I realize that by the time I’ve told him the sorry tale, he’s gone rigid.
Even more so than before.
He’s gone all heated and intense, his jaw clamped shut in a way that must be painful for him with all these bruises. His eyes go even bloodier.
“Reign?” I prod, trying to wake him up.
A pulse jumps on his cheek. “It doesn’t end, does it?”
His low, threadbare voice makes my heart race. “What doesn’t?”
“This.” A pause, then, “My fuck-up.”
My fists tighten in his t-shirt. “Your what?”
He clenches his teeth something fierce, his eyes narrowing, his words muttered and low. “Lucas is all fucked up. He’s this close to losing it. This close to losing everything that he’s ever worked for. You’re still at that shithole of a school. When you should be out there, ready to go to NYU. Ready to become a fucking writer or whatever the fuck you want to be. But you’re not, are you? Because of me. And now I find out,” he swallows painfully, smacking a hand on the tree, “that there are motherfuckers out there who dared to look at you. Whofucking daredto think that they could talk to you that way and there would be no consequences. And theydaredbecauseIfucked up. Because of what I did. Of all the lines I crossed, all the rules I broke and I —”
“Hey,” I stop him then.
Not only by my words but also my hands.
That I remove from his abs and put on either side of his neck to grip him, to make him look at me,reallylook at me, to focus.
“You didn’t do anything, Reign,” I tell him when I know he’s looking at me andseeingme. “You didn’t do anythingalone. I was there too. I did it too. The blame isn’t just yours alone. It’s mine as well. My blame is bigger and you know that.” When it looks like he’s going to say something, I squeeze his neck and keep going. “And I’m not getting ready to go to NYU becauseIscrewed up. Because my grades weren’t good enough. You had nothing to do with it.Nothing.And I ended up at St. Mary’s in the first place because I broke the law. You didn’t ask me to. Were you an asshole to me over that phone call? Yes. Have you always been an asshole to me? Hell yes. But that didn’t mean that I had to do what I did. That didn’t mean I had to retaliate in the way I did. I always knew there was a chance that it could have an impact on me, on my parents. God, I knew that, Reign. I fucking knew. But I still chose to do it. So it’s not your fault. It’s mine. And I… I’m sorry.” Again, it looks like he’s going to say something but I push through. “For what I did. For breaking into your room and then… smashing everything. Your soccer trophies, your furniture. All the photos, knickknacks. The things that must’ve mattered to you. Things that —”
“They didn’t,” he says, his mouth parted, his eyes wild.
And I press my fingers on his neck, digging my nails. “What?”
“Nothing mattered. Not one thing in that room mattered to me more than…”
My own lips part as I stare at him. As I wait for him to finish his sentence.
More than what?
What mattered to him?
But he doesn’t say anything.
And I decide not to pry for some reason. “Well, I’m sorry nonetheless.”
We stare at each other for a few moments and I realize that it’s… peaceful.
Such a weird way to describe this moment.
That’s filled with stormy breaths and intense stares. With so much heat radiating off his skin, so much sweat running down mine because of it. With my nails dug into his skin and his fingers clawing at the bark.
But it is what it is.
And what it is, is calming somehow.
Maybe because I’ve been carrying this around for a long, long time now.
What happened to me at the school, how people treated me; what I did to his room, how regretful I’ve been for that. How I put both my future and my parents’ future in jeopardy.
I’ve wanted to purge this for so long. Only I didn’t know that I was going to purge it to him — I had no intention of ever saying sorry to him; my ex-boyfriend’s asshole ex-best friend — and that in doing so, I’d feel relief.
And because confessing things to him has brought me so much peace, I decide to tell him. “I blew it.”