Page 27 of The Consequence of Loving Me

“Veronica—”

“I said no. You weren’t supposed to be down there, anyway,” she states.

I set the laptop down on the ottoman and stand up. We are almost toe-to-toe, her cereal bowl the only barrier between the two of us. My eyes look over her, taking in her blank expression, trying to see if she’s okay. Veronica’s hair is sopping wet, like she didn’t even have it in her to dry it. The whites of her eyes are bloodshot and even her strained voice gives her away. It’s hoarse, scratching at the end of her sentences.

My hands run through my hair, trying to keep themselves busy. There are a million responses that go through my mind, but only one comes out. “But I was, Veronica. And I can’t pretend I didn’t just witness that. So—”

“So, what?” she bites out, slamming her bowl of cereal down on the end table. Her arms cross over her chest.

“You were fucking sad!” I shout, losing my cool. I pull a long breath in through my nose, trying to gain some composure. The air escapes back out of my lips, slowly. I feel bad for yelling, but her icy demeanor is driving me insane. For once, I want her to just stop this charade she has going that everything is fine, and admit to someone that she isn’t okay. Even if it’s me. Someone she hardly knows.

A sad laugh escapes her lips before she shakes her head and retreats across the room. Before she makes it to the door that leads back downstairs, I dodge the ottoman and follow her.

In front of the door, she spins around. “So now I’m sad? That’s great, Maverick. Just call me pathetic next time, won’t you?”

“Don’t try and twist my words. You and I both know what I meant by that. You didn’t look pathetic. You looked sad. And you know what, Veronica? It’s okay to be fucking sad. It’s okay to have demons. It’s okay to admit to one fucking person that you have feelings that aren’t just vain or selfish or shallow.” I walk closer to her now, retreating into her personal space, but just barely.

Her small chest rises and falls. I’m ready for her to lash out at me. That seems to be her MO. I brace myself for it, but her only response is the sag of her body.

“You don’t want to know my demons.” Her blue eyes find mine and there’s no longer anger in them. It isn’t even sadness, but defeat. Her eyelashes are wet and clumped together. Unshed tears making her blue eyes glassy.

Instinctively, I reach out to touch her. I place my hands on her shoulders. I want to shake the truth from her. “What if I do?” I take a step back from her after realizing how close we are.

“If you did, you wouldn’t want to be friends with me, let alone have me as a roommate,” Veronica mumbles quietly, looking down at her bare feet.

“You underestimate me. From where I stand, it seems like you need a friend.” I don’t even realize my fingers are tapping against my thigh until her eyes focus on them.

“We can be friends, Maverick, but I’m not telling you anything. Today, or maybe ever.” She takes a long breath. “I’ve had enough of my past. I can’t dwell on it any longer.”

“Just tell me if Tristan hurt you.” I pin her with my gaze, as though daring her to look away from me.

She lets out a small laugh. “I’m not the victim in anybody’s story. I’m the villain.”

With that, she opens the door to the basement and retreats to her room.

I’m left staring at her soggy cereal, wondering what her last comment could possibly mean.

16

Veronica

I fall into a steady rhythm for the next few weeks. My time is filled between school, work, and hanging out with my roommates. Lily somehow convinced me to go to the last two Thirsty Thursdays at Lenny’s—and they weren’t so bad. I even celebrated Halloween with all of them.

It wasn’t my ideal scenario, but at least I tried.

Maverick and I have fallen into an odd almost-friendship. He tries to get me to divulge more and more about myself every day—a side effect, I think, from watching me crumble. At first, I was uncomfortable with it. I didn’t want his pity, or anyone else’s. But for some reason, I shared a little. And I realized how fucking good it felt to not keep every single little thing to myself.

I still haven’t told him about what led to the breakdown. What haunts me at night. What makes me wake up in cold sweats after a nightmare of reliving the worst night of my life. We aren’t that close, and I don’t ever plan for us to be.

It’s a Tuesday night, and a large part of me doesn’t want to go downstairs and fall asleep to whatever hell my mind will bring me to tonight. So, I’m sitting on the couch watching old game shows.

Selma went to bed two hours ago, claiming she had a long day at work and has the early shift again tomorrow. Aspen watched an episode with me earlier before going out for the night. And I have no idea where Maverick is.

I’m in the midst of dozing off when the front door opens and Maverick walks in. It causes me to jump, sending the remote flying. The picture from the TV is the only source of light in the living room. He sets his keys in the bowl beside the door and walks to the kitchen, mumbling a hi to me on his way. I hear him poke around in the refrigerator before he heads toward me, two beer bottles clutched in his hands.

He sits on the other side of the couch, a comfortable distance away from me. I look over to watch him take a long pull of his beer. As soon as he looks over at me, I quickly focus back on the TV, an old episode of Family Feud playing. I wipe at my mouth, making sure there’s no drool from my brief nap.

I wish there was more sound coming from the TV to fill the silence of the room, but the remote fell behind the couch when Maverick walked in and I’m too lazy to get up and look for it.

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