The day after that, I refused to leave my bed. I allowed myself to sit in my self-pity and wish for a life that is filled with brown eyes, curly hair, and a fifteen-year-long story about how we became enemies to lovers. If my creativity were flowing, I would write about us, fueled by the knowledge that love can win, and pride knowing that it picked me. But creativity seems to be evading me every chance it gets, and I didn’t pick it…I threw it in the trash and showed just how ungrateful I am.
Which brings me to today. Today I am…lost. I feel as if I’m in some kind of trance; not quite here, but not quite anywhere else, either. Ollie tries his best to comfort me, sticking by my side whenever I’m home like my own personal bodyguard. If only he’d protected me sooner than this.
My doorbell ringing throughout my little bungalow is the absolute last thing I need today.
I drag my feet as I walk to the door, reluctance acting as a fabulous counterweight. When I open the door, Wren stands in front of me, looking whatever surpasses furious. Her brown skin is flushed, her curly dark hair wild. Her arms are crossed in front of her, her lips pursed.
Fuck.
Finn must have told her the truth.
“Okay, before you say anything?—”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she cuts me off.
I scramble for an answer. “I don’t know, I don’t know! I should have told you as soon as he asked me, I just didn’t know how to bring it up and?—”
“He asked you?” Wren’s head tilts. “Asked you what?”
Wait, what?
“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”
“The fact that it’s been three days and the two of you didn’t once mention that you broke up?”
Oh.
“I had to hear it from my dad, of all people.”
She watches me carefully. “What didyouthink I was talking about?”
“What’s that now?” I try my best to play dumb, but unfortunately for me, I’ve been friends with Wren for longer than I haven’t been.
I let out a deep, resigned breath and move to the side. “Perhaps you should come in and sit down.”
Rightfully so, Wren looks extremely cautious as she steps inside and makes her way to the couch. I sit beside her, but immediately stand back up again.
“You know what, this needs wine. A lot of wine.”
I grab a bottle from the fridge along with two glasses, pouring two mammoth amounts in each. I hand one to Wren and chug half of mine in one go.
“Jesus, Lee, what the hell is going on?” she asks, wide-eyed as she watches me down my wine.
Maybe the alcohol hits me right away, or maybe I’m just so fueled by anxiety, but either way, it all just comes out.
“Finn and I have been pretending to date for a month because he was scared that he was causing Wanda stress because he wasn’t dating. I wanted to tell you that it was fake, but I think in my head I just wasn’t sure if it was or not. Then things got a little too real and we slept together, which made me realize that I think I get off on pain—who would have thought? Anyway, we spent about three days just in bed together and then he left to go to work, and then I started freaking out because I realized that I was missing him and was genuinely in love with him and it scared the shit out of me, so I decided to save myself the pain and end things before we had a chance to make them real. And instead of being hurt, he kind of started laughing? Haven’t quite deciphered that one, but now I’m just sad all the time and I want to talk to him but I’m not sure how and I know I shouldn’t because all I’ll want to do is get back together and I can’t because otherwise I’ll hurt myself.”
Her frown has been deepening more, the more I speak, and by the time I’m finished, we’re both breathless—me, from talking fast and from anxiety, her, from fury.
Beneath all of her, I can see the anger clear as day. It flashes across her brown eyes in intervals, as if she’s replaying the same part of the story in her mind.
“You lied to me?” she asks quietly.
I hang my head in shame.
“Youbothlied to me?” She spits out the word “both” as if it’s poison.
“Wren, I—I don’t know what to say.”
