CHAPTER 90
Troy
“HEY, CAN I come in?” Ana asks.
I think I shrug.
I can’t really tell what’s happening when we’re in the same room as of late.
And then I start to get really mad when she waltzes in wearing a thin robe tied loosely and in some sort of lingerie underneath—treating this, me, like it’s all still a game, and one where she still can’t bear to lose.
But she’s there, under all her charades and pain, the Ana I know is still there but that girl won’t let me in, and I’ve tried just about everything—and she looks so different again.
Her eyes paler, her lips more swollen like she’s been chewing over them anxiously, her hands still fidgeting, but ask her and she’ll tell you she’s fine.
She still rests by my doorway, her gaze withering before my eyes, dropping her hands to the half-undone bow right below her rising chest.
Do it. Do it already.
The base of my throat pinches as I swallow, my gaze narrowing at the way she starts walking over to me, her cheeks still lifted in hope, her neck—even paler than the rest of her skin—wilted in nerves.
Smash my heart the way we both know you want.
Reaching the bed, she slides onto it carefully. When her knees brush against my ankles, the cold touch shreds into a whole lot of memories, the phantom of her lips breathing along my mouth like we still have a chance.
You’re almost there.
It’s like she’s mastered the art of destroying me.
Because I see her hands lift into the air, already foreseeing what’s about to happen. What she’s about to do.
Void it into dust. Go on.
“I’m sorry,” she pushes out, her voice soft. “I’m not using—I wasn’t using you, Troy.”
Observing her features now, this up close again, the girl sitting on the edge of my bed in my room could be telling me the truth, except I don’t think I believe her anymore.
How can I when I can hardly even recognize her anymore?
And for some reason, I think she feels that reality sink in, it finally reach its way into my heart.
Because her eyes sharpen at the edges, her fingers grasping out to touch my hand, getting ready to deal her final blow.
Break it. Only you know how.
_________
Ana
I thought I couldn’t breathe after I fell during our competition earlier today.
This, now I can hardly feel any air coming in.
And I can’t think of any other way to fix this, and my head has started to hurt, so I begin to panic when Troy barely glances at me, when he continues to keep his eyes focused over my shoulder like the sheer sight of me is pure torture for him now.
Knowing well that I caused it, but needing the comfort of his touch suddenly, I reach for his hands before moving my grip toward his waist.
“So you’re just going to stay mad at me forever?” I say, my throat straining when he continues to stay silent. “I want you.”
I watch as his eyes shut, for some reason they look pained like they can’t even open anymore. They can’t even look at me anymore.
And my heart, I thought it had gone numb, but it’s started to ripple fast, hammering my pulse with nerves and uncertainty.
Growing desperate, I part my legs over his lap, straddling him, not wanting him to slip away like this, my silk robe parting down the middle to reveal a matching purple lace set. The one I know he loves.
But as my mouth reaches over his neck, the usually warm and secure ridge of comfort, feels tight and uneven, and I realize it’s the first time Troy’s not hard underneath me. And the unfamiliar, blatant rejection pricks against my stomach.
“You asked me how I feel,” he says, avoiding my touch, instead pulling himself back to meet my gaze.
“Now that I’ve had you, I don’t want any less than a hundred percent.
” When I start to fidget in his lap, his voice cuts right through again.
“I want to take you out on dates. I want to be able to hold your hand when we’re out.
I want to be able to kiss you just because and for it not to feel like a fucking crime until we come home. ”
“But we had a deal,” I remind, my voice broken into a whisper because I don’t know what else to say, still not processing that he wants me beyond the physical stuff or even why.
“We did,” he admits, his voice firm. “But I don’t want to be a part of it anymore. A dare, a bet, these games. It was never just a game. Not for me.”
“Troy,” I say, simply because I’m too stunned to think straight and as a chance for him to reconsider what he’s even telling me.
But at the word—somehow, me saying his name the way that I just did, full of doubt and pain—I see a truth chill across his face.
“I never thought I’d say this, but,” Troy grinds out like a dark epiphany has just struck him.
“You win.” He gestures between us with his hands.
“Whatever this was between us, you win it all.” Then he gently slides out from underneath me, moving off his bed, his jaw sharpened in a way that rips at my heart, heading into his bathroom,
About to shut his door,
And,
Say something,
Anything,
But no words come out.
You win.
The clarity fails to connect with my brain.
Is he quitting our pairing?
In a way, I guess I’m proving his point by worrying about our skating over losing him.
You win.
The more it echoes, the more I wish I could unhear it.
You win.
And it leaves me with a jarring realization.
That didn’t feel as good as I once thought it would.