Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
I want to do the same now too. I want to break his jaw and I know he’ll give back as good as he gets. But I can’t. Shepard needs good people around him. So all I do is reply, “You should be with my brother. He needs you. He needs a friend.”
Chapter 2
Later That Night…
I love my bedroom.
Despite being sent here to live, away from New York City, away from everything I’ve ever known so my mother could rein me in, it’s my favorite room in the world. Because I decorated it just the way I like now that I don’t live under my mother’s roof.
It has a cozy queen-sized bed with the softest sheets and a blanket with a colorful Rajasthani print and golden tassels. My mom never liked this blanket. Not because it’s from India but because my biji gave it to me. My walls have vintage posters of my favorite Bollywood movies—no mystery as to why my mother hates that—and I have a whole collection of old cassette tapes of my Bollywood music. Again, very vintage and cool.
My window with sheer white drapery overlooks the back garden. It has a perfect view of the tree under which I sometimes smoke and on other nights dance in my white dress. When it snows, I can see miles and miles of snow-covered grounds.
I’m sure my mom wasn’t counting on me making it my safe haven, but I did. I made it the safest, coziest, the warmest place—not by temperature but by the vibe—I could.
So for a few seconds, I can’t compute how that changed.
How my bedroom, those sheets, these pillows, my blanket, turned into something I’m having a hard time looking at. Because every time I look at those pillows, I think of how I’d propped my phone against them to dance. Every time I look at that blanket, I think of how I’d make myself comfortable before picking up my phone. How I’d lie on those sheets for hours, texting away.
With my boyfriend.
My fucking boyfriend.
“Why?”
I know I said that but strangely, my voice is coming from far away, from the bottom of a well. So I’m not sure if he heard me.
But apparently, he did because he replies, “Because he’s an asshole. He’s a selfish prick.”
I look up at him then.
Shepard is angry.
No, he’s raging.
It’s a rare sight. I’ve seen him lose his temper before, mostly when he’s watching game replays or when his team loses because he always thinks he’s responsible for it and could’ve done something to prevent it, but this is different. I’ve never seen him seething like this. I’ve never seen him vibrating with rage.
My best friend.
My boyfriend.
But he’s not, is he?
Turns out, he never was. We never got there.
Never got a chance to get there.
Because apparently, this is the first time I’m talking to him. This is the first time I’m talking to Shepard—the real Shepard—ever since he went away for the season. This is the first time we’re having any sort of interaction with each other.
“Jesus.” He tunnels his finger through his hair, messing up the already messy strands. “I should’ve… I should’ve called you from the road. I thought I was giving you space. I thought… after the night of the party, you needed that from me. To think. To make up your mind. I don’t know. I just… I should’ve checked up on you.” He tugs at his hair. “Fuck. Fuck. I should’ve—”
“It’s not your fault,” I tell him.
Because it’s not.
In fact, as soon as he knew, he left everything and came to me.
To tell me.
The truth.
Something that apparently, I already knew. But refused to believe.
And so my first reaction was joy.
My very first reaction was happiness, giddiness, relief.
That it was true after all. That he is the one I’ve been dancing for. That he is the one I’ve been telling all my woes to; I’ve been texting with. He is the world’s best boyfriend.
Him. Him. Him.
And I’ve been crying for him. Since last night. Since our encounter at the theater where he left me all covered up and clothed. Where we said goodbye and brought our story full circle.
I’ve been mourning his loss.
But now I don’t have to, I thought.
Because he’s my boyfriend after all.
But then I realized that he wasn’t supposed to be that. He wasn’t supposed to be my boyfriend, let alone the best boyfriend.
That’s when I realized that it’s not a good thing.
He lied to me.
He deceived me.
And I was so foolish, so fucking stupid, that when he told me the truth, I didn’t believe him. I didn’t fucking believe him. That’s what kills me the most.
My stupidity.
He made me stupid. His love made me stupid.
So it’s not Shepard’s fault. It’s his.
It’s mine.
“I love him,” I say.
Again, my voice comes from the bottom of a deep well, but like last time, he does hear it. And he goes still. His harshly breathing chest stops moving. His features set in a hard line and in response, I turn to stone as well.