26. “Why Why Why” - Shawn Mendes #2
No. It’s just another trap, and I’m so far gone, so deep into my obsession with him, my need for him, that I’m at a greater risk than ever of falling into it.
And even this knowledge isn’t enough to protect me, because no matter what I tell myself, no matter how much my heart knows the truth, I will always pursue that path if it carries even a tiny flicker of hope.
Hope that this time it’s real, this time he’ll tell me what I want to hear.
That this time I won’t break.
“I can’t, Henry. I just can’t.” I force my feet to move away, away from him and the door. His words are nothing but a bomb fuse masquerading as a beacon of hope he’s holding out to me like a candle in a dungeon.
His words are muffled by the heavy door, but they cut through me all the same. “I love you, C. I’ve always loved you.”
There’s a rough brushing sound. I imagine him sliding against the wood until he’s sitting on the floor. I don’t move a muscle.
“My bastard of a father knew, probably before I did,” he continues. “You falling from the horse was his doing. I learned that later. He said the next time you’d leave in a body bag, not on a stretcher.”
My heart ices over.
“It was his way of controlling me,” Henry says.
“He’s always hated my guts, and it gave him the power he craved.
At the end of summer, when you told me how you felt, I knew the only way to ensure he couldn’t hurt you was to put distance between us.
If you were out of my life, he couldn’t use you as a weapon anymore. ”
I let out a trembling breath and hold on to the sink while I ease myself to the floor. The agony of that day sears through me like a poker hot from the fire. It was a painful break, but at least it was a clean one. The ones since have been as messy as black-market amputations.
“The women, the tabloids, the parties—I needed you to hate me. I had to keep you away, and I couldn’t think of anything that would repulse you more than that.
I lost myself in it for a long time, hating myself more the longer I stayed.
But it was effective, wasn’t it?” His laugh is full of scorn. “You hated my guts.”
I never could, try as I might.
“Are you even listening?” Henry asks after a long pause.
I don’t say anything. I’m afraid if I do, he might think I believe him. Or worse, stop talking.
He sighs heavily, and for a minute I’m afraid he’s going to leave, but then he says, “Remember the night you came to my room and we played Monopoly?”
Like I could forget. It was magical, up until the minute he ripped my heart from my chest.
“He sent that fucking bottle of champagne to mess with me. Somehow he found out about us—I swear the man has eyes everywhere—and he wanted me to know that he knew.
“I knew it wasn’t fair to you to keep playing with your heart the way I was.
But god, how was I supposed to stay away?
You’re the only good thing in my life. When you showed up in London, I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do.
I thought I was hallucinating at first. I thought maybe I’d conjured you out of my own need to see you.
“You said no one knew, and like a fucking idiot, I thought maybe he wouldn’t find out.
But he always finds out. As soon as the paparazzi caught us, I knew it was only a matter of time.
I had to make him think it was only a fling for me.
The only way to do that convincingly was to send you home with a broken heart. ”
I wish now I hadn’t listened, that I’d jumped in the shower and drowned his words in the hot water. At least then the wound wouldn’t be gaping open like it is now, the pain fresh and all-consuming, exactly the way it was that day.
But it’s too late. I’m paralyzed, a victim to any other pain he decides to dole out. My heart desperately wants everything he’s saying to be true. But how many times has he played me for a fool in the past?
I can hear movement on the other side if the door, probably Henry getting to his feet.
Without giving another thought to what I’m doing, I approach and slowly turn the knob.
I can’t decide if I want him to be gone or not, but when I open the door, he’s still there, and my heart skids through my chest. He looks so tired, as if sharing this has literally sucked something from his body.
“Is William the one behind the assassination attempts?” I ask quietly.
“We’ve been keeping a close eye on him, but I don’t think so.”
“So why are you telling me this now?”
Henry leans a shoulder against the doorjamb, hands tucked into his pockets. “I want you to know that you can trust me.”
“So this is the truth? All of it?” I cross my arms over my chest before he can eviscerate what’s left of my heart.
“C, I—”
“Just answer the question, Henry.”
He waits a long time before he answers. His silence tells me everything I need to know.
Finally, he sighs and says, “No, it’s not all of it.”
“Because you still don’t trust me.”
“Because it’s not safe for you to know.” The vein in his forehead throbs.
“I’m not a small child who needs coddling,” I tell him.
He rubs his hand over his face. “I know that. But I’m terrified something will happen to you.”
“How do you expect me to trust you when you won’t even tell me the truth?” I shut the door, ignoring his pained expression. Then I sink to the floor and sob.