Page 130 of Fangirl

I step toward her. “Is that what this is about?Everything That Follows?” My laugh is hollow. “Christ—if I take it, will you stay? Is that what you want? Tell me now, and I’ll do it.”

I mean it. Walking away from Gordon would be career suicide, but I’d do it… for her.

She shakes her head, and she looks broken, as if I’m the one saying goodbye instead of her. “No. I won’t stay either way. Because that’s not the point.” She shakes her head again, tears brimming. “Iwantedyou to wantEverything That Follows. Tochooseit because it mattered. But instead? You walked away for the money. For the fame. And that—” She swallows hard. “That iswho you are.”

And just like that, I feel it—the crack splintering wide open. Not because she’s leaving, but because somewherealong the way… I gave her every reason to.

I open my mouth, the words falling out before I can stop them.

“Please… don’t.”

She freezes—but it’s too late. It always was.

Her breath hitches, but she keeps going. “How much more, Jake? How much money? How much fame? When does it stop? Will it ever stop?” She throws her hands up, defeated. “When do I stop being enough?”

The words are a sharp blow.

“I couldn’t even make it through one night without my body giving up on me,” she whispers. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

The sheer defeat in her voice makes my chest burn and makes my hands clench into fists. But beneath the heartbreak, there’s this rising tide of desperation. Anger.

“And so that’s it? That’s how you fix it? By running? By leaving?” My voice cracks. “Like none of this was worth fighting for? Like I—we—meant nothing?”

Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t back down. She places a trembling hand over her chest as if steadying her heart.

“I have to,” she breathes out. “I have to leave before we break. Before what’s left of us turns bitter. Before I start resenting you for the life you love… and you start resenting me for the weight I’d become.” She swallows hard. “I need to go while the memories are still beautiful, before the ugliness takes over. I need to leave…for me.”

I stand there, hollowed out. “I didn’t… I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her eyes soften, but she nods. “No. You didn’t. Andneither did I. Please… just let me go.”

And I do. I don’t follow her. I don’t beg. I don’t touch her because I know if I do, I’ll shatter.

I just quietly call the car, mechanical, like it’s just another meeting, another wrap-up.

She packs in silence. And when she comes out, her suitcase in hand, I stay rooted to the floor, my fingers itching to reach for her but refusing to move.

It’s only when she’s about to climb into the car that the words burst out of me, raw and broken. “I just… I thought maybe you’d fight for us. Like the girls you write about.”

She turns, her eyes glistening and lips trembling, as she forces out the words.

“You may not see it, Jake… but I am.”

And then she’s gone.

I’m drunk.Not blackout drunk… but drunk enough to text Will like a total wimp—crying my heartbreak and spiraling into a never-ending rant.

Me: She left me. She doesn’t think she’s enough, or that I’m enough, which is fucking stupid. How can she not see I wanted her? The real Amy. The unfiltered, unpolished version. I didn’t give a shit how she looked last night, Will. Dress or leggings, oversized sweatshirt… naked’s my favorite, to be fair. But whatever. And she didn’t even try, you know? It’s always me trying. Why is it always me?

There’s a beat before his reply lights up my screen.

Will: Okay, Shakespeare. Give me 20. I’m coming over with booze and wings.

And just like that, I start crying harder… because Will gets it. Of course he fucking gets it.

By the time he gets here, I’ve had two more glasses of scotch, and I can’t even bring myself to open the door. I just sit there on the couch, staring at the T-shirt she left hanging on the back of my bathroom door. It’s soft and faded and smells like her. Like a memory I can’t shake.

The door swings open a minute later—he must’ve used the code. “Oh shit, man,” Will says, stepping in and setting down a tray of spicy chicken wings and a six-pack like he’s here for a funeral. “How much have you had?”