I spend the following days crying, drinking, and rambling to Mal, who is far too patient with me. He vows to murder Whit.
I make him promise not to. I don’t want him to hurt more than he already is.
He’s getting married.
He didn’t choose me.
He lied.
He broke me to pieces. How am I going to put myself back together after this?
Sem and Luke make an appearance, checking in on me, trying to get me out of my funk, but I think it’s terminal. I think this is the end of Caleb van Beek.
I groan, my chest aching, pouring beer into my mouth as I lie on Mal’s small couch. It misses, dribbling from my lips and onto his cushion.
Mal grunts. “Dude, lie on a towel. You’remaking a mess.”
I huff and try to drink the beer again, but the bottle is swiped from my hand.
“No more. You’re done being drunk.”
“He doesn’t want me,” I murmur. “He chose money over me.”
“Yeah, well, he sucks. I’m glad you got your shit and left him. You deserve better.”
I stare at the pile in the corner of Mal’s place, and my chest constricts. He went there for me and got the rest of my shit. I couldn’t go. I couldn’t see him.
Fuck. I miss him.
“I don’t want better. I want him.”
“Yeah, I know,” Mal sighs and then reaches down and manhandles me, forcing me to sit up.
His hands land on my cheeks, holding me so I look at him, but his face blurs slightly as I try to focus.
“You need to snap out of it.”
“I can’t. He broke me. I think this is who I am now.”
“No, he didn’t break you. You’re strong. You made it through your mom; you can make it through this.”
I shudder, and my eyes leak.
“Yeah, but I love him.”
“And you loved her. And look at you now, look at what you accomplished. What you overcame.”
I don’t feel like I’ve done much. But I still let his words sink into me.
“Yeah, okay.”
He slaps my cheek gently. “You’re going to pull yourself together. You’ve sulked enough. You’re going to show him you don’t need him.”
“But I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
When I just sit there, wobbling slightly, he sighs again and then slaps my face once more.
