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“I know you’re not asleep,” he mutters as he pulls back the edge of his sleeping bag.
“I figured you didn’t want to talk,” I whisper.
“Looks like you got something right.”
My heart shatters just a little more which is honestly surprising, considering the condition it’s been in for the last week. I didn’t think I had any more hurt left in me, but he seems very capable of finding those buttons and pushing them.
I simmer in my anger and heartache, wishing I could settle on the anger rather than the hurt. This isn’t the first time someone didn’t believe me. My family had long disowned me by the time I got brave enough to leave my ex. By the time I showed up on their doorstep after two years of being gone, they’d written me off completely.
Somehow, this hurts more than that. I know how laughable that is, considering I’m comparing my parents to a man I barely hooked up with a couple of times.
Misery settles inside of me as I grow more and more dejected. It’s insane how close we are yet being worlds apart right now.
I consider inching closer, consider laying my hand on his hip or forcing him to turn over and place his head on my chest. I have the wild idea, that if he hears my heartbeat he’d know I’d never do anything to hurt him taking over my mind.
I have to wonder what pushing him into action would look like. In my head, he’d cave. He’d tell me he was sorry for walking away from me, and I’d spend the night kissing away his tears and swallowing his cries of pleasure.
I don’t think it would go that way, however.
My throat threatens to close at the thought of him letting the truths about himself come to light in anger if I pushed him too far and he got loud or belligerent.
He’d never forgive me then, but that thought means that I still somehow believe there’s room inside of him to forgive me now.
I shake that thought away, my eyes locked on his sleeping bag covered back.
I think I want the anger over anything else. Hatred would be better than indifference or actually being friends like I suggested that night in the hotel room.
I can hardly stomach the thought of it much less actually being forced into it.
“I know how it looks,” I finally say, only to be met with continued silence. “I didn’t set you up with Ugly.”
More silence, and it brings a sting to my throat.
It wouldn’t be the first time someone didn’t believe me, but somehow this hurts more than it ever has before.
“I was so fucking excited that you came to me, that you wanted to spend time with me, that I forgot everyone else in the world existed.”
I chew the inside of my cheek when my voice trails off, the emotion taking over.
I stare at the shadow of a tree branch as it dances on the side of the tent in an effort to get myself under control.
“You hurt me,” I say, probably too low for him to hear even if he is awake. “I swore I’d never let anyone hurt me again.”
I feel like a complete baby as the tears begin to fall.
He must be asleep because the man I know would never let someone suffer through so much pain without offering a shoulder to cry on.
Chapter 35
Boomer
I wanted to be pissed. I wanted to hate him.
Man, I wanted a lot of things I’ve never let myself focus on for long because it would only leave me disappointed. Wanting something you can never have is a wasted effort.
The subject of Drake is no different.
The sound of him trying to muffle his tears nearly broke me.
None of this was my intention. I didn’t plan on him.
I had my mind set on how my life would go. It never involved someone else.
I mean, there were times I could picture a different outcome, one that included a family, but those were dreams, fantasies, something that could never come to fruition.
Drake was supposed to be safe, fun. Something I could kick myself later about, but I imagined that chastisement would come from the things I did, the sins I committed, not from hurting him. That was never my intention only because it wasn’t supposed to get that serious.
I try to convince myself it doesn’t matter, that his pain doesn’t affect me, that I’m not responsible for how he feels, but I just don’t have it in me.
Eventually he quiets down, his breathing growing rhythmic.
By the time I realize he’s asleep, the sun is trying to infiltrate the heavy growth of trees surrounding the camping area. If I know anything about sleeping outside is that people don’t stay in tents much long after.
It’s too late to do anything, too late for conversation, I realize as I turn over to face him for the first time.
