Chapter 32 - Annie
THIRTY-TWO
Annie
My force fields are not feeling particularly intact two days later.
Maybe I didn’t reinforce them enough.
All it took were flashes of memory, the waving of a tree branch in the wind, the reflection of the sun on a puddle.
A bar of chocolate and a jar of honey in Izzy’s cabinets and the disgusting bacon and eggs I tried to make us for breakfast. Each one pokes a massive, gorilla-sized hole in my shields.
Izzy’s at work, and I’m simultaneously browsing for apartments in her kitchen and patching a hole I made in my armor after I squeezed my own damn knee, when her buzzer rings.
“Who is it?” I say into her intercom.
“Hey, honey.”
For a brief, embarrassing moment, I fold. Just for a second. My vision blurs, like someone smeared tears across my eyeballs before I could stop them. That voice. That fuckin’ voice. Warm and safe.
No.
No, no, no.
I remember who I am now. What I’ve rebuilt in the smoldering crater. I remind myself of my new and improved shield and my newly sharpened fangs.
I don’t let him upstairs. Instead, I climb the steps down to ground level, checking my walls for weak spots. I pull my face into a sunny mask and walk down Izzy’s stairs like I’m not holding the door shut on a screaming, sobbing version of myself inside.
When I open the door, I break all over again.
God, he looks wrecked. A big, beautiful wreck.
Like he hasn’t slept, like he’s been walking around with a missing piece.
He looks like me underneath this unhinged mask I’m wearing.
His eyes land on my face, and they light up and fall apart at the same time.
Hope and sorrow tangle in the lines of his face.
And I want. I want. I want.
I want to run into his arms.
I want to scream until my throat shreds.
I want to give in.
Instead, I chirp, “Hey!” My voice sounds like a cartoon chipmunk trying to sell perfume.
Nico's whole face collapses. “Oh, Annie.”
I grin wider. Bigger. Stretch it across my face like Saran wrap. “What’s up?” I say, like we’re neighbors running into each other in the hallway.
He steps toward me, and I instinctively sidestep.
“I know you blocked me,” he says, hands raised slightly, trying to show he’s unarmed. “I just needed to see if you were okay.”
“Oh, I’m great,” I chirp. “I’m fine. May, on the other hand, is not okay.
I mean, she’s okay, like physically, but she’s not in a good place.
I mean, well, obviously. Her fiancé who she loved for who knows what reason was cheating on her on her fucking wedding day, that fucking asshole, and probably was for eons, and then she lost out on what, tens of thousands of dollars on all the wedding shit, and then—”
“Annie.”
That word again. My name in his voice. It cuts through my rambling like a whip. I clamp my mouth shut.
“I’m not asking about May. I’m asking about you.”
“Yup. Still fine.”
He takes another step towards me, and I take another away in a twisted choreography, even if we’re standing what has to be a good ten feet apart.
“You still owe me a talk,” he says gently. “Let’s talk.”
“Iz told me she talked to you,” I say, waving it off. “Thanks for the ride. No hard feelings, dude.” Maybe if I avoid his name, this will hurt less.
He flinches. “Dude?” he repeats.
“It was fun. Really fun. You’re great. Seriously. You’re great and wonderful and like the coolest person I know—”
“Jesus, Annie.” He laughs once, sharp and hurt. “These superlatives aren’t makin’ either of us feel any better.”
“I told you, I’m fine.” My teeth are clenched so tight my jaw will be sore tomorrow.
“Annie, honey—”
“Stop calling me that,” I snap through my mask. “I told you a million times. I’m not your honey.”
“Lie.”
I blink.
He steps forward. “Let me in.”
“Izzy’s here,” I lie again.
“She’s not—she’s the one who told me to come.” Traitorous bitch. “Besides, that’s not what I fuckin’ mean, and you know it.”
My throat is closing up. “Dude—”
“You haven’t said my name once,” he says quietly. “You’re trying to erase me.”
