Page 107 of If It Can't Be Us

Shit. I know that was an immature comment, but I sent it anyway.

Leo:God, you are so much more than that to me. I know I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve made mistakes, but I need you to understand that my feelings for you are real. You’re not just a ‘fuck-buddy’ to me. You’re everything. You were right when you said what you did about my mum. I’ve built walls to protect myself, and they’re keeping me from fully being with you. I don’t know how to break them down… But I’m trying.

Gah! I’m exasperated. I like his message, acknowledging it without engaging further. I switch my phone to airplane mode and slam it down onthe table, my fingers trembling with frustration. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with this right now.

I’m not asking for a ring, for crying out loud. Just some sign that there’s a future for us. A glimpse of stability in this venture of ours. I take a sip of my coffee, mulling over these texts. The coffee tastes bitter, sending a wave of nausea through me. Ugh. Shutting my eyes, I breathe in deeply and slowly until it passes. My coffee no longer seems appealing, which is not normal for me. Never have I not wanted coffee in the morning, except for when I was first pregnant with Evie.

Oh my God.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

A wave of anxiety crashes over me as I remember my birthday and the unused condom. I remember Leo and me talking about getting Plan B, but we were so drunk we completely forgot. I pull up my calendar on my phone, checking the start date of my last period and counting twenty-six days from then. My period should have arrived six days ago, but my cycle can be unpredictable, sometimes coming at twenty-one days or thirty-six days.

A knot tightens in my stomach as the nausea intensifies.

* * * * ** * * * *

Thirty minutes later, I sit on the toilet, staring at the plus symbol on the pregnancy test. My hands shake, nearly dropping the stick. I clutch it tighter as my mind races. The emotions hit me all at once, and I start ugly crying, sobbing uncontrollably for the next twenty minutes. I cradle my head in my hands, my nose runny and stuffy at the same time, while the heavy pressure on my chest makes it feel impossible to breathe. Guilt washes over me. I would never not want a baby. After all the loss I’ve experienced, a baby is something I could only hope for, could only dream of. I’m not crying because I’m pregnant—I’m crying because of the unpredictability of the future. I don’t want my child to have a baby-daddy. That’s not what I would choose.

I know I have to tell Leo, but knowing him, he’ll be all stoic, doing the right thing, which is great, except I don’t want him to try to love me out of obligation. I want him to choose me, to want this life with me and our child.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Chapter 32

LEO

Thursday, June 27

Five Days Later

I sit on my couch, whiskey in one hand, phone in the other, staring at the screen. Five days ago, I sent the most vulnerable text of my life, and it still sits there, liked and read but unanswered.

I can’t believe she went to Utah. She just up and left without a word, and now she won’t respond to my message.

I’m fucking miserable without her, and it hurts that she won’t respond to my texts or answer my calls. But what really kills me is knowing it’s my fault. The pain festers like salt in an open wound, feeding all my lifelong fears and fueling them with validation. She left me, just like everyone else I’ve cared for more than a friend.

I’m angry for thinking I could have what my brother Andrew has. I’m angry for trusting myself enough to let Vivian believe I’d changed enough to make her happy, only to cause her pain and suffering—two things I’d never want to inflict on anyone, especially her.

I debate texting again, but what’s the point if she won’t answer?

I finish my drink and head to the kitchen for more.

What the fuck am I doing?

It’s a Thursday, and I don’t drink on Thursdays. I run my hands through my hair, groaning. Alcohol never solved anyone’s problems. I put my glass in the sink and the whiskey in the cupboard, knowing I won’t find the answers in a bottle.

* * * * ** * * * *

Saturday, July 9

One Week Later

The Fourth of July came and went. Mer invited me to join her and Piper, but I wasn’t up for it. I stayed home, thinking about Vivian—like I always do—and how fucking miserable I am without her. I ended the night jerking off to thoughts of her, then pathetically fell asleep watchingLove Islandbecause it makes me happily depressed to watch something Vivian loves.

It’s 10:00 PM, and I can’t sit here and wallow anymore. It’s stifling in my house, and all I want is to be in Vivian’s house, in her bed… with her.

Fuck, I need some fresh air. I put on my shoes and head outside, walking off the claustrophobia.

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