Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“Love?” he scoffed.
“Anything. Simon at least painted something for me. He created something for me. He shared his feelings.”
“I share my feelings. You just don’t like them. They’re not the feelings you want.”
“Because they’re not your real feelings. Even your poetry was written by someone else, for someone else. What have you ever given me that comes from yourself?”
“I’ve given you a lot of things, damn it.” He stared at me over the space between us. “A lot of helpful things. A lot of expensive things.”
“An apartment, a full ride to college? A trip to Oslo?” I wrenched my hands from his grasp. “I never asked for any of that. Why can’t you just give me some normal fucking emotions? Why won’t you admit you feel something for me? For us?”
I hated that he was making me do this, making me break down and beg him for love while he stood there looking irritated and bored. He had told me, Love lies. But it was so, so much more complicated than that.
“You’re better off if I don’t love you,” he said, leaving me to cross the room and pick up the bag of ice from the floor.
“Yes. Same old line. Same old excuses.”
“They’re not excuses. They’re warnings.” He leaned against the wall, holding the ice to his cheekbone. “I keep a distance between us for your protection.”
“Bullshit. That’s a fucking lie. A cop-out. I think you keep a distance between us because there’s nothing inside you that can love. There’s nothing inside you but selfish emptiness, and money, and violence.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re a cold, selfish, rich, manipulative ass—”
“Chere.”
“And you don’t love me because it doesn’t suit your purposes. You use me for sex the same way Simon used me for money. To get your fix!”
He flung the bag of ice down and stalked toward me. Shit, shit, shit. Now I’d pissed him off.
“When did you turn into such a needy, delusional bitch?” he yelled. “I’m sorry if I don’t live up to your romantic-fantasy standards. I’m sorry that everything I’ve done for you is shit. If you don’t want the fucking poems, then fucking get rid of them. Burn them, shred them. I don’t give a fuck.” He caught my elbows, hurting me, digging his fingers into my skin. “If they don’t mean anything to you, why have you kept them? Why did you hold onto them all those years?”
I shied back from his angry questions, and gave him my angry reply. “Because they were all I had to remember you by. They’re still all I have.” I beat my fists against his chest. “When are you going to give me something that’s you? Where are you? Who are you? What’s inside of you? It’s been three fucking years, Price, and I still don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? I’ve never hidden my true self from you.” He shook me hard, once, and let go. “You’re the only one who’s ever let me be myself. I’m only sorry—”
He turned away.
“I’m sorry it’s not enough,” he said roughly. “I guess we were never enough for each other.”
He spun on his heel and walked out of my bedroom, his back muscles tense and his jaw clenched. I followed him to the living room, where he snatched up his clothes and began to dress.
Holy shit. I’d wanted to push him to open up to me, to love me. Instead, he seemed poised to break up with me. I started backpedaling, retracting my words in a panic.
“I’m just confused by you,” I said. “Maybe I’m asking too much.”
“You’re not asking too much.” In those curt, resigned words, I knew I’d pushed too far, to the point where he’d decided to give up on our entire relationship. He shoved his arms into his shirt sleeves. “You’re asking me for things any normal person would want. I’m glad you’re normal. Unfortunately, I’m not.”
I looked down at the shards of my dress as he scooped up his jacket and started toward the door. I stepped in front of him, hugging my arms over my breasts. “What does that mean?”
He waved a hand for me to move. “It’s late. I have to go.”
“Now? Can’t you stay and talk? What about us?”
He looked down, held my gaze for long seconds. He was gone. There was no more “us” to talk about. He was leaving me a second time, and I knew this time it would be for good.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he said quietly, without rancor. “I can’t be what you want. I don’t have it in me.” He gave a soft, bitter chuckle. “You’re right when you say there’s nothing inside me, starshine. Somehow you’ve always known me better than anyone else.”
I blinked at him. “I didn’t mean it when I said that.”
“I think you did. I care for you, Chere, enough to...” His voice went on, breaking my heart as his fingers slipped around mine for a moment. “Enough to let you go. I think it’s best if we parted ways.”