Page 138 of Before We Break

It will hurt now, but it’ll get better over time. At least that’s what I’m telling myself as the first tear rolls down her already damp cheek.

“Don’t do this, Noah.” Her voice was barely a whisper beneath the downpour raging around us.

“I heard you the other night, you know? You said the one thing I will never be able to give back to you, and it’s not fair of me to take that from someone else.”

She shakes her head, her bottom lip quivering.

“You deserve someone who can love you back. That won’t ever be me. You knew that from the start. This was always supposed to be temporary.”

Anguish turns to anger, her hands fisting at her sides. “I always knew you were an asshole, Noah Weston. I never thought you’d be stupid, too.” She steps toward me, pressing her palm against my chest, resting over the heart that’s breaking with every word. “I know you don’t want to hurt me. You’re doing this because you’re scared of what this is. What we both know this is.”

She’s fighting like hell to save what’s left of us, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. I steel myself, masking the pain as best I can. I never wanted to hurt her, but if this is the only way to save her from future pain, I guess I have no choice.

I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots. “I’m not programmed to love anyone, let alone someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I care about you, Clio, but sometimes… sometimes you’re too much.”

She rears back as if I’ve slapped her. In a way, I guess I did. I open my mouth to speak, but she cuts me off.

“Stop talking,” she chokes out the words between heaving breaths. “If you ever want a chance to come back from this, you won’t say another word. I am begging you. Please. Walk away before we break.”

Time slows to a crawl, and I see the hurt rolling off her in waves like a physical, tangible thing. I pinch my eyes shut and lower my face to the ground as I turn and walk away. My feet don’t feel like they belong to me as I leave behind the only woman I’ll ever love.

My name is a quiet plea that follows me all the way to the apartment. I want to go to her. Tell her I’m sorry, and I made a mistake, but I can’t. This is for her own good, even if I hate myself more with every step I take.

I walk past the apartment door where I know Lexi and Auggie are waiting for our return. Instead, I head straight to the fire escape, waiting for the regret to subside. It doesn’t. I tell myself it’s for the best, but it does nothing to fill the gaping hole where my heart used to be.

Beneath the guilt and the self-inflicted wounds is the gut-wrenching reality that despite my best efforts, I love her.

I love her, and it’s fucking agony like I knew it would be.

In the end, I was too much of a coward to ever say it out loud. She’ll never know, and maybe that is for the best.

THIRTY-NINE

AFTER WE BROKE

♫ It Must’ve Been Love - Roxette

CLIO

It’s been raining for a week like a banal metaphor. It’s summer break, and I should be living my best life; instead, I’m curled up in the corner of my couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, surrounded by discarded tissues and my favorite blanket.

Roxette is playing in the background as Edward asks Vivian to stay, and she turns him down. He didn’t tell her she’s too much. He didn’t push her away. He opened the door and watched her walk out of his life like a gentleman.

A week ago, I watched Noah Weston walk out of my life, too, only I’m not sure there’s a happily ever after waiting on our fire escape.

They say grief comes in waves, but I’m still drowning under the first one.

Lexi strides into the room and frowns, taking the ice cream from me. “Ok. That’s enough chocolate therapy. It’s obviously not working.”

“You don’t know that.” I make grabby hands like a petulant toddler. “Gimme.”

“No. We’re not doing this anymore. It’s been a week.” She strides into the kitchen and sets the carton in the freezer. When she comes back, she slumps onto the couch beside me and turns off the movie. “I know you’re sad, but you’re stinking up the apartment. Time to shower.”

“Rude.” I raise my arm and sniff. “Ok. Fair.”