I guess what they say is right.
That there’s a peace in being yourself.
And I’ve been feeling that over the last few weeks. Ever since I found out that I loved him. That I’ve loved him all along.
Since then I’ve been feeling happier, lighter, more one with myself.
But not like this.
Not like how amazing I feel right now.
How euphoric, ecstatic and rapturous.
And also devastated and destroyed and demolished.
Because my rapture has come at the cost of his hatred. His fury. His blazing anger.
All of which I can see on his face right now.
His black and blue and beautiful face.
The face of my dreams.
And nightmares.
“Actually, no,” I say then. “I didn’t pick you over him. I just never pickedhimover you. Because there was never really any choice. No choice for me but you. And I wish I’d known that, you know? I wish I was smarter. And I always thought that I was. I mean, I read books. I was, am, a bookworm. I’m a writer. I write in my journals every day. And people who write are very self-reflective. They’re very self-aware. Very in touch with their inner selves. But as it turns out, I wasn’t. And I guess that’s because I always put too much pressure and emphasis on what is supposed to be. What I’m supposed to be doing. How I’m supposed to be making other people happy. How I’m supposed to be doing the right thing and make my boyfriend happy. And so in all of that, I never found out whatIreally want.
“And what I really want is to not be with him. What I really want is to not be his girlfriend. What I reallywantedwhen he asked me out was to say no. Because I wanted to go out with you. What I really wanted, when I went to those soccer games to see him, was to see you. When I named my diary Bandit, it was because instead of a diary, I wanted to tell my secrets to you. When you looked at me so cruelly and condescendingly, I wanted to smack you in the face and tell you that I want you to look at me like I’m the only girl you see. And then every time I’d wear a pink dress, knowing that he wouldn’t like it, I did it for you. That even though I kept my eyes away from the window of your room, I always kept my drapes open so I could know that you were there. That I could see you with just a turn of my head, a quick side glance. What I really wanted, Reign, when he kissed me for the first time, was to kiss you. And so I did. On the night of my sixteenth birthday. But you were wrong. I didn’t do it because it was a secret forbidden wish, kissing my boyfriend’s best friend. I did it, I did all of it, because I loved you.
“I owe you an apology though. That I never figured it out. That I didn’t realize that I loved you when I first met you. And so I made you suffer. But I did. I did love you. I loved you when you pushed me away and made me hate you. I loved you when I was with him and I love you now when I’m not. And I will love you even when you leave. Even when you reject me and storm out of here, thinking that I betrayed you when I told you that I’d be your good girl. That I’d go back to him at the end of all this. I won’t. I’m sorry but I won’t.
“And to answer yourwhys,why I wanted to fix things for you with your brother and with Lucas. Which you probably think has something to do with my good girl complex. It did. But only when I was trying to fix things with Lucas. I realized I was trying to fix things for him because I had the guilt of a good girl. But I’m not a good girl anymore.Ora bad girl even. I’m just a girl. Who wants to love a boy and who wants to take all of his pain away. And so she’ll do anything to fix his problems, to mend broken things, to heal his bruises. Because to her, it’s not fixing or saving. It’s loving. Because that’s how a Bubblegum loves her Bandit. Because that’s howIloveyou.”
I wish I had water right about now.
Or tissues.
Or both.
Or maybe a little bit of strength left to go on. Or at least just stand here.
Because it hurts.
The way that he’s looking at me. The way he’sstilllooking at me.
Like he doesn’t know me.
Like he doesn’t know anything.
Like everything is a revelation to him
And then, he hurts me more.
By saying, “It’s over.”
I knew that. I knew he’d say that.
But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.