Page 42 of The Runaway and the Rugged
“You already thanked me, Outlaw,” he responded, eliciting my gaze to find his.
“Still, I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done. You and Greta both.”
His stare was unwavering, watching me closely with purposeful intent, as if all his spoken words were being exchanged through his eyes. What was being said, that was yet to be determined.
Then with a firm dip of his head, he uncrossed his arms and made his way to the door. “Try to get comfortable, I’ll be back as soon as I can with some clothes.”
And with that, he disappeared out the door, and with the sound of a lock going into place, I was finally alone.
Alone.
It sounded wonderful, and for once, I let myself close my eyes, embracing the peace without the fear of waking up with regret.
“Millie?” A whispered voice pulled me from my slumber, causing my neck to crane to the side on a groan. My body was still immersed in fatigue, making it nearly impossible to rouse from sleep. I was too comfortable. Too tired to wake.
“Millie, hey, it’s me.” This time, a palm connected with my shoulder and with a gentle shake, my eyes had sprung open. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay, it’s just me.”
“Clarke?” I blinked past the blurriness until I was able to focus clearly on my best friend.
Perched on the bed beside me, a sympathetic smile greeted me. She looked a mess, her makeup smudged, her eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, but nonetheless, heart-stoppingly beautiful as always.
“What are you…? How did you get in here?” I scanned all corners of the cabin before dragging them over to the single-pane window. Through the distorted glass, twinkling stars danced against the inky black sky, leaving me to wonder just how long I’d been asleep for.
“Greta gave me a ride. There was no way I was leaving you here all by yourself.”
Did that mean Nathaniel was gone? Did he actually listen or was that just wishful thinking?
“What happened, Millie? Why’d you run off like that?” she asked, an obvious trace of hurt lingering in her tone.
It was like a punch to the gut watching her expression morph into one of pain, and to know that I was the cause of her suffering made me physically ill. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t at that fact that I had run, or that I called off the wedding, but that I had lied to her face. Every “Are you sure this is what you want?”was foolishly denied, and despite every push, every probe, my heartfelt convictions were strongly concealed from her.
And at that moment, I felt like the world's crappiest best friend.
“I-I couldn’t go through with it,” I confessed, my voice wobbly and on the verge of crumbling. Before I could continue, my eyes eagerly sought for her reaction.
Blank. Expressionless.
Reading her was like trying to read a book written in a different language.
“I know what you're thinking. I know you’re pissed and ready to throw ‘I told you so’ at me and I deserve it. I deserve every angry word. I deserve your wrath. I know I deserve them all, and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“You deserve more than just angry words,” she rumbled beneath her breath. “But I don’t have the strength, let alone the damn energy, to tell you everything I’m thinking right now.”
My lip wobbled in response. I probably looked as good as I felt right now.
“Why’d it take you so long to get your head out of your ass? And of all days, you choose the day of your wedding? Kind of cliché, don’t you think?”
Using scared as a response was too weak of an answer, even for me. But that was the reason, wasn’t it? Fear of judgment, fear of self-worth, it was a combination of insecurities that held me captive for seven tortuous years until I realized enough was enough.
But of course at the worst possible time I finally decided to do something.
“Because I’m an idiot?” I shrugged. “Because it took me until now to realize that I deserve more than settling for a man who’d rather buy my love than actually earn it.”
She watched me with intensity but remained silent as if waiting for more.
“Because—” I paused as a surge of pain battered my throat. “Because I’m not you. I’m not strong, independent, or have the confidence in handling life on my own. I’ve relied on Nathaniel for everything and…”
“You are strong, Millie. I mean, look at you.” She gestured to the dress I was still wearing and my face that most likely resembled a smudged painting. Thankfully, she graciously chose not to comment on the current state of my hair. “Would you call finally standing up to an asshole who treated you like a goddamn prize weak? How about the fact you're willing to risk your own life and well-being rather than settling for the stability of a man? Would you call that weak too?” She emphasized her words by grabbing my palms and holding them in a tight grip.
