Farrah fell in love with Blake, again. And he broke her heart, again.
This time, it wasn’t because of his cruel words and heartless dismissal. She believed him when he said he loved her, and when he said he thought she deserved better.
No, what hurt was knowing Blake’s love wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough for him to let her in, and it wasn’t enough for him to fight for her. He loved her, yet here he was, letting her go.
He thought it was noble? She thought he was a fucking coward.
Blake was taking the easy way out instead of allowing Farrah to see the darkness within him. Even though she wanted to see it. Darkness didn’t scare her. A part of her reveled in it because it was only under the cloak of darkness that people dared show their true selves. Everything—the good, bad, and ugly—came out at night. But contrary to popular belief, those ugly parts didn’t detract from a person. No, they made them whole, and there was nothing in this world more beautiful than completeness, nothing more breathtaking than knowing someone loved every last bit of you—including the pieces you hated about yourself.
If the sun never sets, the stars will never shine.
But Farrah would never be able to show Blake the beauty of darkness. He wanted all of her but refused to give her all of him, and she could tell by the stubborn set in his jaw and the flintiness in his eyes that there was nothing she could say that would make him change his mind.
If she told him she loved him, that would only make him retreat further.
Something else brewed in her gut next to the hurt: anger.
“That’s your final answer then?” Farrah’s voice was lava, hot with fury until it cooled and hardened with a thick, hard crust. “You’re letting me go because you quote-unquote ‘don’t want to hurt me?’ Without even telling me what brought this all on? Without even trying to make it work?”
Blake didn’t answer. Other than a convulsion of his throat, he just stood there like a beautiful, emotionless statue, carved out of marble and cold to the touch.
There was nothing left to say.
Farrah stepped around him and twisted the doorknob.
Stop me.
The hallway’s plush carpet muffled the sound of her footsteps as she walked toward the elevator.
Trust me.
She pressed the “down” button, her eyes burning so wildly the flames engulfed her entire body, and she tasted ashes in her mouth.
Fight for me.
But Blake never did.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The next month bled by in a string of miserable mornings and starless nights.
Blake tracked the passing of time, not with a calendar but with the shards of his heart. One day, one piece added to the world’s most fucked-up hourglass, until he had nothing left to give.
His life had fallen apart yet again, and without Farrah’s light, all that seeped through the cracks was an ugly dark ooze. It contained everything Blake hated about himself—his deepest fears, his worst memories, his most selfish acts and shameful thoughts.
When he’d returned from Texas, he’d had two choices: tell Farrah the truth about Cleo’s pregnancy, including the fact that he’d never actually cheated on her, or let her go.
The first was the one he’d been so tempted to take. But it was also the selfish choice because even if Blake hadn’t cheated on Farrah, he’d never deserved her in the first place.
Plus, Cleo’s father had been right. Blake did screw up people?
??s lives. He hurt the people he loved, even when he didn’t want to.
His mom. His sister. Farrah. Cleo. Even his dad, if his dad could hurt.
If Blake stayed with Farrah, he’d hurt her again. It was inevitable, his curse.
So he’d let her go—even if it meant losing himself in the process.