Page 34 of The Casualty of Us (Philosophies of the Heart Duet #1)

Chapter Eighteen

I’m living in hell.

Literary hell possibly, but still, it fucking counts.

“You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!”

My brows drop as I come to the end of Heathcliff’s speech because damn…I feel you, dude. Fucking love. Apparently it’ll do that to you, which I’ve now found out.

Not like I can mention that to O, though. I’m not exactly thinking it’s a good idea to try that plan again, seeing as she took a book to someone’s face the last time I said it.

I panicked, though…had been living in a constant state of panic ever since waking up Christmas morning with the night before playing in my head like a nightmare I couldn’t escape.

Josey’s subtle approach as I’d been stumbling back to the dorms after the party.

The offer to hang out and finish off the bottle of tequila she had, then her giggle when I almost faceplanted a second later as we made it to the auditorium.

I’d known.

Known what she wanted.

Fuck, it was the same thing every other girl wanted from me growing up, regardless of their age or mine. To attach themselves to the son of the great Drake Flynn. To spark that connection and use me in some shape or form.

I’ve been a paycheck to someone since the second I was born.

Conceived in greed—that’s me—check here, please. Literally.

But I figured I’d do a quick shot to not be rude, then turn in for the night. I had been pissed and miserable and too drunk to even begin to figure out why.

Not that I had much luck at it sober either.

Then when I turned around to go, she grabbed my arm and kissed me, and I’d thought it—just for a split second—but it had popped into my head uninvited.

That this might be easier.

That O deserves better than me anyway. Deserves someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing half the time and that this might make it stop. Might end it.

Might make that hole in me full of dread that I’m always about to fail her somehow go away. Might allow me to finally clear my world away. That maybe me failing her would really be the best thing for everyone.

Cut both our losses before we got too deep and I fucked it up.

That maybe a little bit of pain now was better than worlds of it later.

That maybe I should have never made that deal.

Because that makes sense.

The thoughts had all come and gone in the split second Josey kissed me, spinning my head around until my next breath brought the realization with it that everything about her was wrong. The smell. The feel. All of it.

I’ve never shoved someone away so fast, but it was already too late.

Then the next morning, when it clicked to my sober mind that the reason that dread would be gone is because Freckles would be too…well, I puked a whole fuck ton more then. Those sad eyes staring at me with expectation flashing through my head with every fucking heave.

I’d give anything for her to look at me like that again now.

Like she expects something from me.

But the most fucked-up part might be that even after having obliterated any chance we had…

I still thought maybe I could fix it. Beg my way to forgiveness for ever being stupid enough to go in that auditorium.

Even after Ollie warned me and she fucking kissed Graham, I still wanted to believe I could fix it.

That if I could just make her understand, then she could find a way to forgive it all somehow.

That she had to because I couldn’t lose her.

That it didn’t matter what kind of hell she was raining down because I would make it all work out.

I believed it right up until the end when she took a book to Josey’s face.

In retrospect that isn’t what should have clued me in on how well and truly fucked I am, though.

It was the moment she called me less. I saw it then.

In that split second she cracked the door enough to let me see all that hurt hiding behind the blue before they stilled again with something new. A complete lack of expectation.

Like I was a chess piece that she had to sacrifice, and while it might hurt, she had made her peace with it. She shut down. Shut me out.

I had to reassess after all that and still am, really. So fucking scared of messing things up worse that I don’t know what to do with myself half the time.

Fuck, the only communication we have these days is the damn books.

Exchanging a few questions and comments about them over meals like she’s freaking tutoring me as Ollie does nothing to hide his smirk next to her.

Fucker.

I got a little excited when she gave me Wuthering Heights at the start of last week, though. Thinking that maybe she might be warming back up to me since the book was supposed to be a romance.

I should’ve known better. The thing is as fucking as tragic as Hamlet .

Plus, I have a sneaking suspicion that she’s trying to make a point about the toxicity of love with this one.

Can’t wait for those breakfast questions.

