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She holds up one hand. “Stop. Just stop there, because she doesn’t need to ‘learn’ anything. It seems to me that you’re the one who needs to be learning something—what did you say to the poor girl?”
“I said what you said to me this morning about there being a difference between not being able to live without someone and loving them,” I tell her.
She shakes her head in confusion. “You said that to her, as in you can’t live without her but don’t love her?”
“Yes—did I not just tell you that?” Tessa Number Two needs to just go away, because she’s getting on my last fucking nerve just like Tessa the Original.
“Wow,” she says, and laughs.
She’s laughing at me, too? “What? What’s so funny?” I nearly yell.
“You are so clueless,” she mocks me. “When I said that to you this morning, I wasn’t referring to you, I was talking about her. I meant that just because you think she can’t live without you doesn’t mean that she’s in love with you.”
“What?”
“You assume that you have her so wrapped around your finger that she won’t leave you because she can’t live without you, when in reality it seems like you have her trapped and that’s why she won’t leave you: not because she loves you, but because you’ve made her feel that she can’t be without you.”
“No . . . she loves me.” I know she does, and that’s why she’ll be following me out here any moment now.
Lillian throws her arms wide. “Does she? Why would she, when you do things to hurt her on purpose?”
I’ve had enough of this shit. “You’re in no position to be giving anyone a goddamned lecture.” I throw my hands in the air as wildly as she just did. “Your girlfriend is probably fucking someone else right now while you’re here trying to play couples therapist between Tessa and me,” I growl.
Lillian’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back from me . . . the way Tessa did only minutes ago. Her blue eyes begin to water, shining in the darkness. She shakes her head and starts to walk back toward the restaurant parking lot.
“Where are you going?” I call to her through the wind.
“Back inside. Tessa may be stupid enough to put up with your crap, but I’m not.”
For a moment I almost follow this girl who I thought was my . . . friend? I don’t know, but I felt like I could trust her despite only knowing her for two days.
Fuck that: I’m not following anyone. Tessa or Tessa Number Two. They can both go to hell—I don’t need either of them.
Chapter forty-one
TESSA
My chest is aching, my throat is dry, and my head is spinning. Hardin basically just told me that he doesn’t love me and that he chases me just so he can sleep with me. The worst thing about the things he said to me is that I know he didn’t mean them. I know he loves me—he does. In his own way, he loves me more than anything. He’s shown me that time and time again in the last six months. But he’s also shown me that he’ll stop at nothing to hurt me, to make me feel weak just because his ego is bruised. If he loved me the way he should, he wouldn’t purposely hurt me.
He couldn’t have meant that he only wants sex from me. He doesn’t really see me as a toy, does he? With him, truth and lies slide back and forth as easily as his moods. He couldn’t have meant it. But he said it with such conviction; he didn’t even blink. I honestly don’t know anymore. Through all of the fights, tears, holes in our walls, I have always held on to the small certainty that he loves me.
Without that, we have nothing. And without him, I have nothing. The irrational and flaring tempers we both have, mixed with our young ages, are becoming too much to handle.
There’s a difference between not being able to live without someone and loving them—the words slice through me again.
The air in this place is too stale, too thick and consuming, and the laughter of the customers is growing sinister. I look for an exit. Glass doors leading to a balcony are closed; I open them and welcome the cool air. I sit there, staring out into the darkness, enjoying the quiet of the night and my own slowing mind.
I don’t notice the door to the deck opening until Robert is next to me. “Brought you something,” he says and holds up the bottle of wine, waggling it playfully. He dips his shoulder to one side, and a grin spreads across his handsome face.
I surprise myself by smiling, a real smile, despite the fact that on the inside I’m screaming, huddled in a corner crying.
“Pity wine?” I question, holding my hands out for the white-labeled bottle. I recognize it as the same wine Max ordered earlier; it must have cost a fortune.
He grins, placing the wine in my hands. “What other type of wine is there?” The bottle is cold, but my hands are nearly numb from the February air.
“Glasses.” He smiles, dipping his hands into the deep pockets of his apron. “I couldn’t fit actual wineglasses, so I grabbed these.” He hands me a small Styrofoam cup, and I hold it up while he uncorks the bottle.
“Thank you.” The wine fills the cup, and I bring it to my lips the moment he pulls away.
“We can go inside, you know? There are a few sections that are closed down already, so we can sit there,” Robert says, then takes a sip.
“I don’t know.” I sigh, shifting my gaze to the table.
“He left,” he says, the sympathy obvious in his voice. “So did she,” he adds. “Do you want to talk about it?”