Chapter 30 Cry Baby #2
“I only walked up to that stage because I wasn’t about to let you embarrass yourself with everyone watching. That’s it.”
I sound terrifyingly calm.
Truth is, I’m dying.
“You said you want me, but...”
I lift a shoulder. “I don’t want you.”
Andrew’s whole body goes still.
Not fear-stricken still.
It goes no-air-heart-shattered still.
Then panic floods his face.
“Stop, Sonny, don’t. Don’t fuckin’ say that.
“That’s not even fuckin’ true.”
I don’t stop—
“This thing?” I squint,
waving a hand between us.
“Don’t want it.
“You? I’m done.”
His head’s shaking.
Heartbreak, rage, regret—
all of it crashes through him, riots in his eyes.
He opens his mouth to explain,
apologize,
plead.
I speak first—
“Before you start—this isn’t about your past, Drew. It isn’t about the number, as concerning as it is. Or the girls. Don’t blame them for the shit you made ‘em believe. This is about you. Not doing a goddamn thing tonight. All fuckin’ night.”
“Could’ve said—get off my lap, too fuckin’ close
“Could’ve said—bet or no bet, you’re still the only girl in the room.
“But, no. Instead, you let ‘em hang all over you just to prove a point.”
He chose to burn us down just to say—
Look what I can do to you.
I’ll show you what ‘not yours’ looks like.
And it worked.
His eyes are darting—
my mouth,
my hands,
my eyes,
the door behind me—
searching for an answer
to stop me from leaving.
Then his hand lands on his chest,
his other hand reaching for me.
“I know, I know, I fucked it. I fucked everything, but I—shit, I—” He takes my hand, brings me closer. “I can’t shake this feelin’ like you’re always slippin’ outta my hands, and I—I don’t know what the fuck I gotta do to keep you.”
He tries to pull in a breath, rubbing his chest.
His voice drops, hand squeezing mine tighter.
“Sonny, this is happening too fast.
“Jesus, I can’t think.
“I don’t feel right. I feel like I’m gettin’ hit by a fuckin’ bus right now—”
I huff out a bitter laugh.
“You? I was blindsided tonight. You said you ‘hooked up some.’ Figured I’d get some dirty looks. Maybe some jealous bitch. But this? Ain’t some. I was fucked the second I walked in, and you took that, and turned the volume all the way up. Intentionally made it worse for me.”
I laugh so I don’t cry,
then shrug—empty, scraped hollow.
“And yeah, said I don’t get jealous. Said I’m not insecure. Still don’t. Still not. But that wasn’t an invitation to see how far you could push it. Told you, let ‘em get close, if you want,” I say slowly. “And you did. So now I know.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them.
"Fuck—" His hands are shaking.
“I didn’t mean for it to go like that,
“I swear I didn’t—”
“You didn’t mean to put a fuckin’ noose around my neck? Kick the fuckin’ chair out and watch me dangle for over an hour? Cut it down just to see if I’d crawl to you so you can fuckin’ breathe?”
I blink, brows raised, still acting calm.
“That’s what you did tonight.”
He’s shaking his head
as if that won’t make it true.
I swallow. “And I’m the idiot, covered in fuckin’ orange juice, crawlin’ through all these fuckin’ girls to get to you.
” I turn my head when a tear shakes off my lashes, and I wipe it fast. “All of it? Tonight? Just proved my point. I’m not yours.
You’re not mine. And you will never be mine.
You can’t ever be mine ‘cause you’re not yours to hand over.
” My voice fractures. “You got no control. Everyone fuckin’ owns you. ”
His pupils go glassy.
He brings my hand to his heaving chest,
voice breaking before the sentence forms.
A breath.
A beginning.
Then nothing.
Only his heart thrashing under my palm.
Then a swallow and—
“Sonny—you’re right.
“But this ain’t me, you are.
“Please—just give me a sec—”
I let go of his hand first.
Before he can let go of mine.
“Nah. You can’t tell me this isn’t you.
“Not when you’re still choosing all of it.”
Someone bumps him from behind.
His jaw clenches.
He tries to take a stable breath—can’t.
“Jesus—I can’t. I need a second, aight?
“Can we slow down a sec?”
He’s shaking, flushed, a fucking mess,
and all I can see are the iron levels,
the blood sugar,
all the hours he hasn’t slept,
the energy he doesn’t have,
the papers I smacked against his chest hours ago.
All he sees is the end in my face.
He’s clutching his chest, his head, his stomach,
not knowing what hurts more.
“Don’t do this.
“Don’t fuckin’ do this right now.”
His eyes never leave me, scared I’ll vanish.
“You got no fuckin’ clue what this is doin’ to me. Dio mio… you fuck me up. You don’t get it. You fuckin’… split me open, Sonny. I can’t breathe—” He shakes his head. “Please—just a second, just a second,” he holds out a hand, “don’t go.”
A body trips too close,
but Andrew’s lifting an arm without looking,
instinct, second nature,
blocking the girl before she clips my shoulder.
He moves in closer, holding my gaze with eyes that are pressing on my chest, needing to be inside.
“C’mon let’s get the fuck outta here, aight?”
He’s holding my face, pulling me closer.
“Let’s just go.
“Let’s pass out somewhere,
“do this when I’m right in the fuckin’ head.
“Baby, please—I’m beggin’ you to give me the night. I’m not right. I’m—fuck—” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m fuckin’ losin’ it. I can’t even fight for you ‘cause I ain’t thinkin’ straight.”
Someone calls out his name—Andrew Harding.
I finally look around, outside of us.
A drum solo crashes through the speakers,
rattling the walls.
Bodies pile around us—hips moving,
drinks spilling,
mouths scheming.
We’re not loud.
We’re not airing our shit for everyone.
But they’re still watching
with eyes that don’t want a happy ending.
They want cursing. Crying.
Makeup melting down my face.
Then a girl stumbles up with a vodka grin.
“You alright, Harding?
“Looks like you need an out…”
She eyes me like I’ve got a knife to his throat.
Then she slips between us,
fingers sliding down his arm,
reaching for his hand,
and I feel the sensation sliding down mine, too.
My body can’t tell the difference between his skin and mine anymore.
My heart’s pounding
turns into throbbing.
Then to hurting.
Then to a sickness that tastes like violation.
It hits the same as being fucked—
body gone corpse-still,
acid flooding the back of my throat.
She turns into him,
pressing herself up against his arm.
“C’mon, this how you wanna end your night?”
Then it happens slow,
seconds dragging out,
the way Andrew’s gaze wraps around me,
two eyes like two fingers pressed against my pulse,
feeling me walking away before I do.
He’s shaking his head,
vein bulging in his neck like a fist—Jersey pissed.
I turn just as his arm flies up, blocking her.
“Nah—I’m done.
“I’m so fuckin’ done.
“Get your hands off me.”
My boots are already beating the floor,
trying to escape the massacre in my chest.
My heart’s screaming—look back, coward.
My brain’s threatening—don’t you dare.
I ignore my heart. She’s stupid.
This is all her fault in the first place.
And I’d rather think than feel.
I hear him behind me—
“Allison, Allison—please, wait.”
But I don’t. I keep walking.
Away from the girls.
From their stories.
From their memories.
Then—
“You okay?”
A voice like cigarettes, sex, and Sinatra.
I glance up.
Romeo.
He's heading in the same direction as my heartbreak, stepping into my path with a chin-tilt and cocked brow.
“Whole night left and a city wide open for somethin’ better.”
He holds out his hand,
a getaway car to get me out of here.
Open and waiting.
“You in?”