Because if I say your name, I’ll remember how it felt in the dark. How it tasted against my tongue. How it sounded when I whispered it into your skin.
“I’m not okay,” he says. “And I know you’re not either.”
My smile freezes. “You don’t know me at all,” I blurt out.
“Lie,” he repeats, stepping forward. “I know that you are amazing and brilliant and also the coolest fuckin’ person I know.”
I step away.
“I know that you need a hug.”
My eyes flick down to his arms, scan the width of his chest and the length of his hoodie, the one I wore for days. I want to crawl inside it and never come out.
“I know you deserve everything that is good in the world,” he says with a step forward.
I don’t move.
“And I know,” he says, voice shaking, “that you belong with me,” he says with finality.
Something tears across my ribcage. “Lie,” I murmur, voice cracking. “I deserve someone better.”
“Baby—” he tries, scrambling now, “Annie, I am so fuckin’ sorry.
I know I hurt you. I know I broke something.
I froze, and I didn’t believe you. I didn’t go after you, I didn’t defend you.
The biggest mistakes I’ve ever made, I made within a ten-minute span.
” His voice rises in volume and frustration.
“But that’s a reflection of me, not you.
On my own damn insecurities. But I should’ve fuckin’ believed you, because you’re the only person in the entire world I trust with my entire fuckin’ life! ” he explodes.
I freeze, and all of my organs collapse into a black hole that’s appeared in my belly.
“I love you,” he says. “I’m sorry, and I love you, and I’m here because I love you, and I love you so fuckin’ much I can’t fuckin’ breathe.
I know you,” he continues, voice rough with feeling.
“I know you’re hurting. I know that letting people in has always been dangerous for you.
But Annie, honey…” He tears his hands through his hair.
“Please. Let me back in. Loving someone is not a weakness.”
His words are a knife against my ribs. I don’t let them draw blood. “It’s the only one I have,” I inform him, and it’s the truth.
His gut caves in like I’ve kicked him. But he doesn’t stop.
“Loving you is the strongest thing I’ve ever done,” he says. “And I’m not gonna stop just because you’re scared.”
“Well, maybe you should,” I say, smiling like the Cheshire fucking Cat now. “I’m not scared. I’m busy. I have a manuscript due. I’m apartment hunting—”
“Annie—”
“I mean it,” I tell him. “You’re a good guy. I wish you the best.”
“Fuck!” He scrubs his face, and all I want to do is to give him a hug. He rips off his hoodie and holds it out. “Then take this. For now.”
I stare at it as if it’s laced with explosives. I feel it, I feel the tears welling in the corners of my eyes and making my weakness a show.
He doesn’t move. Just stands there, holding it. Waiting. Hoping.
Something hot and dangerous rises in my throat. I clench my hands into tight fists. “I don’t need anything from you,” I finally whisper, voice shaking. “Not anymore.”
My knees buckle at the broken look in his eyes, the warm, sure, melted chocolate of them, the sun shining into them and making this whole situation seem like a silly, merry joke. It almost gets me to cave. Those eyes that held me safe, supported, secure. Until they didn’t.
He sets the hoodie down on the step like a peace offering. “Okay,” he says. “Then I’ll fight.”
“For what?”
“To get back in the force field.”
It takes a moment to answer, because I’m trying not to cry.
I will not cry. Don’t you dare let him see you cry.
I take one last look at him—the messy hair, the three moles on his handsome face, his broad chest. The devastation and sorrow in his eyes.
“It’s not about that,” I manage. “It’s that maybe yours isn’t strong enough for me. ”
As I turn around, I catch his big body slumping, and I feel a part of me break. So, I walk inside and shut the door. Quietly and carefully, away from him, and back to my cave where it’s definitely safe. And I don’t look back.
Not even once.
Lie.
Ten minutes later, when I’m sure he’s left, I open the door and pick up the hoodie.
And I put it on.