Rough.
My laugh comes out bitter. “Rough. Sure.” He opens his mouth like he might say something, but I can’t hold it back any longer. Even though it takes every ounce of my courage, I force myself to ask the question. “What happened after the party? Why’d you disappear?”
Dmitri groans, and the sound hits like a hammer to the knees. “God, what a mess, huh?” he says with a breathy laugh.
“Mess?” I whisper as another wave of nausea almost doubles me over.
“I knew better than to let it get that far… I mean, Ireallyknew better.”
My breath is suddenly roaring in my ears as my vision pulses. “You knew better?” I repeat, because apparently that’s all I can fucking do anymore.
Dmitri rubs at his temples, and I’m silently pleading with him to look at me, but he keeps avoiding my eyes. “Yes, and you did, too.”
His words echo in my ears, so loud I almost slap my palms over them to try to make it stop.
I knew better?
Maybe I should’ve, but Idon’t.
Or… I didn’t.
Not until this moment. Until that hollowness spreads through my body and makes me cold all the way to my toes.
This isn’tright.
This isn’t him.
I know him, and he isn’t cruel.
It can’t be happening.
I try to swallow three times before my voice remembers how to work. “So, what? You regret it?”
He laughs again, like he can’t see that I’m falling to pieces right in front of him. Like he doesn’t realize he’s holding my heart in the palm of his hand, and he isbreakingit with every word.
“Regret?” He wrinkles his nose, staring at the sidewalk. “I think we can both agree getting that drunk was a terrible decision.”
Another crack forms.
Another chasm splits me wide open.
He huffs an uncomfortable laugh. “I shouldn’t have let it go that far.”
“You shouldn’t have?” I repeat, still with that flat tone that sounds like it’s coming from far away.
“Nah. I should’ve called it a night while we were still sitting outside. Hell, we might’ve been better off never going to that party to begin with.”
“Why are you saying this?” I manage to croak, and his eyes finally land on mine. “You never say what you don’t mean. You never…”
Dmitri presses his lips closed, shaking his head as he glances away again.
“You didn’t even text me,” I say, my voice so small I don’t even recognize it.
His eyes flicker up to mine for a split second, brows pinched like he doesn’t understand. “I did…”
“One text. One fucking text about my head… that’s all I got?” The words crack on the last syllable, and I swallow, throat burning.
His mouth opens, then closes again. The person who's always known how to comfort me doesn't know what to say.
