Page 122 of On the Breakaway

“One time, I changed outfits three times before putting on something he approved of. And even then, I just thought, well, maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe this is just love.”

The words taste sour. I force a smile, rinsing the dishes so I have something to do with my hands.

“I changed my behavior to minimize the fallout. I stopped posting pictures when I went out so that I didn’t have to defend myself. I went to see him more so that he knew I liked being with him.”

I roll my eyes, unable to hide the frustration at myself for letting him control me that way. "It wasn’t until my keys started disappearing that I realized how bad it was."

“What do you mean your keys disappeared?” His voice is laced with concern.

“I’d have plans or want to leave, and suddenly my keys wouldn’t be where I knew I left them. At first, he helped me look, pretending to be as confused as I was. But then he’d just tell me I didn’t need to leave anyway.”

“Then they’d magically appear the next day. I thought I was going fucking crazy.”

My blood boils as I think about the first time it happened. My keys showed up right in the middle of the kitchen counter the next morning as if they’d been there all along. I remember Damon laughing and asking me if I was getting enough sleep. And I remember trying to go to bed earlier to make sure I was.

“Eventually, after it happened enough times, I decided I’d call an Uber. He snatched my phone out of my hand and threw it against the wall.”

His eyes darken, jaw ticking while he forces the words out. “Did he hurt you?”

I realize I’ve never truly seen Grayson mad. Because the look on his face right now is new, and it’s blatant icy rage. At least now someone can hate Damon right along with me.

“Not like that.” I shake my head, all the while knowing now that he would’ve eventually if I’d stayed longer. “The next day, he left for an away game. While he was gone, I packed up my shit and left. I hadn’t seen him in person until this past weekend.”

The silence that follows is immediate.

“He was really good at making me question myself. But shattering my phone against the wall was a clear enough sign.”

Across from me, Grayson hasn’t moved.

I don’t think he’s even breathing.

“Through it all, he was still just as charming. He just made everything feel like my fault."

My voice gets quieter.

“If I was upset, I was being dramatic. If I got angry, I was irrational. If I wanted space, I was abandoning him.”

I breeze past him into the living room, needing more space, or air, or something to slow my heart rate down.

“My mom thinks I should get back together with him.”

Grayson turns, following me into the living room. “I don’t know your mom, but that sounds like a really fucking stupid idea.”

That does it. I laugh, loud and thunderous, through the living room. Grayson stares at me for a beat before chuckling too.

“Understatement of the century,” I say between breaths when I finally calm down.

“So that’s why you don’t want to let anyone in?” He says, watching me intently.

“It’s not like I believe him. I know he’s an ass. I know it wasn’t healthy. That I didn’t deserve any of it. I’ve moved on from that.”

He scrunches his eyebrows.

“Seeing him last weekend just reminded me of how awful it was to be with him. To be dependent on someone, relying on them only for them to hurt you for sport. I don’t want to do any of that again. I have no interest in being with someone seriously.”

Then, carefully, like he’s not entirely sure he wants the answer, he asks, “You said I reminded you of him before. Do you think I’m like him?”

I stop in my tracks, looking down at him to see actual pain etched across his face as he sits down.