“Of course I’m proud,” I said, stepping towards her, and as I reached for her hands, I half expected her to move them out of reach. But she didn’t, letting me grasp them between us.
“I wasn’t being manipulative when I said I loved you. And it wasn’t sarcasm when I said of course they gave you the job. You’re brilliant, and you’re so talented. I want you to have everything you want.
“But I want you to want me, too. Like I want you. Like you want all those other things for yourself.”
“You want me so bad?” she asked, fire in her eyes. “Ring your dad right now. Tell him you don’t want to be a contractor. Apply to that course. Apply to literally anything. Anything but the stupid family business that you hate.”
“How is that fair?” I asked, dropping her hands. “I told you,you’rewhat I want. I don’t need the rest of that.”
“But you do,” she said. “You may not realise it, but— Actually, no, I think you do realise it. But you’re too scared to admit it.”
“Not everyone wants to go on some epic quest of self-discovery,” I said. “Some of us are happy with the little, everyday adventures. Maybe if you’d bothered to embrace that, you wouldn’t feel the need to move to the other side of the country to prove a point.”
Her scowl deepened, and I saw her fists ball up at her sides. “This isn’t about proving a point, and you know it,” she said. “We’ve both been living our lives on other people’s terms, whether you’ll admit it or not. You’re so desperate to keep yourself safe, you ended up shovingyourselfout of the frame in the process. But I won’t let that happen to me. At least I’m willing to do something for myself.”
“Do literally anything else!” I cried, throwing my arms out to the side. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice disconcertingly calm. “Because you’re afraid of what your life will be like without me?”
“Yes,” I said, stepping back towards her. “Exactly.”
But before I could reach her, she stepped away.
“Exactly,” she echoed. “You’re so scared. Your entire life is a shrine to your fear of getting hurt. But I won’t be a part of it. And I’m tired of having to play therapist to try and get you to realise it. Level up on your own.”
Her words sounded so final, and something in me realised that there was nothing I could say or do to change her mind. She was so hell bent on the fact that this was her only choice, and there was nothing that would convince her otherwise. Not my logic. Not my love. Nothing.
But I couldn’t donothing.
I closed the distance between us faster than she could step away, gathering her to me, wrapping my arms around her in a hug. Her hair clouded my face, and I took a deep breath in, smelling her familiar scent whilst I still could.
“Please,” I said, fresh tears wetting my cheeks. “If you want to be bold, stay. I know I have a lot to figure out. But please, Morgan. Stay anyway.”
“Jack…” she muttered into my shoulder, her arms limp at her sides.
“Hey, bold commitment, right?” I said, pleading. “Boldly commit to me, Morgan, please. I love you so much. I promise I won’t let you down.”
I begged her in my thoughts to give in; desperately hoped and imagined that I would feel her arms around me, too, and she’d relent. But she didn’t, and I had to drop away. It hurt too much to hold on when she wouldn’t even lift an arm to me.
As I took a step back, I saw that she, too, was crying. But they didn’t look like desperate tears, like I was sure mine did. They were tears of grief.
“How can I boldly commit to someone,” she said, “who won’t even boldly commit to himself?”
Then she pushed past me and out of the room. I listened to her footsteps on the stairs and the click of her bedroom door, then the squeaks of her mattress springs as she sat down on the bed.
I stood there for a long time, listening for other sounds – her crying, ringing someone, anything – but the house was silent. It felt empty, like she’d already left and taken all the soul with it.
So I pulled my keys out of my trousers and removed the one to the front door, placed it on the mantle, and left through the front door, into the miserable night.
Chapter41
Morgan
When it rained, it motherfucking poured, and it had been raining since the gala – both literally and figuratively. Some of the rainfall I experienced over the following week included:
Getting a tentative move-out date. Sure, I’d known this was coming for a while now, and I’d done very little to prepare for it. Shockingly, that didn’t make it any easier.
The dye Phil had used for my tunic/surcoat thing hadn’t worked as planned, turning it bright Barbie pink. There wasn’t time to make a new one, so I was mentally adjusting to being a knight in girlypop armour.