Because the thing I hate is that she’s right. I don’t know the first thing about love or even what it’s supposed to be. There was no happy family for me to reference growing up and I’ve made a mess out of pretty much everything in my life up to this point.

The only thing I do know is that I want to be the guy that gets to bring her tea every morning. That gets to walk her to class. That I like that guy better than myself.

That the guy I was becoming since coming here and meeting her is the only person I want to be. That’s the guy that might come close to deserving her.

Not the one who panicked and walked away and messed everything up.

So I’m definitely a little fucked.

Because her smile still lights my world up.

The sound of a door opening has me lifting my head from the arm of the couch, and I catch Ollie coming through the front door with his athletics bag thrown over his shoulder.

“Hey, man.” I jerk a nod at him, letting the book drop to my chest. “You on your way to practice?”

“Yeah.” He yawns wide, lifting his chin in greeting while heading into the kitchen. “Coach said he’s starting me on two-a-days for the rest of the year since I’m taking over for Wander in the fall.”

“Rough,” I whistle sympathetically. “Worth it though when you’re starting, right?” He nods while opening the fridge, and I wait for him to grab something or shut it, but he just stands there, face slowly blanking and making me prompt, “Dude, you good?”

“What?” His head whips my way, eyes landing on me with something like surprise. “Oh, yeah, uh.” He clears his throat. “Just realized I’m going to have to reorder a couple of things on my to-do list.”

“Right,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes on him as he pulls a water bottle from the fridge and wondering if he’s coming from O’s dorm since she’s the one that typically zones out like that between the two of them. Must be nice to be able to just come and go as he pleases from her presence still.

Fucker, fucker, fuck—Jesus Christ.

I shake my head, knowing I’ve got to get my shit together, but something about the blankness still lingering in his eyes bothers me. Irritates me, even. Reminds me of the matching pair that take on that look far more frequently and all the things I’m still trying to work out about her.

Because I’m missing shit.

Even after an entire semester of trying to work my way through her shell and the weeks of obsession that have come after. There are times that I watch her with Ollie or my eyes catch hers, and I just know that there’s something I’m missing there.

He takes a sip of his water and snorts, pointing at the book on my chest with it. “I can’t believe you’re still reading that shit.”

“It’s the only way she’ll talk to me.” I shrug unapologetically, mulling over whether enough time has passed that he might be feeling benevolent. “I’m actually ninety percent sure she ignored me on purpose when I tried to ask if she had any plans for summer the other day.”

“Probably.” He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Well, it’s not not an answer…and I guess he hasn’t punched me in about a month now, so I’ll take my chances.

It can’t get much worse, at least.

Ollie turns to go, and I sit up, not wanting to miss my chance.

“Hey, man.” I toss the book onto the table, waiting until he looks back at me over his shoulder to add, “Your sister said something when we were suspended last month.”

“Yeah?” He lifts his brows at me with instant warning filling his eyes. “And?”

“Well.” I blow out a breath, dropping my eyes to the book and trying to work out what it is I’m even asking here. “It’s kind of a long story, but she was talking about Machiavelli and how sometimes she can forget that the means matter.”

I lift my gaze back up to check if this is ringing a bell with him but find his face is scrunched up like I’m going crazy.

“What the fuck are you talking about dude?”

“Fuck,” I groan, lifting a hand to push my hair back and wading through everything she told me at the lunch table that day. “She was saying how—I think she was saying that sometimes she can forget to have morality? Or empathy, maybe?”

His brows fall at that, and I hurry to get the rest out before he jumps back on punching me again.

“But that she’s usually aware of it and that you remind her?

” I pause then, tensing up in case he chooses violence, but a few more seconds of him just staring has me tossing my hands in the air.

“It’s fucking O, dude. She can explain how the car made it from point A to point B and I know she’s right, but somehow I’m still lost.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. “It’s not that.

” His face fills with a look like he tasted something sour before he ducks his head.

“I just, uh….” My brows drop down as he fiddles with something in front of him, shoulders rising with an audible breath that has me second-guessing before he turns back around. “Tell me what she said again.”