Page 138 of The Perfect Love

“It’s just one shot,” Bridget protests.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you I don’t want to. Why you still can’t get it through your heads is beyond me.”

“Maybe because it’s been over a year of this,” Lex says. “When are you going to stop letting that night destroy your life?”

Trevor’s hand tenses on my thigh, but I go stock still.

Only my eyes move, dancing between Bridget and Lex.

“First of all, not drinking is not destroying my life. I drink here and there when I feel like it, but most of the time, I don’t. It’s not fun for me anymore.” I hold up my hand. “And no, you don’t need to crack yet another joke about me not being fun. I get it.”

“We just want you to stop letting what happened define you,” Bridget says, a hint of snark or maybe condescension in her tone.

I brace my hands on the table and stand, making sure I catch both their eyes before I say this.

“There is a difference between letting something define me and staring into the darkest storm and finding my way through it to the other side. I don’t let what happened define me. But I continue to let how I heal from it shape me into a new, better, healthier version of myself. My work isn’t done. Some days, I feel like I’ve barely healed at all. Some days, the memory still suffocates me, but I keep putting one foot in front of the other and trying to move forward. I won’t apologize for that. Or for not being the fun person you remember. But that you can say those words to me at all shows how little you understand of what I’ve been through. Every experience changes a part of us, no matter how small. To reduce anyone to being defined by their trauma while they work to heal from it is one of the most disrespectful and ignorant things someone can do.”

They both gape at me, both a little pissed, a little hurt, a little drunk. Not a good combination.

“But you have let it change you,” Lex insists. “Doesn’t he win if you let it change you?”

“All you did was lay around and wallow, and even when you stopped, you turned into this sad, small version of yourself. How is that healing?”

I wish I’d worn mysleigh the patriarchyshirt—which has a cute picture of Mrs. Claus driving the sleigh on it. Because that is them spewing back the internalized bullshit our society has pushed for years.

Instead of helping and protecting women who have been raped or assaulted, we shame them. Then on top of that, there are horrible stigmas surrounding getting help of any kind—especially mental health help—so many women never get the help they need and fight through it alone. Or they pretend they’re okay, when really, it’s destroying them on the inside.

I haven’t done anything wrong, but because I didn’t plaster that pretty smile on while I was dying inside, because I let myselfgrow and change from who I once was in the face of something terrible, somehow society looks at me like I’m in the wrong.

I get it. That’s the messaging women receive from the time we’re young.

Stand up. Dust yourself off. Smile pretty. Move on. If someone tries to break you, they only succeed if you let them. It’s all bullshit.

We are allowed to break. Every single person in this world is allowed to feel the very real fractures that life and other people inflict on them. We’re allowed to process and grieve and cry and scream however we need to. And we’re allowed to grow into something better in spite of it all.

I won’t be sorry. And if Bridget and Lex don’t get that, then they’ve just collided with one of my boundaries.

So I grab my coat off the back of the chair and offer what little smile I can muster.

“This isn’t working for me.”

Lex scoffs. “What are you doing? Breaking up with us?”

“I’m saying I need space. If you can’t understand that I have grown and changed for the better and all I need is your support, then this friendship isn’t what I need.”

“You’re serious? After all these years? You get a new boyfriend and new friends and just drop us?” Bridget demands, hands on her hips.

“I’m not dropping you. I’m telling you what I need. If you can’t give it to me, then maybe this is where our lives diverge. No matter what, I will always wish the absolute best for both of you, and if you really need me, I’ll always be around. Take care of yourselves.” I look up at Trevor. “Ready?”

He nods, pride shimmering in his eyes. Then he pulls out his wallet and puts down two fifties. “That should cover everything. Goodnight.”

Of course. Of freaking course he’d do that. Because he’s a good man. A damn good man.

He wraps his hand around mine as we walk for the door, and I give him the slightest pinch.

Forever my sweet, kind, protective, real-life book boyfriend.

We got back to my family’s house to find a new gel mattress topper on the bed. Apparently, Trevor ordered it a few days ago.

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