Page 122

Every admission. Every apology. Every truth I’ve been choking down like the food I can’t keep inside.
More silence.
“You don’t need to feel sorry or apologize.” The gentleness in his voice hurts more than anger would. “It’s better this way. Us breaking up.”
My grip on the phone turns ironclad, as if holding on could change what I just heard.
“I’m tired of pretending, and I know you’ll never let yourself need me.” Another pause. “I thought it would just take time. That you’d need me as much as I need you.”
The restaurant blurs around me.
“I’m just not the right guy for you.” He gives a dry, humorless laugh. “Our arrangement was supposed to help us both, but I think I’m just making everything harder for you.”
Years of wasted moments flash through my mind. How many mornings did I miss, wrapped in his arms? How many nights on his couch, watching him attempt to cook? How many simple dinners without this constant war in my head?
All those moments thrown away because I couldn’t stop punishing myself for my mother. My mother, who in the end left me alone with the guilt anyway.
Brandon saw me. The real me. Bingeing and purging and self-loathing tendencies included. He didn’t run. He pulled me closer, held me tighter.
Until I pushed him away.
Words still stick in my throat.
“Goodbye, cupcake.” He ends the call.
My fingers move on their own accord, ordering an Uber. The address I punch in is muscle memory by now, I’ve typed it a thousand times.
Streetlights blur past the window. My heart pounds harder with each turn, each stoplight, each mile closer to where I need to be.
The car pulls up to the iron gates of Morozov Villa. Not the downtown apartment I’d first thought of. Not Brandon’s place.
Tonight, I need my best friend before I mess up further.
Blake opens the door before I reach it. One look at my face telling her everything she needs to know.
“Fuck him,” she says, pulling me inside.
Hours later, I’m curled into her leather couch, blanket around my shoulders, while Blake pours us both another drink.
“You didn’t hear him, B.” My voice sounds raw, even to my own ears. “The way his voice just… went flat. Like I was just another business transaction to close.”
“So fix it.” She picks up my phone. “Call him. Talk to him. Hell, show up at his place naked if you have to.”
I snatch my phone back. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” She sprawls across the couch, her feet landing on my lap.
Why not? Because I’m terrified. Because every time I let someone in, they leave or die or turn out to be murderers. Because Brandon deserves better than my fucked-up, eating-disordered ass.
He’s right I’ll never let myself need him.
“He ended it,” I say instead.
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Of course not.” The admission burns, raw and honest in a way I rarely allow myself to be. “But what choice do I have? I can’t keep stringing him along. It’s not fair to either of us. He doesn’t want me anymore.”
She snorts. “Please. That man is still gone for you.”