He took a step back, his eyes wild and hot with anger. “Is that what I am to you?”
No, but I have to hurt you now.
I was like an injured animal, cornered with no other option but to lash out—lashing out in fear as my heart was breaking. To protect myself, I had to. It was like watching my own train wreck, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
The rope is fraying. It just needs a little tug to sever it.
“You only think about what you want. What about what I want? This, us.” I waved a hand between us. “It all happened so fast. I told you I wasn’t ready, but you kept pushing for more. I can’t give you more, Caleb. I’m done. And I want you to leave me the hell alone.”
I stared at him, at the naked misery on his handsome face, and destroyed what was left. Of me. Of him. Of us.
“I. Don’t. Want. You,” I said.
Liar.
His eyes turned cold as they narrowed at me. My heart, already broken, cracked in two.
“You’re a coward.” His voice was just as cold. “Do you remember when you told me you refuse to be weak? That you won’t give up?”
I did. I remembered.
“You’re giving up now. You’re weak because you’re too afraid to get hurt. Well, you know what? You have to fight for something if you really want it. I have been chasing you—fighting for you—since the moment I met you. You kept pushing me away, but I never gave up. I wanted you to fight for me, just as I fought for you. But you wouldn’t.”
He took a deep breath, his hand shaking as he rubbed his face.
“You told me to let you go. And because I have always given everything you asked of me, I will leave you alone. I will let you go.”
The grief came in waves, but I held it all in.
He turned, stepping away from me. He reached for the screen door and stood there with his hand suspended above the doorknob.
I held my breath as I watched him slowly drop his hand to his side, lowering his gaze to the ground. Then he turned and looked at me with eyes as cold as ice.
“Goodbye,” he said softly. “Veronica.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Caleb
As I ran through the streets, I rode on a wave of anger. It became my friend, blinding me to my other, deeper wound: the truth. The truth made you face the ugly reality; it brought you pain. Maybe that was why people held on to their anger. They preferred it over feeling pain.
My lungs burned, and my legs were about to give out. I’d been running for
two hours straight, trying to exhaust myself, trying not to think about her.
How do I get rid of you? God, you’re like an annoying stray dog!
I ran faster, my sneakers pounding on the pavement.
I don’t want you.
I could hear my breathing, harsh and loud. My chest felt tight, and my heart hammered against my ribs so fast I thought it would burst.
I don’t care. You can sleep with whoever you like. That’s what you’re used to anyway. That’s who you really are.
Sweat dripped down my face, stinging my eyes.
Fuck.