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He does hate me, doesn’t he?
His features rearrange themselves in a flash and I don’t have time to wonder about inconsequential things. They morph into what they always are when I’m around.
Cold and sharp.
“Yes, I’m an alcoholic now. Yes, I hate schools. Yes, I don’t take care of roses. Are you going to say sorry now?” he lashes out. “That’s why you came. You told me that, right? To apologize. So are you going to get down on your knees and beg for my forgiveness?”
“I...”
“Is that your plan? To get down on your knees and beg me to forgive you? To do my bidding, plant me new roses, sacrifice yourself? What if I ask you to crawl around on your knees? Are you going to do that too? Are you going to follow me around like a lost little puppy? Are you going to take every cruel thing I do to you before it gets through your head that this whole thing is not worth it? It’s not worth it, okay? So leave.”
Somehow, his rapid-fire questions, his callous words fill me with more determination. A new, solid kind of determination.
He’s hurting.
It’s plain to see. He’s in pain and he’s lashing out and it’s my doing.
So yeah, that’s my plan.
To beg for his forgiveness. To take every cruel thing he does to me. Because even if he doesn’t believe it, this whole thing is more than worth it.
It’s so worth it and I so feel it in my bones that I get down on my knees. I don’t even think about it. I do it just because it was something that fell out of his mouth.
And when I do get down on my knees, he frowns.
He almost stumbles back as if this time I shot him with a gun and the bullet went straight through his heart.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he growls.
“Whatever you said,” I whisper, looking up at him, my knees on the squeaking, ancient hardwood floor.
Then I go ahead and put my hands on the floor too, going down on all fours. My hands are a few inches shy of where the shards of glass start. They are scattered around, between him and me, and I don’t care if I have to crawl through glass to get to him.
I glance up at him again and find his frown the thickest I’ve ever seen. It’s so deep, it’s almost like a hole in the ground.
“You told me not to play games with you. Not to mess with you. To do as you say. So if you want me to kneel, then I’ll kneel.” I put my hand forward and take a step toward him. “I’ll crawl and beg and sacrifice myself until you move on. Until you don’t hate or feel angry. I’ll do anything and everything. Because that’s all I can do. I can’t change the past. I can’t take back my kiss, Mr. Edwards, but I can make you forget and move on.”
And then, I lift my hand and walk it forward.
I’m about to bring it down on the first broken piece of bottle and cut myself on it so I bleed and seal the oath that I’ve made him in blood when a hand grasps my wrist.
Before I can even process this strange turn of events, I’m snatched up and pulled off my knees.
The sudden change makes me dizzy and a furious Mr. Edwards swims in front of my eyes. The bones of his cheek and jaw are hard. As hard as his grip on my wrist, my bare wrist.
He’s touching my skin.
I’m so confused and distracted by his fingers on my naked skin for the first time that I wince when I hear his voice again. “Don’t. Ever. Do that again. Not for me.”
That’s when I make sense of it all.
He pulled me up at the last second.
Not only that but he pulled me up by walking through the glass himself, on bare feet.
In horror, I look down and find those feet of his, all bloody, but before I can say anything, he pushes me away like he burnt himself on my skin, so that I stumble back.
And he stalks out of the room, leaving bloody footprints in his wake.
He asked me what my plan was and I do have a plan.
I’m at his cabin again and with me, I brought stuff for that plan too.
Stuff like my suitcase, which I’m going to leave in my car for now; I don’t wanna spook him this early in the morning by showing that I’m here to stay with him for a little bit. Other than that, I left a note for my new pen pal, Billy, and asked him to do me a favor and buy stuff on the list I attached with the note.
