Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
“Hey,” I stop him then.
Not only by my words but also my hands.
That I remove from his abs and put on either side of his neck to grip him, to make him look at me, really look at me, to focus.
“You didn’t do anything, Reign,” I tell him when I know he’s looking at me and seeing me. “You didn’t do anything alone. I was there too. I did it too. The blame isn’t just yours alone. It’s mine as well. My blame is bigger and you know that.” When it looks like he’s going to say something, I squeeze his neck and keep going. “And I’m not getting ready to go to NYU because I screwed up. Because my grades weren’t good enough. You had nothing to do with it. Nothing. And I ended up at St. Mary’s in the first place because I broke the law. You didn’t ask me to. Were you an asshole to me over that phone call? Yes. Have you always been an asshole to me? Hell yes. But that didn’t mean that I had to do what I did. That didn’t mean I had to retaliate in the way I did. I always knew there was a chance that it could have an impact on me, on my parents. God, I knew that, Reign. I fucking knew. But I still chose to do it. So it’s not your fault. It’s mine. And I… I’m sorry.” Again, it looks like he’s going to say something but I push through. “For what I did. For breaking into your room and then… smashing everything. Your soccer trophies, your furniture. All the photos, knickknacks. The things that must’ve mattered to you. Things that —”
“They didn’t,” he says, his mouth parted, his eyes wild.
And I press my fingers on his neck, digging my nails. “What?”
“Nothing mattered. Not one thing in that room mattered to me more than…”
My own lips part as I stare at him. As I wait for him to finish his sentence.
More than what?
What mattered to him?
But he doesn’t say anything.
And I decide not to pry for some reason. “Well, I’m sorry nonetheless.”
We stare at each other for a few moments and I realize that it’s… peaceful.
Such a weird way to describe this moment.
That’s filled with stormy breaths and intense stares. With so much heat radiating off his skin, so much sweat running down mine because of it. With my nails dug into his skin and his fingers clawing at the bark.
But it is what it is.
And what it is, is calming somehow.
Maybe because I’ve been carrying this around for a long, long time now.
What happened to me at the school, how people treated me; what I did to his room, how regretful I’ve been for that. How I put both my future and my parents’ future in jeopardy.
I’ve wanted to purge this for so long. Only I didn’t know that I was going to purge it to him — I had no intention of ever saying sorry to him; my ex-boyfriend’s asshole ex-best friend — and that in doing so, I’d feel relief.
And because confessing things to him has brought me so much peace, I decide to tell him. “I blew it.”
“What?”
“The apology.” He frowns as I keep going, “I-I think I blew it. It was the worst apology ever. Like, ever. I mean, I didn’t expect him to forgive me right away or you know, even be nice to me or anything like that but…”
His eyes are probing. “But what?”
“He left with another girl, Reign.”
His biceps flex on either side of me, his eyes flashing with anger.
And I think… I think it’s on my behalf.
With racing breaths and a strange lightness that he’s on my side, that he can feel my pain, I spill the rest of the story. “He left with a girl and… and he knew what he was doing. He knew he was hurting me. He… I didn’t make an impact on him. I didn’t reach him like I wanted to. I didn’t —”
“You did.”
“No, I didn’t. He barely talked to me. He barely looked at me, let alone talked to me.”
“He did.”
“No, he didn’t, Reign,” I insist. “You weren’t there.”
“He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
“He… What?”
What did he say?
My heart thuds then. “H-how do you know?”
No answer is forthcoming.
But then I don’t think I need one. I think I already know.
“Were you…” I swallow, rubbing my thumbs over the thick vein of his neck. “Watching me? W-with him.”
Nothing.
Except a pulse on his jaw.
A tic.
And again, I don’t need him to say it. I know it.
“Why?” I whisper.
His pulse is pounding under my fingers. My pulse is pounding too.
Other than that, he continues to hold his silence.
He continues to stare at me with glowing, flashing eyes.
“Because you were protecting me,” I state.