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“Of course.” She shrugged. “I remember everything. Everything.” She looked up at him, steeling herself. “I—I think we need some space. I’m really proud of you for doing it, Dragan. For accomplishing all you set out to do.”
June turned on her heel, leaving before he could see the tears fall. She walked down the street, shoulders wracking from holding it all in. He was just as right as she was — she had been too afraid to live her life, too afraid to get hurt, to love, to lose. And she had fooled herself into thinking that she was taking a chance, being with him.
But she’d never truly let go, and she lost the one thing that mattered.
When she entered the apartment, she stormed past her grandparents at the dining table and went straight to her room. She slammed the door and screamed.
Eyes closed, mouth as wide as she could make it, June screamed her heart out.
She didn’t stop until she was out of breath, her throat raw. The sobs came next, messy and snotty, her whole body shaking with the force of them. They threatened to destroy her, her heart already in pieces.
52
Dragan sat in an Adirondack chair on Archer’s porch, wrapped in a blanket and looking out over Deer Creek. It had been a few days since the fight with June, but to him, it had been a lifetime. A blurry lifetime, where one day ran into the next moment went back to another time. He hadn’t been able to work, sleep, eat. Just drift through his day like a ghost.
“Hey.” Archer came out onto the porch, setting down two mugs of coffee. He settled into the chair beside Dragan, joining him in staring out into space. The early April breeze swept over them. Dragan closed his eyes to the sun, letting the wind carry him somewhere else. Anywhere but here.
Archer cleared his throat. “I don’t know the details, and I don’t think I need to. But let me just say some things.”
Dragan sighed. “No.”
“No?”
He nodded, his eyes still closed. “No. I don’t want to hear it. It’s over.”
“I’ve never know you to quit.”
Dragan sat up, his friend reading a book and sipping his coffee.
Dick.
“Fine, O Wise One. What do you want to say?” He sat back in the chair, watching the river.
“Who was there for you the first time your dad threw a chair at you?”
Dragan rolled his eyes, not wanting to warrant the question with an answer.
“Who has put up with your mother — not only for a variety of school functions, but actively agreed to sit with your entire family on several occasions?”
Dragan remembered all the times he could give June a look and they’d giggle together, all the times his mom pestered her with questions or pushed food onto her.
“Who saw what your dad was like?”
Dragan shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Who saw that same raw anger in you, but trusted who you were as a person instead of what blood ran through your veins?”
He still didn’t answer. He couldn’t, knowing his voice would crack with emotion.
“You have been trying for years to push her away, weaving a poor-me story to keep her from giving you a chance. But guess what, bud? She never bought it. You are like your dad in his hatred, but you’re also like him in your self-loathing. And you pushed so far, she did finally turn away. But not because of your DNA. Everything you’ve done, everything you do, you have control over. So stop telling that same bullshit story. Who do you want to be, Dragan?”
He chewed the inside of his mouth, hating how right Archer was. It wasn’t his anger, his father, who pushed June away.
It was him insisting he wasn’t good enough for her.
Maybe there was truth to that, before. But after their fight, when she threw the same insecurities she had at him, he hadn’t taken the time to register it. How could she have felt not good enough for him? He didn’t understand it, because it was June. But when he took what she said and applied it to him, it almost fit.
She felt trapped, with no means to get out.
