Why didn’t I look beyond the surface, beyond his meanness and cruelty, and see who he is underneath?
Why did I let him push me toward his best friend?
“I’m… I… I hate this,” I say finally, such inadequate words. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this for you. I —”
He sighs, his fingers fisting my dress at my waist. “It doesn’t matter, all right? I don’t plan on sticking around for the draft and all that bullshit anyway.”
“What?”
His expression shutters then and I hate this even more.
I hate it to my core.
That he’s shutting me out. That there’s something he’s not telling me.
And I have a feeling that something is going to be the information that I’m really not going to like.
“Reign,” I prod, bringing my hand down to his face. “Tell me.”
His jaw tics for a few more seconds before he says, “I’m not staying.”
“What does… What does that mean?”
“It means,” he says, sighing, “that I’m not sticking around to work with my brother for a year and I’m not sticking around for college or the draft. I’m leaving.”
Fear seizes my breaths. “W-when? Where?”
Again, his shoulders move up and down casually, like this isn’t the most disastrous thing I’ve ever heard. “I don’t know where. Away from here. Far fucking away.”
I press his cheek. “That’s not an answer. That doesn’t tell me anything. That’s barely anything, Reign. That’s —”
“It’s the only answer I have,” he cuts me off. “And as for when…”
He pauses here and oh my God, I know.
Ifuckingknow when.
I fucking know what he’s going to say and I don’t want him to say it.
I do not want him to say another word.
But before I can stop him, he continues, “When this is over.” He tightens his fist in my dress, pulling at the fabric as he adds, his teeth clenched, “When you go back to him.”
I know I should take a second here.
I should pause myself and frame my response correctly and tactfully.
Because I know it’s important.
But I’m freaking out. I’m losing my mind and so the words simply slip out. “What if I don’t want to go back to him?”
He stiffens beside me.
I feel his muscles turn to stone. His biceps stop flexing beneath my cheek and his chest stops breathing. Even his stomach plastered against mine grows all solid and dense.
Only thing moving on his reposed body is his eyes that grow blazing as they search my expression.
“This because of what just happened?” he asks, his words all low and growly. “Between us.”