“Three years and you say I love you as a goodbye? When I’m walking away? When you’ve already crushed me? That was the time? Did you even mean it, or were you trying to hurt me more?” She ran her hands through her hair before throwing them out to her sides. “I heard your apology Kevin. We were kids and you were drunk and dumb. I forgave you. But the message. That’s what hurt the most. That was the hardest part to move past. That was the argument I was trying to avoid. Because that message was sent when you were completely sober, and somehow you still thought it was the right thing to do. Really hammer the nail in the coffin.”
Her words knocked the wind out of my chest. I had no idea. I just wanted her to know how much she meant to me. I had no idea that that was how she took it. Fuck. Fuck, I’d fucked up. I never thought she would think I didn’t mean it. Hell, I still meant it. “Ana, of course I—”
“No,” she swiped her hand through the air and moved to stand. “Just no. I have the weight of the world on my shoulders, and I don’t need this too. I’m tired,” she cried, “and I can’t take on any more.”
I stood and reached my arms out to her as she backed away, pleading with her. “Let me help you. Let me take care of you.”
“Don’t you get it?” She dug both hands in her hair and tugged. “I shouldn’t want someone to take care of me. I’m an independent woman. I shouldn’t need someone to take care of me and make decisions for me. It’s not right.”
“Of course you’re an independent woman. And you don’t need anyone to take care of you. You’re fine all on your own. But it’s okay to want it.”
“Is it okay to feel such pleasure when a man picks out my clothes?” she asked, mockingly. “Will I be the best example to my students if I tell them how I let a man pick my food, my clothes, my drinks?”
“Ana, you don’t owe anyone an explanation for your pleasure.”
“No, but I have to live with the fact that I’m a weak doormat.”
“You are not a doormat.”
“When I take a step back from myself and look on, that’s what I see.”
The defeated look on her face broke me. I knew that look. I saw it every day in the mirror in high school. I still saw it every once in a while.
Shame.
She felt shame for who she was, and I wanted to scream at her at how wrong she was. “Anabelle, there is nothing wrong with you.”
She shook her head and stared at her feet. “It’s not who I want to be—not who I should be.”
Seeing her slouched shoulders, I stepped forward to comfort her, to help her and hold her together, but she held up her hand and looked at me with tired eyes.
“Stop. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m tired, Kevin. Goodnight.”
My feet remained planted in the sand as she turned and walked away into the night.
My heart urged me to run and chase her down. To make her see that she could be whoever she wanted to be, but my brain knew she needed space. I was just worried about how much space she would take.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ana
The drive home was long and filled with mostly silence. My mom rode with Kevin’s parents and I rode with Kevin. We tried to talk and make jokes, talk about how the last few weeks of school would go, but the words were short and felt forced. We ended up settling on silence for the most part. When we got to my place, he helped me carry my bags to my door and placed a soft kiss on my lips. He pulled back and pressed his forehead to mine, linking our pinkies together. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before walking away. I turned and opened my door so he couldn’t see the tears sliding down my cheeks.
I went in and took a bath before indulging in a full pint of Talenti, letting the past swallow me whole. The last few days had been so amazing, watching my mom relax, smile, and get color on her too-pale cheeks. It had me forgetting why giving in to Kevin was wrong.
Our argument had reminded me.
I hadn’t even known what I was saying as the words flew from my lips. I knew I’d hurt him, but I didn’t know how to take it back. Or if I wanted to.
I trusted Kevin, but his past actions still lingered and mixed with my feelings about him.
We didn’t talk for the rest of the week. Or at least I didn’t. He’d tried by calling and texting me, trying to invite me out for lunches or dinners, but I was too much of a chicken-shit to agree. I didn’t want to struggle through the conversations and find that we couldn’t make our way back. I didn’t want to face the crumbling of our friendship. So, I avoided it.