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God, I sounded like a total insecure teenager. No wonder he didn’t want me.
Ash the Ass: It was easy to forget, with how eager you were. Makes a guy feel like he’s actually wanted.
I wasn’t sure why those words sliced me like knives on my pale skin. I’d made him feel wanted? Did he not feel wanted regularly?
Me: Stop making excuses. Why did you really leave? It wasn’t to protect me. Your leaving broke my heart.
The raw words literally hurt, even though they never left my mouth. They stuck in my throat and squeezed.
Ash the Ass: Because Tommy was freaking the fuck out, you were getting attached, and fucking so was I.
A gasp wheezed into my lungs through my tight throat.
Me: What’s wrong with getting attached?
Ash the Ass: Between us? Everything.
Right. Only because it was us.
My chest felt like it was going to explode. I was so angry and frustrated and confused and hurt and inexplicably happy to be talking to him. My blurry eyes were making it hard to see the letters under my fingers.
I need to hear his voice.
I pressed my thumb onto his contact and pressed the call button. It rang once, twice, three times and nothing.
He wasn’t going to answer.
When the messaging service started telling me to leave a message, I pulled the phone from my ear just as another call came in. It was him.
Hanging up the first call, I answered the second.
“Sorry,” he said immediately. “I—I don’t have an excuse. I didn’t want to pick up to hear how angry you were in real life.”
His deep, rumbling voice over the line made my tight chest compress further.
“I’ve missed you,” I blurted in a breathless gust.
He sighed, long and tired.
“Fuck…I miss you, too, Frey, but that doesn’t change anything.”
“How can it not change anything?” I demanded, voice cracking as fresh tears dribbled down my cheeks. “It should change everything, Ash.”
“You can’t say my name like that,” he groaned. “This is why I fucking can’t. Texting was safer.”
“Did you even hear me that night?” I asked in little more than a whisper.
If this was all going to end in a horrible disaster, then at least I was going to get some answers.
“What do you mean?” he countered, voice so low it was almost guttural.
“Did you hear me when I told my dad that I loved you?”
“Oh yeah, I remember.” He sounded flippant. “Crazy ass thing to say just to get your dad to stop caving my face in. But I appreciated your effort.”
“My effort?” I scoffed. “I wanted to stop my dad, sure, but are you kidding me? I tore my chest open right there, and you just—”
No, I couldn’t do it. My voice failed me and my heart ached like an open wound in my chest.
