Page 90 of Set on You

He continues. “And if we’re actually going to be ateam, I refuse to stand by and keep letting this shit happen.”

I blink. “I can’t be known as the fat girl who dared to date a hot guy. I can’t. I’ve worked too hard to get to this point.”

He digests my words and shakes his head, like a realization has just washed over him. “So that’s what this is about?”

“I haven’t felt this bad about myself in years. I need time to figure myself out before I can focus on us.”

Scott pulls back as if I’ve slapped him in the face. He stares at the floor under his bare feet for what feels like a hellish eternity. “So... you... what? You’re just ending things? After I told you I loved you for the first time? After all we’ve gone through to even get to this point, you’re willing to toss it all out the window because of some stupid photo?” he asks, voice low, gravelly, and exhausted.

“Yes.” My heart is crushed to dust when the word settles. I can’t even argue, or take it back, because it’s the truth. If I truly want my strength back, I need to find it myself, not while hiding in Scott’s arms as he pets my hair, telling me everything is going to be sunshine and rainbows.

He drops his head in his hands. When he comes up for air, itfeels like the entire apartment has been sucked of all oxygen. I’ve completely crushed him. Dug my heel in and stomped.

Instinctively, I reach forward tepidly to pull him into a hug. He draws in a prolonged sigh, pressing his forehead to mine. I memorize his woodsy scent and the secure feeling of being near him. I try to hold on to this moment for as long as I can.

I close my eyes, and unexpectedly, his lips crash into mine. It’s not gentle or smooth. It’s anguish. Our tongues fight against each other’s, in turmoil. In anger, sadness, and love, all spun up in a tornado of chaos.

Before I open my eyes again, he tears himself from me like he’s been burned. He runs his hand through his hair, unsure of what to do next. Our teary eyes meet again as he lets out a strained breath. “Crystal... do you even love me?”

I want to tell himYes.Badly. That I’ve known I love him for weeks now. But what’s the point? It will just make things harder. “I’m so sorry.” My voice comes out in a whisper.

I meet his gaze, and all I see is sadness. It’s like I’m witnessing his heart crumple and split in two. And mine’s quick to follow. It’s like the full weight of a kettlebell dropping onto my chest, shattering the bone.

When the realization settles that I’m not changing my mind, he turns away.

There’s nothing left for me to do but leave.

chapter thirty-one

I HAVEN’T LEFT THEconfines of my apartment in two days. I haven’t even changed out of my pajamas. Tara has undertaken the task of brushing my unruly troll hair every day. It’s a painful experience, because she brushes straight from the root—not the middle—like a monster. I’m surprised I’m not entirely bald.

I hate feeling like this. I hate that I’ve let the haters win. And it makes me feel like my entire platform has been a lie. How am I supposed to preach self-love and body positivity when I’ve allowed myself to get so caught up in the negativity?

By now, I’d hoped to have some grand epiphany. To come up with a game plan to move forward with my Instagram. But instead, I’m in zombie mode. Just existing. Eat, sleep, repeat.

After I refuse to leave the couch, Tara calls in reinforcements. Mel barges into my apartment with a full carton of clementines. Immediately, I begin to ugly-cry, Kim Kardashian–style. In Mel’s defense, she doesn’t know the sentimental meaning of theseadorable, innocent citrus fruits. All I can think about is the smile on Scott’s face when I peeled them for him.

“God, you are a mess, Crystal,” Mel says, not bothering to hide her displeasure as she takes in the absolute disaster that is my normally tidy apartment. She frowns at the dirty dishes piled in my sink, the used tissues littering the coffee table, and the soda cracker crumbs smeared into my couch. Because of my state, Tara has started cleaning up after me, but her initiative is still spotty at best.

Mel inches onto the tiny patch of couch that isn’t covered in crumbs. She pats my back as I go back and forth between sobbing and blowing my raw nose.

I finally come up for air. “I’m sorry, Mel. I’ve been a selfish asshole. How are you doing?”

She shakes her head, vaguely waving me off, as if her life is the last thing she wants to discuss. “I’m fine. Really. I got a partnership with this super-cute swimwear brand.”

“I’m so happy for you,” I tell her genuinely. Despite my own sadness, digesting someone else’s good news is actually a welcome change. “How are things with Peter?” I ask after a couple moments of silence. I don’t know Peter on a personal level, aside from the time Scott and I went on a double date with them at the rock-climbing gym. He’s one of those guys with a resting bored face who’s under the delusion he’s too intellectually superior for pedestrian activities like rock climbing. He also exclusively watches television for educational purposes, never for entertainment. Scott called him “cardboard” and bet me they wouldn’t last longer than a few more months, given their lack of literally anything in common.

Mel’s shoulders rise and fall, as if exasperated. “I dunno. Okay, I guess. We still can’t agree on anything. Ever. Like, the othernight, I was really looking forward to hanging out when he got off work, but he said no because he wantedalone time.Even after I tried to entice him with a blow job.”

Tara juts her chin forward. “You offered a blow job and he still didn’t want to come over?”

“Nope. And I rarely offer blow jobs. I thought for sure he’d pounce on it. Do you think that’s a bad sign?”

Tara frowns. “I mean, I’ve never met him. I can’t judge his life and motivations. Though I’ve never known a guy to turn down a blow job.”

I grimace, dazed. “Scott is the only person I’ve ever wanted to be around all the time, even when my shits-to-give reserve was low.”

The past few days without Scott Landon Ritchie have been dull. It’s like the vibrant, warm preset filter has been stripped away, leaving only gloomy darkness. Everything is empty. His spot on my couch, his side of my bed, the lack of his infectious, full-body laughter echoing through my apartment.

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