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“It was fun until Irealized that you surrounded yourself with people you’re not closeto, on a day that you claim to feel is important. The highlight ofyour year. But you didn’t know any of those people.” I spread myhands helplessly. It was the truth. Not a kind truth, probably onehe was already aware of, but good enough to be my reason toleave.
Because I couldn’t tell himthat I had to leave because I loved him too much to eventually lethim down.
“I don’t want to fuck myactual friends,” he protested. “That would be weird.”
I mentally thanked him forthat clumsy opening. “Exactly. I’m not your ‘actualfriend’—”
“That’s not what Imeant!”
I knew it wasn’t. Ipretended I didn’t. “I don’t want to be your fake friend that youfuck.”
“You want to be friends?Because I can live with that. I can accept that, as long as youstay in my life.” His jaw tightened. His throat moved. “I don’twant to lose you.”
I looked down at my hands,still scratching at my nail beds. “Sure. Fine. I think that wouldbe fine.”
“Now, canI tell you what I want?” he asked, taking a step toward me. Iwanted to back away, out of instinct. To protect myself, not fromphysical violence because I would never expect that from Matt. Ihad to protect myself from his physicalpresence.From the achingfamiliarity of his body that would intoxicate me and induce me tostay, when I knew in my heart this was the best decision for bothof us.
But I couldn’t make my feetmove.
I tilted my head up to lookhim in the eyes. His swam with unshed tears.“I wantyou, Charlotte.”
He snagged me with an armaround my waist and pulled me up tight, crushing his mouth to minebefore I could anticipate it. Before I could prevent it.
And then, it was all toolate.
His mouth was as good asI’d known it would be, as soft as anything could be. I made ahelpless noise, my lips parting beneath his even as my body tensedup to push him away. My hands pressed into his chest, dug throughthe dark hair there. I rose up on the balls of my feet as histongue swept against mine.
This. This was what Iwanted so badly. Here he was, offering it. No matter how many timeswe’d fucked, no matter what over-the-top sex we’d gotten into, thiswas what I truly wanted us to be, and I hated that I couldn’t haveit. I wanted to sob aloud at the cruel reality that this wouldn’tbe a happy memory. It would haunt me. It would destroy me. But Iwould destroy him, and I couldn’t let that happen.
It was over too soon, with medisentangling myself and looking up at him through tear-glazedeyes.
“You want me. What doesthat mean?” I panted, my resolve somehow renewed in the wake ofthat devastating kiss.
“I want to be with you. Allthe time.” The confession poured out of him as if kissing me,finally, had broken a seal in his heart. “I don’t want to be afriend who fucks you. I’m in love with you, Charlotte. And I wantyou to be in love with me too.”
Not the response I was going for when Istarted the conversation. I hated those words, and I hated how muchmy entire body sang with endorphins at hearing them.
“I…” My voice came outhoarse. A tear rolled down my cheek. I could tell him that I didn’tlove him, but I didn’t want to lie to him. And without a lie loadedand ready to fire, the truth tore its way free. “I don’t know if Ican be loved.”
“That’s worse than ‘I don’tlove you back,’” he said softly. “That’s so much worse.”
He was right, and it brokeme. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t crying, because now I was.Hard.
“Of course, you can beloved.” He said firmly, like he was ordering someone to make it so.“I love you. I’m doing it right now, as hard as I can.”
“But I can’t feel it!” Iwished the ground would open up, swallow me whole to spare me theembarrassment I felt. I’d had so much fun with Matt. I wanted tokeep being fun, not broken. But eventually, they all found out howbroken I was.
Now was as good a time asany. Maybe he wouldn’t be heartbroken if he learned all of thisstuff right now.
He stood there, hands opening andclosing as though he needed to touch me. And while there wasnothing I wanted more than to let him take me in his arms and makeme forget my temporary sadness, there was no way he could erase thedoubt that lurked in my mind any time someone told me that I wasgood enough, that I was loved. It sliced like a scalpel through mybrain.
I wanted to believe thatMatt and I could have something real. I had to protect myself fromthat wanting. I’d grown up in the shadow of a tremendousresponsibility that I was never meant to learn about, and no matterhow hard my family had tried to make me forget, to make me feelanything else, I seemed doomed to carry it around with me until Idied.
And so, in the deepest partof me, I knew that what we had could never be real. I hadn’t earnedthe right to take up space in the world, or in hisheart.
I hugged myself tight.“Matt, I’m not even supposed to be here.”
“Everyone feels that way,sometimes.” There it was. The impulse to minimize mypain.