12 Zara #3
“It’s the only one I’ve got,” he says, and there’s this tired honesty in it that makes my chest hurt.
He drags a hand through his hair, making it stick up worse.
“At first, it was because she was nice. She liked me. She wasn’t scared of me being me.
I liked that. Liked feeling wanted for once, not just tolerated. ”
My throat tightens, because if he thinks all we do is tolerate him, I’m going to have to throw hands with the universe.
“I thought it would help,” he goes on, staring somewhere past my shoulder.
“You know? Distract me. Make me feel normal. Like if I had a girlfriend and went to parties and did all the usual shit, maybe I wouldn’t be so…
angry all the time. And if I was dating someone, I’d stop thinking about you like… ” He cuts himself off, jaw ticking.
“Like what?” I ask, even though my heart is suddenly doing drum solos.
He shakes his head, not taking the bait.
“Didn’t work. Obviously. I kept trying to make it work because I didn’t want to be that guy who bails when it’s not fun anymore.
But she doesn’t want me. She wants some version of me she can fix.
And I’ve been letting her do it because it was easier than admitting I was using her to avoid dealing with how I felt about someone else. ”
Someone else.
I try very hard not to let my face give me away.
“So,” I say carefully, “why haven’t you broken up with her yet?”
“I tried yesterday,” he admits. “At the sorority house. I was going to do it right there, pull her somewhere private, tell her we’re done.
She pushed it off. Like she knew what was going to happen and wasn’t ready for it.
Then she had to leave, and I told myself I wouldn’t do it over text. Figured I owed her better than that.”
“You kind of do,” I agree.
“Yeah. I hate that I’ve dragged it out this long. Hate that I hurt her. Hate that I hurt you in the process, too.”
My head jerks up in surprise. “Me?”
“Yeah, you,” he tells me, like it’s obvious.
“You think I didn’t see your face when I said I was going to see her before the party?
When I showed up with her and her friends have been talking shit about you for months?
I should’ve shut that down sooner. Should’ve left earlier. Should’ve done a lot of things.”
“And instead you punched a dude,” I add dryly.
He winces. “Yeah. Gold star for me.”
Silence stretches between us for a moment, processing.
“So what now?” I ask, my voice softer.
He meets my eyes, really looks at me, and something in his expression shifts. It’s like a decision is sliding into place right in front of me.
“Now,” he says, “I go break up with her.”
“Today?” I almost choke on my surprise. “Like, today, today?”
“Yeah.” He nods, shoulders squaring. “Today. I told myself I was doing it this weekend anyway. After last night and… everything, I’m not waiting. It’s not fair to her. Or you. Or my own messed-up brain.”
A stupid little spark of hope flares up in my chest before I can stomp it out. I immediately try to bury it under sarcasm.
“You sound very sure,” I note, tilting my head.
“I am.” He nods with a look of determination on his face I haven’t seen in a while. “I should’ve done it sooner. I’m not going to pretend I stayed because I loved her. I stayed because I was scared and stubborn and didn’t want to admit what was really going on in my head. I’m done doing that.”
I can feel my face betraying me, my lips tugging up even as I try to keep them neutral. Happiness bubbles in my stomach, fizzy and bright, mingled with guilt on Stacey’s behalf and a healthy dose of terror about what this means.
He clocks it in half a second. Damn him. His mouth curls just a little.
“Why do you look like that?” he asks.
“Like what?” I demand.
“Like you’re trying not to smile.” He smirks as if he finds it amusing, leaning in to poke the corner of my lip with his index finger. “You know, for someone who claims to have a great poker face, you’re terrible at hiding your feelings.”
“I am a locked vault,” I insist, swatting his hand away and crossing my arms. “No one knows what’s inside.”
“Yeah?” He shifts so he’s sitting more fully next to me now, shoulder pressed to mine. “Because it kind of looks like someone just told you your favorite show got renewed for ten more seasons.”
I shove his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”
He grins, and for a second, the room feels lighter.
The thing is, he’s not wrong. The idea of him not being with Stacey anymore, of him being actually free, is terrifying and intoxicating all at once. It makes some selfish part of me want to grab him by the shirt and say pick me then. Be with me.
Instead, I swallow the words and make a face.
“This is bad,” I mutter.
He raises a brow. “What is?”
“You being single,” I say, staring at my hands so I don’t have to look at him. “Because if you’re single, not telling you I love you is going to be a lot harder.”
His breath catches, but I pretend I don’t hear it. I pick up Calcifer from where he’s been hiding on the bed and squish him between our faces like a barrier, hiding in the plush, my heart pounding so loud I’m pretty sure he can hear it.
Calcifer stares at me with his little angry eyebrows as if he knows exactly how doomed I am.
And for once, the doom doesn’t feel quite so hopeless.