Page 22 of My Best Years

“But most importantly,” I continue, “I remember pulling myself out of the ashes. It took me years, but I took back the narrative. I learned that my self-worth has nothing to do with a coward who walked away without the decency to say goodbye. After hating myself for years, I finally realized that you did me a favor. You stripped me bare and made me love my scars. You shattered me, but I put myself back together. Now that I know my worth, I willneverlet you take that from me again. There used to be a gold-plated door in my heart with your name on it. But I slammed that door shut a long time ago. It’s locked, sealed, and barred for good. I will never allow you back in my life again. So, for the last time, get the hell out of my way.”

He stares at me through wide eyes before slowly blinking. A lone tear drips from the corner of his eye and rolls down his cheek.

I’m doing everything in my power to hold back my own sobs. It’s so unbelievably sad that this is how things turned out between us.

“Birdie…” he croaks, rounding the front of the car to step into my space. “You don’t understand–”

I finally fucking lose it because he’s the one whodoesn't understand. He has no idea the hell that I went through because of him.

“I hate you!”I scream.“Don’t you understand? I fucking hate you, Callum Pierce!”

The tears I was so desperately trying to hold back break loose, streaming down my face like the currents of a roaring river.

Before he has a chance to stop me or watch another tear fall, I quickly drop into my car and slam the door. I flinch as his large palm splays out against the window. His fingers make a loud squeaking noise against the glass as I stomp my foot down on the pedal and speed off.

“Birdie!”I faintly hear him shout through the window.“Birdie Wren!”

And then, I hear nothing.

I don’t look back. I leave him just like he left me. Alone and smashed to smithereens.

TEN

Callum

Fifteen Years Old

I used to think that being hit by my own father was the worst kind of pain, but I was wrong.

Because I just watched another guy kiss Birdie’s lips, and now, I know for sure that this is the worst pain imaginable. At least with my father, I know I’ll be out of his house in a few years. I’ll never have to see that bastard again if I don’t want to.

But my situation with Birdie…She’s my closest friend. She has been since we were eight years old. We’ve practically grown up together. How could I possibly begin to tell her that I’m struggling tojustbe her friend?

How do I tell Birdie that the real reason Josie broke up with me is because I was spending too much time with her? When Josie asked me to stop hanging out with Birdie so much, I refused. I all but told her to fuck off, and that’s when she ended things.

Truthfully, breaking up with my first girlfriend didn’t hurtnearly as bad as I thought it would. But losing Birdie…I think that would end me. And that’s why I’m terrified to tell her how I really feel about her.

When I first met her, I remember thinking that her eyes were unique, a pretty shade of pale gray. But pretty feels like an offensively insufficient adjective to describe the rare, multi-faceted diamonds I see now when I look at her. I thought her hair was just a nice shade of blonde, but lately, I want to run my fingers through the golden strands to know if it feels as soft as it looks. I never used to focus on her lips, but recently, I can’t seem to stop looking at them whenever she speaks, tracing their flawless heart shape with my eyes when I wish it could be my tongue.

There are so many things about her that I see differently. I’ve been feeling these changes for a while, but everything changed when she started dating Mason.

I hate the guy. I absolutely fucking loathe Mason, almost as much as I hate my father. Not just because he has Birdie—and I don’t—but because he walks around like an arrogant prick. Something about him is off. I just can’t quite put my finger on it.

To make matters worse, I’m watching him spin Birdie around the dancefloor tonight. Or, watching him try, at least. The guy is a shit dancer.

It’s the Winter Formal at Myrtle Beach High School, the only dance that freshmen and sophomores can attend. I wish this event was only for upperclassmen because then Birdie wouldn't be here withhim.

Mason is in eleventh grade, and he’s not the only junior to go after Birdie. Ever since freshman year started, she’s been receiving more attention than she’s used to. Birdie is drop-dead gorgeous, and she knows it—even if she won’t admit it. But I can tell that Mason makes her uncomfortable sometimes. I seeher discomfort right now as he’s protectively holding her on the dance floor.

Birdie looks stunning, like a winter dream. She’s wearing a long, icy blue dress that sparkles with crystalline beads. Her sandy blonde hair is down in lazy curls that ripple like curtains when she moves. I think she sprayed glitter in her hair because each time the blue neon lights flash against the strands, they shimmer like a sea of stars. Her face is even dusted with sparkles across her cheeks and nose.

She looks like a real-life ice princess. When Birdie walked into the room tonight, she completely took all the air from my lungs.

I’m wearing a navy suit, one that I thought looked pretty nice. But it could never compare to the way Birdie looks tonight.

I flinch when I see Mason graze his hand down Birdie’s back, his fingers dangerously close to her ass. I clench my jaw and decide I can’t watch this for a second longer. I head for the punch table and pray that someone has spiked it.

No one spiked the punch.

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