Page 65 of Apparently, I’m Torture

“You didn’t try to kiss me.”

He didn’t. I was sure about that. He freed me from the sweater wrapped around my head, saw me half-naked, and put his thumb in my mouth… but he didn’t try to kiss me. I’d thrown up as soon as Trevor walked in.

Not that he wanted to kiss me back then. Shawn never wanted me that way. Trying to come to terms with the fact that he might want me now after our last encounter in the kitchen… that was hard enough to wrap my mind around.

He clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the wheel. His biceps flexed, veins popped, and my thighs? They squeezed. I’m only human, after all.

“I thought I made it obvious that night,” he said, his voice as tight as his grip.

I furrowed my brows and leaned forward, taking in more of his tense, tight, tortured face.

“You think it was obvious? Shawn, you’re so… I have no idea what you’re thinking. I don’t know what you think happened that night, but I know what we did in that kitchen. You kissed me. But then you said it was a mistake. And every time I ask you about why you cut me out, you just deflect, like it isn’t worth talking about. I told you what was going on between Mia and Stacey when you asked, but you can’t seem to do the same thing for me. I just want answers, Shawn. Not having them is frustrating. I am frustrated. Will you please just talk to me?”

He glared at the road, and it kicked into action, as if he willed the cars to part. “The fucking great Shawn Jackson, everybody,” I muttered, folding my arms and staring out my window.

“I just don’t see the point.”

“In what?” I asked, watching the Manhattanites walk along the street. It was weird not being one of them. To be in a truck instead of on the sidewalk. The crowd jostled side by side until they eventually filtered into the subway.

“In talking about it.”

I groaned, tempted to kick the glove box. “Just tell me why you did it. Is it because I was such a mess back then?”

“You weren’t a mess, Lil. You passed and you graduated. I was proud of you.”

“Then what is it?” I yelled, slapping my hands against my thighs.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair as we turned into the warehouse driveway. “I wanted… more, I guess. And it was clear you didn’t.”

My eyes bugged out of my head. “What? Why would you think that?”

He turned his head just a fraction, but I could see enough of his face to take in the defeat there. “That night we studied, you left with Trevor.”

“Shawn,” I groaned. “I had to.”

Workers sidled up next to the truck, wheeling pallets of plastic-covered coffee cups. Shawn put his hand to the door and said, “Lilly, you had a choice. You could’ve stayed.”

He opened the door and leapt out.

This time, I didn’t try to muffle my anger. Confident the metal would mute my voice, I gripped my cup, squished my eyes closed, and screamed.

I screamed loud and long, until my throat was hoarse from it.

Why was I doing this to myself?

Why couldn’t I just accept that Shawn didn’t want me around?

I’d already been abandoned by my father; my mother died when I was a teen, and Shawn avoided me for five years. Shouldn’t I have been used to people leaving?

Maybe it was because Nikki, Tristan, Mia and Uncle Henry never let me down. Maybe they were the reason I was trying so hard to understand how Shawn could just leave me.

My scream tapered off, and I felt better for it. Until I opened my eyes and noticed the odd glares of the surrounding workers. They heard. How could they hear me? I groaned and slapped my hand to my mouth.

They thought I was a maniac; I could see it in their stares.

A head-to-toe flush broke across my skin like a rash, and I slunk lower in my seat until Shawn yanked my passenger door open.

He looked up at me like my screaming in this truck was perfectly normal, and said, “Lilly, we’ve got a problem.”