“Did it feel good to write me that note, Bryce?”
“What?”
“You know very well what I’m talking about.”
He looked away, and as he did, I took advantage of the time to put my clothes back on.
When he finally turned back to look at me, his eyes were heavy-lidded and almost…broken. “How can you even ask that?”
“How can I not? You wrote it, not me.”
“I hated writing it,” he finally said, his voice low. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
“Then why, Bryce? Why did you do it?”
“I had to.”
I scoffed. “I get it. Someone was holding a gun to your head and said either those words or your brains would be on that piece of paper.”
He shook his head slowly. “Be serious.”
“I am being serious. You said you had to write it. I’m telling you that you didn’t have to, that it was your choice. No one but you made you do it.”
He said nothing. Not that I expected him to. My logic had no argument.
After what seemed like an hour—but was only a few minutes—had passed, he said, “Don’t go to Paris.”
“Sorry.”
“At least not now. Stay. Please. Jade needs you. I can’t be responsible for your leaving.”
“Who said you were responsible?”
“Marj…”
The look on his handsome face was one of so much sadness and pain, I had to choke back a sob. He was hurting too, and I hadn’t let myself see that.
“It hurt you to write me that note,” I said.
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A statement of truth.
He nodded. “More than anything.”
“Then why did you do it? And don’t tell me you had to. Tell me the truth. The fucking truth. Why don’t you want to be with me?”
“None of this has anything to do with what I want.”
“So you want me. That much is obvious. No matter what you say, you can’t stay away from me. I get it. I’m in the same predicament. The only difference is that I’m open to exploring, and you’re not. Why, Bryce? For the love of God, tell me why.”
He sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. “You want the truth?”
I joined him. “Of course I want the truth.”
“Are you sure? The truth can be dark, Marjorie. You’re so beautiful and full of light. I don’t want to change that.”
I was full of light? Me? The one who couldn’t stop cutting herself open to relieve her emotional pain? Boy, there was a lot Bryce Simpson didn’t know.
“I’m sure.”