Until June (Until Her 2)

“I’m sorry.” At his words, my body locks and tears creep up my throat. “I wasn’t…I’m not good enough for you.” Pressing my lips together, I fight the pain in my chest then turn to look at him when I have it locked away.

“I know,” I whisper, ignoring his flinch as I walk to the door and open it. Looking at my feet, I hear him come down the hall and see his boots when he stops in front of me. I don’t look up. I can’t—the pain in my chest is too intense. Feeling his lips at the top of my head, a tear falls to the ground at my feet.

His fingers at my chin force my eyes to meet his. We stand there for what seems like forever looking at each other before he speaks. “I wish things were different, I wish I was good enough for you.” His softly spoken words do nothing to mend my broken heart, do nothing to help ease the pain in my chest, if anything they cut me deeper.

“I wish that too.” I whisper, dropping my eyes to the ground. His hands drop away and he leaves, taking everything I have left inside of me with him when he goes. Shutting the door and locking it, I slide to the floor, wrap my arms around my legs, bury my face against my knees, and cry.

Hearing someone knock on the door, I try to open my eyes, but they feel like they’re full of gravel. It took me forever to find sleep once again last night… and judging by how my body feels, that wasn’t long ago. Hearing the knocking turn into pounding, I scream at the top of my lungs, “I’m coming! Hold your horses!” then stumble from my bed and head for the front door.

“Took you long enough,” July says, pushing into the house, followed by Wes, as soon as I open the door.

“What’s going on?” I frown, watching them walk toward the living room.

“You may want to put some pants on.” July grins, and I look down at my heart-covered cotton underwear and throw my hands up in the air then stomp back to my room to pull on a pair of sweats. Already in my bathroom, I decide to brush my teeth and my hair. When I make it back to the kitchen, July and Wes are making themselves comfortable in my kitchen, starting coffee.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“We just wanted to come check on you,” July says, and I feel my eyes go squinty when I look at the clock on the wall.

“It’s eight in the morning,” I point out, glaring between the two of them.

“Evan got trashed last night,” Wes states, and my heart drops into my stomach as July hisses, “Wes.”

“What?” He frowns, and she rolls her eyes.

“You saw him, babe. He was a fucking wreck.”

Fuckity, fuck, fuck.

“You’re telling me this, why?” I prompt evenly, even though my stomach is turning with nausea.

“He’s hurting,” Wes says quietly, and I wrap my arms around my middle as I swallow through the lump in my throat. I also remind myself that his feelings are no longer my problem.

“I don’t want to sound like a bitch, but why is that my problem?”

“Why?” he repeats softly, and I grit my teeth as I watch disappointment flash in his eyes.

“Yes, why?” I whisper and drop my arms.

“I think you know the answer to that,” Wes says, and I pull my eyes from him to look at my sister.

“You told him?” I guess, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and nods.

Closing my eyes, I run a shaky hand through my hair while I try to get my thoughts in order then open them when Wes speaks again.

“You love him?” he asks, cutting me off before I can say anything, and I take a step back, feeling the color drain from my face. “Yeah, you love him,” he whispers and his eyes go soft. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I know Evan. I know he’s a good man who was dealt a fucked-up hand in life. His dad’s a piece of shit, and when his mom isn’t drinking, she’s okay, but she’s normally drinking.” He lets those words hang then drops his voice even more. “He went to war and watched men he cared about die. My guess is, he’s thinking a sweet, beautiful woman like you deserves more than a guy like him,” he says, and that lump in my throat aches as the words Evan said last night replay in my head.

I’m not good enough for you.

I’m not good enough for you.

I’m not good enough for you.

I’m not good enough for you.

Running for the bathroom in the hall, I flip up the lid on the toilet and drop to my knees as I lose everything inside my stomach. Somewhere in the back of my head, I register my sister’s comforting presence with her arms wrapped around me, whispering into my ear, but my heart, which I thought had been broken, shatters into a billion tiny pieces.