal waiting to strike. “You’re upset we haven’t kissed?”
“I’m not upset, but I’d like to know what’s bothering you.
If I did something, I’d like to try to fix it.
” His words hover in the air for a moment.
They’re so rational, but the voice in my head urges me to pick a fight.
To take out my anger and frustration on a man who doesn’t deserve it.
I latch onto an insecurity and forge ahead.
“Why can’t you just admit it?” I demand.
“Admit what?” he asks, looking bewildered.
“Admit that you’re upset we’re not hooking up. Any normal guy would be pissed about that. Why can’t you just be honest? Why do you always have to pretend that nothing bothers you?”
His eyes widen, and he shakes his head. Getting to his feet, he takes a hesitant step closer to me. “I’ve never been anything but honest with you. And I don’t always pretend.”
“You do!” I cry. “You do it with everyone. The girls who come up to you on campus, and the guys who act like assholes.” Mason’s face flashes through my mind again, but I can’t bring myself to call him out specifically.
“You pretend that everything’s fine, even though I know you wish our relationship was different. ”
Wes slowly shakes his head. “Ivy, I don’t.”
“You do,” I snap, my words coming from that deep, dark place I spend most of my time lately.
“This is your last semester of college. Just admit that you’d rather be enjoying your senior year with one of the million girls in your phone instead of some fucked up freshman.
We’re not together. Nothing’s stopping you. ”
Hurt flashes across his face. “Really, Ivy? We’re not together?”
“No.”
“If we’re not together, then why do we spend all our time together? Why did I introduce you to my friends and my parents? Why did I invite you on my vacation?”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have,” I spit out.
I glimpse the pain in his eyes before they shutter. His face goes blank. Expressionless. “Oh. Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
My chest pangs, and I release a slow sigh. I feel foggy-headed. Disoriented by my misplaced emotions. I can’t quite get a grip on right and wrong. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“I don’t give a fuck if we’re having sex or not. I told you that.”
My anger flares again, out of control. “Well, good. I’m glad you don’t give a fuck.”
He shakes his head at my intentional belligerence. I’m aware that I’m being a brat, but I can’t seem to stop myself…not when the person I’m really mad at, the person I actually loathe, is myself. “Ivy, come on,” he says. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Sure, it’s not.”
He runs a hand through his hair, and I know he’s exasperated. I know he’s stressed by my accusations and confused by my behavior, at a loss for what to say. I don’t blame him. Any sane person would be.
He drops his hand and shakes his head at me.
“One minute you’re all over me, the next you’re pulling away.
I’ve told you so many times that I’m not trying to pressure you.
I’ve told you how much you mean to me. I don’t know how much more convincing I can be.
Have I not done enough to prove that to you? ”
I hesitate because this is it. This is my last opportunity to walk it back.
To find understanding. To tell him what’s actually bothering me and potentially destroy our relationship a different way.
Because it’s not about sex. It’s not about his accusation that I’m giving mixed signals.
He’s right about that. I’ve given enough mixed signals to stop traffic.
In reality, this is about him.
It’s always about him.
I’m drowning in the memory of him, and I can’t—I can’t—I can’t find the surface anymore. So I let it beat me, break me, and drag me under until hope is lost.
This is your last chance to tell him the truth.
It is, but when I open my mouth, “You haven’t done enough,” comes out instead.
I throw the words at him, sharp enough to kill, and watch as they hit their mark.
I watch our bubble burst. I watch our world shatter because we both know that Wes has been an angel, a godsend, a guiding light.
We both know how much he cares for me, how he’s proven it over and over, and that there’s no going back after this.
He’s given all he’s capable of, stood before me time and time again with his heart on his sleeve and his intentions laid bare, and maybe in an alternate reality his devotion would heal me completely.
But not in this one.
The look on his face will haunt me forever. I’ve never seen him so hurt. So…broken.
It destroys me inside, but I deserve it.
“Fuck. I’m trying. I’m…” He trails off. His throat bobs as he swallows, his eyes turning glassy. “Maybe it’s not…”
“Not what?” I breathe, knowing the answer but dreading it anyway.
He swallows again. Seems to hold his breath for a moment before exhaling the words, “Not meant to be.”
Not meant to be.
Although I expected it, practically manifested it, my vision clouds over. My chest caves in, and the room tilts as the air drains from my lungs, even though I pushed him to this. I knew this would happen.
“Every time you pull away, it hurts me,” he murmurs. “I know I hide it. I know it seems like nothing gets to me. I’m great at putting on a brave face when I need to. I’m an expert at concealing the negative shit, but…but I don’t think I can anymore. Not with you.”
His words slice through me, and I know they’re going to leave a scar.
“I’ve tried to help you,” he continues on. “I’ve tried to be there for you. I’ve tried to prove to you how much I care for you. And it really fucking hurts when you question me over and over. I’ve never been anything but honest with you.”
He pauses and waits for me to say something. Anything. But I don’t. I can’t. So he keeps going.
“Look,” he says, running a hand through his hair for the millionth time.
“I’ve been clear about my feelings and my intentions from the very beginning, and I don’t know what else I can do to make you believe in this.
To make you believe in me.” The pain in his eyes is gut-wrenching as they bore into mine. “Do you know?”
“No,” I whisper, though inside I’m frenzied and frantic. Inside, I’m screaming because I just lost the other half of my heart.
“I need to take a step back, Ivy. I’m sorry. I need space.”
I need to take a step back, Ivy. I’m sorry. I need space.
The moment he says those words, I run. I pack up my things and leave the house as quickly as possible, ignoring his protests to drive me home.