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“Just what?” he presses. “Just don’t want people to know that you’re...” His mouth works, but no words come, and his jaw bunches, his eyes going bright with frustration.
“I’m what?” I can’t help but ask. A coward? Yeah, I know that. I know it well.
But he doesn’t say that. He says something much more painful.
“Mine!” he shouts. “That you are mine!”
The ground beneath me sways, tilts back. My head hits the trunk of the tree. His. I can’t even fathom a world in which I belong to someone. It’s never happened to me. No one has ever wanted me that completely. He’ll see that. Eventually he’ll see what the others see.
“We. I.” I take a breath. “We were never supposed to...”
“Yeah, I got that.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “You made it quite clear what we are and what we aren’t.” The corners of his eyes are creased. Pain there. Disappointment.
I’m not worth it. I want to shout it to him. I’m not worth his pain. He has the world in his palm. He doesn’t need the burden of me. But I can’t move. I’m frozen.
It’s his turn to look away, his fist going to his hips, his head ducking as he presses his lips together. A lock of hair drops over his forehead.
His voice turns low and bitter. “I mean, God forbid that perfect, classy Anna Jones be seen with Drew the man-whore, right?”
What? He’s got it all wrong.
He shakes his head on a snort. “You don’t even know how fucking ironic that is.” His gaze catches mine then, and his is burning. “You haven’t got a fucking clue.”
I can’t stop myself then. “Drew. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Says the girl who doesn’t have any feelings.”
I blink rapidly, wanting to cave in on myself. I don’t even know what I can say. I knew this would end sooner, rather than later. I wasn’t meant to be his. Even as I think the words, I know I’m fucking up in the worst possible way.
Helpless, I reach out. My fingers graze his forearm. And he explodes like I’ve sliced into him.
His arm flies up and he takes a huge step back.
“No!” He grips his hair at the back of his head as if he might pull it out. “I tried to give you space, give you time. I thought that you were just scared, shy—Fuck, I don’t know what, something.”
God, he knows me so well, I want to cry. But he’s not done. “But I was just fucking kidding myself. You just didn’t want me the way I wanted you.”
“No, Drew, it was—”
“Tell me I’m wrong then,” he insists, his voice raw. “Tell me that this whole hooking up bullshit hasn’t been about who I am.”
My throat hurts so badly that the words feel like broken glass. “It was.”
His expression goes blank, his gaze going right through me. And my heart plummets. I’ve done this. I’ve made him look at me like I’m a stranger.
“You know what? I don’t need this.” He’s backing away. “I don’t need any of this.” Even though I know what’s coming, it still plunges in like a knife when he finally says it. “I’m done. We’re done.”
And then he walks away.
twenty-five
Anna
I’m dead inside. My emotions have locked down so tight, I hardly feel a thing, just the dense weight of my body as it moves me along. Like I’m pushing through thick, cold sludge. I don’t even know how I end up at the local coffee shop. I must have walked. Must have ordered; there’s an untouched latte sitting by my laptop. I’m writing...something. My midterm on Queen Elizabeth and the use of virginity as a means of political power.
Perfect. I don’t even want to look at what I’ve written. If it’s any reflection of my thoughts, I’ve said something along the lines of: Remain a virgin. Do not engage. Run away while you can.
Not that refraining from sex would have protected me from Drew. He’d burrowed beneath my skin before he’d laid a finger on me.
