Page 106 of Guy's Girl
“Hey, Tristan,” says Clay loudly. “There’s something really cool I wanted to show you in my bedroom.”
“Nice. I like cool things.” Tristan hurries after him and shuts the door.
“Is this—” Heather steps up beside Ginny and grips her elbow. “Is this Finch?”
“Nice to meet you,” says Finch.
“Ginny.” Heather squeezes her elbow. “Say the word and I’ll rip his testicles off.”
“Um.” Finch glances at his crotch.
“No,” Ginny says. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Go hang out with the boys. I’m sure they’ve got their ears pressed to the door, anyway.”
“No, we don’t!” yell Tristan and Clay, voices muffled.
Heather squeezes Ginny’s elbow one last time, then turns around and heads into Clay’s room. Ginny and Finch stand four feet away from each other, as far apart as the Manhattan living room will allow.
“So.” She doesn’t cross her arms. She doesn’t want to look like she’s hiding. “You’re engaged.”
“I’m engaged.”
“Congratulations.”
“I don’t—” He clears his throat. “I came home early because I wanted to catch you before you left. I wanted to—apologize.”
“You’ve already apologized, Alex. Several times.”
“And you don’t—you won’t ever forgive me?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that, for now, what I need from you is space. Not an apology. I need to recover, and you need to make things right with your fiancée.” Ginny takes a step toward him. “Have you even told her about what happened between us?”
“I—” Finch fiddles with the handle of his suitcase. “Not yet.”
“How convenient.”
“But I will,” he hurries on. “I swear I will.”
“I can’t say I believe you. But thankfully it’s no longer my issue.”
“You’re saying... you’re no longer in love with me?”
Ginny laughs, a throaty sound of disbelief. “No, Finch. I’m no longer in love with you. And, you know what? I don’t think I ever was.”
“But what about—”
“No. Stop.” She places a hand over both ears. “I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to get pulled back into your games.” Her hands lower, but her voice raises. “What you felt for me, Finch? Whatever fucked-up, ego-stroking shit you got out of our relationship? It wasn’t love. And what I felt for you? That wasn’t love, either.” She draws in a ragged breath. “It was fear.”
“Fear?” He shakes his head. “Fear of what?”
“Fear of being ugly. Fear of being alone. Fear of being unlovable. You were my safety net. And I bet you could smell my fear. I bet you could smell it from the moment I walked in the apartment door. It’s what drew you to me in the first place; I was just an easy target.”
“That’s not—”
“I can’t have this conversation with you, Finch. I’m sorry. I can’t trust anything you say. I don’t know what’s truth and what’s fiction. And the worst part is—I don’t think you know, either.”
