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My whole body relaxes when I see the name on my screen.
Winter.
She texted me.
It feels like I can breathe again.
Winter: I’m sorry. Can we talk about it?
My first instinct is to jump to the ceiling. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. I’m so fucking happy. But then I read the text again. My eyes stick to its beginning. Wait…
She’s apologizing to me?
Fuck…
Vic’s right. Her love for me is making her stupid.
By accepting me, she’s accepting that this is what she deserves. This girl may be good for me.
But I’m the worst thing for her.
Because the Winter I fell in love with, the girl who spat the truth in my face on her first day, would have never taken this kind of shit. She would’ve dropped me on lie number one.
I never wanted to change her.
I wanted her to change me.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this but… you’re right.”
“I am?” He’s surprised.
I get off the couch and head over to the kitchen.
“I know it’s hard for you to do right now, but use your brain, Vic. Think real hard. Where do you keep pens and paper?”
It takes him ten minutes to tell me to look into the box of stuff Bea never came to pick up—which makes it clear he really needs to throw her shit out. I sit down at the kitchen table and let my fingers create the hardest sentences I’ve ever had to write. An hour later, I walk back into the living room to see Vic opening another beer.
“Go to bed. I’m going to need you to clean up and get your shit together in the morning.”
He doesn’t bother asking questions because he’s way beyond the point of giving a fuck. But if he’d asked, I know what I would’ve told him.
I’m setting her free.
I’m forcing her to choose herself.
Because I refuse to be the reason Winter Kingston doesn’t think she’s the best goddamn person in this world.
I refuse to be the reason she looks at herself…
The way I look at me.
WINTER
Insomnia has never really bothered me before. But that’s probably because lying awake at three in the morning has never felt like this. Like slowly dying with every breath. I enjoy being left alone with my thoughts most of the time. But tonight is not one of those times. As soon as I heard his car booking it down the street, I lost it. Dropped on a chair and started crying. It’s all I’ve been able to do since.
His scent clings to my pillows, my sheets. The memory of his presence floats around the room, a reminder of everything I want yet can’t have. A lapse of judgment has me picking up my phone and sending him a message.
Winter: I’m sorry. Can we talk about it?
