Page 47 of The Friend Request

‘Let me explain,’ he said.

‘Don’t.’

‘Kim, please⁠—’

‘Don’t you dare.’ My voice came out low and nothing like my own. ‘Don’t you dare stand there and tell me you can explain that.’

‘It was a mistake.’ He came closer. One step, then another, hands still raised. ‘She means nothing. She’s nobody. I’d had too much to drink, and she came over. It was stupid, and I’m sorry. Kim, I’m so sorry.’

‘You told me you were revising.’

‘I know.’

‘You lied to my face.’

‘I know. I know I did, and I’m a prick, and I don’t deserve you, and I’ll do anything to fix this. Anything. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.’

He was close enough now that I could smell him – aftershave and sweat and the sweet chemical fog of the club still clinging to his jacket. His eyes were wet. His hands were shaking. He looked wrecked, and I was glad. In that moment, I hated him so much that my vision blurred with it.

‘You can’t fix it,’ I said.

‘I can. I will.’

‘You had your hands on her.’

‘I know.’

‘Like she was yours.’

‘She’s not. You are. You’re the only person who’s mine, Kim, and I was an idiot. I swear to you it will never happen again. On my life. On everything. I love you, and I made a mistake, and I’m begging you to let me make it right.’

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to shove him backwards through the fire door and watch it slam in his face and walk away and never see him again. I wanted to be a woman who could cut someone off cleanly and walk out of the car park into the rest of her life without glancing back.

But that wasn’t who I was, and Ross knew it. Because Ross knew me better than anyone on earth. He knew exactly which strings to pull, which words to say, and how to stand close enough that I could feel the heat coming off his body without him touching me.

He lifted one hand and brushed a strand of hair off my face. I flinched, but I didn’t step back.

‘Please,’ he said. Quieter now. ‘Please, Kim.’

And something in me changed. I could feel it happening. The anger didn’t leave. It stayed right where it was, hot and tight and pulsing. But it folded into something else, something that wrapped around the love I still felt for him and fused with it until I couldn’t tell them apart. I hated him. I wanted him. I couldn’t stand the sight of him and I couldn’t bear to let him walk away from me. Because if he walked away, then the girl in the club would get him, and every other girl after her, and I’d be left with nothing but the knowledge that he’d chosen them over me.

I couldn’t survive that. The wanting was bad enough. The losing would kill me.

So I stayed. I let Ross put his arms around me, pressed my face into his chest, and I held on. And neither of us said anything else because there was nothing else to say. He’d cheated on me and lied about it, and I’d caught him in the act. And instead of ending it, I’d let him pull me back in, and we both knew what that meant. It meant he could do it again. It meant the rules had changed, and the new rules were: Ross does what he wants, and Kim forgives him, because the alternative is too frightening to face.

I hated him. I hated myself more.

But I didn’t let go.

That was the night I learned something about myself that I’ve carried ever since, buried so deep I almost forgot it was there. That my love and my anger weren’t opposites. They were the same thing wearing different faces, and the more one burned, the hotter the other got, until staying felt like self-destruction and leaving felt like dying, and I chose the destruction every single time.

I chose him. I always chose him.

Even when he gave me every reason not to.

Chapter Twenty-One

He finds me when I’m alone.