Chapter 30 #2
“Exactly.” Once again he removes his arm carefully but firmly from my grasp.
“You work. You take the time to do it right. You think things through. You don’t jump recklessly into something that’s doomed to fail, just because you’re scared.
” He pauses. “This was so dumb.” His shoulders curl in.
“Impulsive and stupid. And asking me to get married?”
And, as though my mother has been summoned by talk of marriage, my phone begins to ring; I look at the screen impatiently, and when I see it’s Alvina, I have to stop myself from throwing the phone on the ground.
Dominic sees too; he lets out a tired, bitter laugh.
My face heats, but I shove the phone in my pocket. “We’re not doomed to fail, Dom. We would only fail if we let ourselves. The second you let yourself doubt, you open that door—”
“Then I guess it’s open,” he cuts me off, and this is the closest I’ve ever seen him come to anger.
His voice is quiet, but it’s simmering with emotion, his words clipped, his eyes masked.
“If you want to say it that way, fine. But one of us needs to proceed with caution, and it’s clearly not going to be you. ”
My mouth snaps shut as the accusation hits, and so does his. Then he shakes his head.
“This was a bad idea. This was a really bad idea, Reese. We should have waited—”
“No.” I try to blink away the tears, to hold them in, but they sting my eyes anyway. For the first time in so long, I feel loved—truly, wholly, without conditions or hoops I have to jump through. “No. You’re just scared, Dom. You’re scared.”
I don’t mean to hurl the word the way I do, but it flies out all the same—an accusation of my own, full of the emotions bursting in my chest.
His eyes, already shuttered, go completely blank. “And you’re a dog on a leash, letting yourself be dragged around by your mom,” he says flatly. “You realize you’re just like her, don’t you? Making giant, reckless decisions on a complete whim? So neither of us are perfect.”
It’s a blow to the chest, broken ribs and sternum and everything else that protects my heart from damage. His words break through all of those bones and pierce me where it hurts the most. I blink in shock and swallow down my anger, my frustration, because I need to remain rational.
“Let’s talk about this later,” I say, my voice tight.
But Dominic shakes his head again, looking tired and crumpled. “No. Let’s not.” He exhales until he’s completely deflated. “It’s my fault. We should never have done this.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “You’re really running away. As soon as it’s inconvenient, you run.”
Am I so easy to cast aside? Was our relationship all in my head?
“I’m not running,” he says, but it’s not convincing. “I’m being smart.”
“Then what exactly are you saying?” I’m clinging to the hope that maybe I’m misunderstanding—that I’ve got this all wrong.
“I’m saying this was a mistake. That you and I were a mistake.
I’ve lost my job, I’m probably going to be kicked out of school, and who knows what this will do to your academic record—and now you’re talking about getting married”—he throws one hand up in bewilderment—“and it’s insane.
I’m insane. Dating a student?” He’s talking to himself more than to me now. “This whole thing was wrong.”
Wrong.
There’s no compromise I can come up with for that. No way to meet him in the middle. And I see it, all over his face, in his posture—he’s miserable. Dominic is completely miserable.
I clamp my jaw shut against what I know I have to say, because I don’t want to. I don’t want to offer him those words. But they nudge insistently at my lips anyway, until finally my heart crumbles.
“Maybe we should stop, then,” I say.
Because I have to give him a way out. I want to keep him more than anything.
But if he’s been this miserable the whole time we’ve been together—a soul-crushing, devastating thought—I have to at least give him a chance to leave.
So I struggle through my tears and say it again: “Maybe we should stop everything.”
And I hate the relief that passes over his face, mingled with the pain and the frustration—there’s true, genuine relief in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says, an awful finality in his voice. “But we should. We should never have done this.” His words are quiet as he goes on. “It’s my fault, Reese. I shouldn’t have let this happen.”
“But you did. We did,” I say. “And we’re running from the consequences?”
“These are the consequences,” he says dully. “Ending this relationship because it never should have happened in the first place. That’s the consequence.”
I can’t argue. I can’t even disagree.
“Fine,” I say faintly. I can’t stop my tears, and there’s no point trying anymore.
“Then I guess—” The words resist, but I push them out.
“I guess we’re done.” I eye him as his posture eases, only slightly, but noticeable, and a hollow laugh escapes me.
“You’re so relieved. You’re so relieved to be done with me. ”
Dominic doesn’t look at me, doesn’t deny it.
His eyes are fixed on the ground, his head hanging low.
“I really am sorry,” he says. “But—water from a poisoned well. This has been eating me alive, Reese.” He pauses.
“Your mom’s not good for you. You know that?
” Then, with that final parting blow, he turns and opens the door.
He closes it quietly behind him, but the sound echoes in my mind.
One week later he’s gone, like he never existed. I withdraw at the urging of my academic advisor.
And although I try to keep the sunshine he brought into my life, try to find the light wherever I can, it’s not the same.
I don’t see him again.