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Isabel
Long after thefront door closes, I stand in the kitchen and let the devastation settle in like a drug. I really shouldn’t be surprised. I knew we couldn’t keep going like this. Hunter avoided so much for so long. We couldn’t keep going the way we were.
But I never saw this coming. I never expected him to leave us.
Drake stands behind me for a while, but then he finally pulls away to pour himself a drink.
I can’t bring myself to stand here any longer, so I drag myself up the stairs. Numbly, I remove my clothes, and I stare at his shirt, a T-shirt he must have worn this morning. With tears brimming, I pull it over my head and let his scent engulf me. Then, I crawl into my empty bed, sticking to my side as the tears continue to fall, staining my pillow.
I replay every moment that led to this one. From all the way back to ten years ago when Hunter approached me in the library. I insert myself in that memory, trying to remember exactly how I felt in that moment.
“How is it?”his dark voice whispers through the shelves. I’m leaning against the wall, already halfway through the book I pulled from the shelf an hour ago. It’s not the one I wanted to find, but it’s similar, and just as good.
“What?” I reply. His dark brown eyes are watching over the top of a row of romance novels. He looks like trouble with those dark circles and gaunt cheekbones. I tense as he continues down the aisle, coming out to stand in front of me. I’ve seen this guy. He lingers around the corner a lot with that tall cute boy, but there’s no sign of his friend now.
Every day, they say hello to me. And I keep waiting for one of them to make a move.
“How’s your book? I’ve never seen someone so invested in a book before.”
“You don’t come to the library much, do you?” I ask.
The smile that stretches across his face scares me. It’s the kind of smile that I’d do very bad things for. A smile that shines like a warning. But as it fades and his gaze settles on my face, I feel as if I’m swimming in his attention. It’s not predatory or frightening. It’s more like awe and appreciation.
“No, I don’t come here often, but now I’m thinking I should.”
“To pick up girls?” I reply, trying not to blush.
“To talk to you.”
“That’s a bad plan,” I reply.
He looks shocked for a moment as he fidgets in his stance. “Why?”
“Because I come here to read, and if you bother me while I’m reading—no matter how cute you are—I’m going to really dislike you.”
He bites his bottom lip as he grins again. “You think I’m cute?”
I let out a giggle, and one of the librarians glances sternly our way.
“So let’s go somewhere else,” he says, and I roll my eyes. If he’s trying to just get into my pants, I’m going to be disappointed. I mean…I get it. He’s a guy in his twenties. Of course he wants in my pants. But is it too much to ask that he also be interested in me as a person?
“No, thanks,” I reply, pulling my book back up to my face.
“Okay, fine. Then, pick out a book for me.”
I giggle again—what has gotten into me? “For what?”
“For me to read…of course. I won’t bother you anymore. I’m just going to sit over here and enjoy a good book.”
“You’re relentless, aren’t you?”
“I generally get what I want.”
I heave a sigh. “If I give you my number, will you let me finish this book?”
“Gladly.”
“Here,” I mutter, pulling out my phone. “Give me your number.” When he does, I send him a quick text with nothing but a red heart emoji and a stack of books.
