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“So, youweredating him,” he mutters eventually, a somber shadow casting over his face. “That was fast.”
He looks hurt, and for a moment I almost feel sorry for him. I of all people know what it feels like to be replaced by someone else, and how it screws with your self worth to realize you are no longer special to someone who used to be so special to you.
But my empathy for him is short-lived. He doesn’t deserve my pity, not after what he did. And he certainly doesn’t get to judge me.
“You’re one to talk,” I hiss. “Besides, it’s none of your business. None of this is.”
He nods, but doesn’t say a word. His sad puppy eyes are starting to really infuriate me.
“You should go,” I tell him. “I have enough to worry about as it is.”
This seems to pique his interest. His eyebrows curve with curiosity as he tilts his head to the side with a question written across his face.
“What do you mean?”he asks. “Is there something I can do to help?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want your help.”
“I understand that you’re hurt—and proud,” he laments. “But please let me help you, if there’s anything I can do.”
“There isn’t!” I insist. “Unless you can come up with an instant cure for cancer—or the cash to afford better treatment.”
I should not have said that. Of course, he looks alarmed right away, suckingina sharp breath of air as he reaches for the chair at my desk. He pulls the chair with him as he approaches me in hurried steps and turns it around before he sits down on it backward—all the while staring at me through widened eyes.
“Cancer?”he breathes in shock. “You… you have cancer?”
I roll my eyes at him and shake my head.
“Not me, you idiot,” I retort, lowering my voice before I go on to explain. “It’s Mrs. Warden. She’s refusing to talk about it and won’t let me help her, because she thinks I can’t…”
He deflates with relief.
“Well,canyou help her?”he asks.
“I would like to,” I maintain. “After all she’s done for me. I owe it to her! And I know she’s not doing well. I can tell, no matter how much she tries to hide it.”
Patrick sighs, visibly relieved, as if this wasn’t terrible news nonetheless.
“Look, I know this must be hard for you,” he says. “But it isn’t really your problem, is it? I’m sure she’s in good hands either way and doesn’t want to trouble you with things that are out of your control. You have your own battles to fight.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. How can he be so cruel and self-absorbed?
“Not my problem?” I repeat in disbelief. “How could you say that, after all she’s done for me? I wouldn’t even have my GED if it wasn’t for her! She’s the closest I ever had to a mother figure—and you say her health crisis is ‘not my problem’?”
Now he’s the one rolling his eyes at me, and my heart erupts with fiery rage at the sight of it.
“I know all that,” he bemoans, dragging the words as if it pained him to speak. “But don’t you think we should—”
“There is noweanymore, Patrick!”
He looks at me as if I’d just stabbed him.
“So, you really don’t want to even give me a chance?”he asks, almost pleading. “I know I messed up—big time! But don’t you think I deserve a second chance? After all we’ve been through?”
He swallows dryly, and it looks like he’s pushing back tears before he manages to go on.
“Three years, Kat, we’ve been together for three years,” he wails. “I can’t just give up on that.”
I know his pain, because I have felt it myself. I waded through a valley of sorrow for weeks after I moved out of our apartment. I was caged in painful memories of our time together, hopeless beyond belief as I saw my life crumble before me, all those plans we had, all those things he made me believe before it all came crashing down.
