Page 9 of The Way You Hurt Me

Morgan answers on third ring, her smiling face filling up my screen.

“Hey, birthday girl! How is it going?” she gushes.

Her grin is so infectious, I don’t even have to fake my smile. “Guess who got her double masters’?”

Her jaw drops. “No! Seriously? Cam!” she yells. “Cam, come here. You won’t believe it. My sister is a freaking genius.”

Her husband laughs off screen before joining her.

“Well, I knew that.”He’s balancing Cameron on his hip, the toddler playing with a miniature car. “Well done, kiddo. No clue why you rushed so much, but it’s impressive. What’s next?”

“I already have a part-time job lined up, with the company I interned with last,” I remind him. “And if I want to go the PhD route, I’ll study remotely—I’m done with campus life.”

Cam frowns. We had a passionate argument about it over the summer; he doesn’t get why, given my age, I don’t want to take my time, enjoy my youth, and all that. Several of my professors encouraged me to continue in academia, seeing me only as a brain on legs. They don’t comprehend that I quite simply don’t enjoy college. Everyone’s older, no one likes my grade, my youth, my strangeness.

Morgan didn’t weigh in, though; she understands me. The way we grew up, it’s a miracle we went to college in the first place. There were plenty of time when there wasn’t enough money to go around for food, or my meds, let alone superfluous things like pens and paper. I just can’t justify playing around without earning money for years, regardless of my scholarship, and the fact that Cam would only be too happy to foot my credit card bill if I let him.

What he doesn’t know is Ruby Red Heart makes a fair bit of money already.

The bottom line is, if I liked college, I’d keep studying; but I really don’t.

“Right.” I can tell he makes a conscious effort not to protest my plan. “You’re twenty. It’s entirely up to you how you handle your future. I know you’re going to excel, however you go about it.”

That guy is just way too perfect.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Morgan agrees. “Anyway, now that you’re officially done with all the studying, you’re coming for Christmas, right?”

Ugh. I should have known she’d ask.

“I’m working on Monday,” I lie. “And I told theCrawfordsI’d pop by for lunch, and to see Martin.”

Martin, our little brother, is five, and a handful. The Crawfords adopted him two years ago, after taking care of him since the day he was born, given that our mother, who was in jail at the time for dealing, wasn’t fit for parenthood. The lucky kid escaped all the usual trauma that comes with being born a Brown.

The Crawfords were my own foster parents for three years. They’re good people, raised two great, highly successful kids, and have always been kind to me. I’d say I lucked out to be placed with them, if I didn’t know Camden pulled some strings to make it happen.

He’s made my life brighter since the moment he entered my sister's periphery. Our very own Prince Charming.

Morgan pouts, as I knew she would. “But you see them every other weekend. We haven’t seen you in ages. I’ll send you cash for the flight. Come on, please?”

I chew my inner lip, wishing I could say yes. But I can’t. Just like I couldn’t last year.

Because there’s every chance thathewill be there. He always spends Christmas with Morgan and Cam.

I’m the new, improved Willow Brown, who no longer does everything in her power to be noticed by him.

I could cite a laundry list of reasons, but to sum it up: I have too much self-esteem to continue begging for scraps of attention from a guy who’s clearly not interested.

For months, I was blind, shallow, arrogant, stupid. Somehow, I’d gotten it into my head that he liked me; he was just hesitant because I was too young. Morgan’s kid sister, right? I even deluded myself into thinking that if I went to him after my eighteen’s birthday, he’d likely give in. I had it all planned out.Like an idiot.

Guess what happened on my birthday?

That’s right. He gotengaged.

Spoiler: I was not the future bride. Because I didn’t exist to him. I’d only been degrading myself. For over a year.

That stopped right then.

Two years later, and I’ve successfully avoided most interactions with Dimitri Volkov, much to my relief. The fifteen months I spent completely obsessed with him were an embarrassment I’m doing my best to completely ignore, because the alternative is hiding under a bridge for the rest of time. I was that desperate.

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