“I can’t. You see, I’ve finally worked it out. And I need you to listen to me so that we can sort this mess out.”
I stare out the window.
“I mean, how can we fix this if you won’t speak to me?”
“We won’t. That’s the point,” I mutter dryly.
“Don’t say that, FB.”
I glare at him as a glow of red covers the sky . . . don’t fight; don’t give him the satisfaction.
He smiles sweetly, totally oblivious to my rage. “It’s so good to see you.”
I roll my eyes and look back out the window . . . don’t talk to him . . . not one word . . . don’t give in to him.
“God . . . I’ve missed you, Em,” he whispers.
Something inside of me breaks.
“You don’t get to say that,” I snap.
“But it’s true.”
“Shut up, Jameson. The time for talking is over.” The bus pulls up to my stop, and I get up and brush past him. He runs after me as I storm up the pavement.
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”
I keep walking.
“I’ll wait out here all night.”
I keep walking.
“Em, come on,” he sighs.
I keep walking.
“How can you be so cold?” he demands.
I turn like the devil himself. “Don’t you dare call me cold, you hypocrite. You’re the only fucking cold one here.”
“There she is.” He smiles as if proud of himself for getting me to say something.
My face falls at my own weakness. “Jameson,” I whisper.
“Babe.” He grabs my two hands in his. “Please talk to me. I miss you, and I know you miss me too. I need to make this right between us; we can make it through this.”
Tears well in my eyes at his touch, and I’m angry with myself for letting him get this close. “I can’t.” I brush past him.
“Please, Em,” he calls from behind me. “I’ll beg.”
I keep walking.
“Do you want me to get on my knees right here? Because I will.”
I keep walking, and he runs up behind me. “Tell me how to make this right? Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
I turn to him. “Move on . . . I have.”