Page 57 of Leave Before I Love You
She doesn’t deserve this shit, and I need to do the compassionate thing and set her free.
“Ashley,” I start, but the words get caught in my throat. I take a deep breath and try again. “I appreciate everything you’ve been through since I went missing, and I can’t explain how touching it is that you care this much that I’m back. But…enlightenment is a switch I can’t turn off, and I…”
Her expression shifts, worry flashing across her face. “What’s wrong?”
I sit up a little straighter, the IV tugging uncomfortably at my arm. “We’re not right for each other. You are amazing. And so, so right forsomeone. But you’re not right for me, and I amnotright for you.”
Her eyes widen, and she pulls her hand back like she’s been burned. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we should end this,” I say, forcing the words out before I can second-guess myself. “It’s not fair to you at all because I can’t give you what you deserve.”
She’s silent for a long moment, and then she laughs, but it’s sharp and humorless. “Is this about her?”
“What?” I ask, caught off guard.
“That girl you were stranded with,” she says, her voice rising. “Avery.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. My silence says everything. I wish I could say I’m surprised by her supposition, but I’m not. Anyone with eyes and an inclination could tell that Avery was theonlyperson I cared about upon arrival.
Ashley stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I waited for you. I was worried sick about you. And you were what? Fucking her?”
It’s both true and completely discrediting at the same time. Avery and I weren’tfucking. We were each other’s everything. Still, I know I’ve brought this on myself, so I don’t bother with words that won’t help to ease the sting in the least. I keep it simple. Succinct. Truthful. Transparently final.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I never meant to hurt you.”
She stares at me for a long moment, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Finally, she grabs her bag and turns toward the door. There’s no goodbye, no look back.
The door clicks shut behind her, and just like that, it’s done.
What was once peaceful quiet feels heavier now, pressing down on me like a weight I can’t shake. It’s sharp, and I ache.
Sure, my muscles are sore and my skin abused, and the inflammation from the sudden influx of fluids doesn’t help either.
But it’s not what I’m feeling physically. It’s deeper. Dirtier.Much more complicated.
I miss her.
And I wonder if she misses me.
January 14th
Avery
The shower feels amazing. My skin is pink and raw from scrubbing off layers of dirt and island grime, and I can feel the warmth of the scalding-hot water all the way down to my bones. The tiny hotel-sized shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom don’t do much for my hair, but at least it’s no longer tangled and greasy.
If I close my eyes to avoid the mirror, I almost feel like myself.
There’s no sound in my room, all my alarms and machines turned off to free me for the shower, and moving my arm without an IV for the first time since yesterday afternoon is surprisingly liberating.
It’s still early, the beginning of the shift with my new nurse, Elizabeth, but with the scant amount of sleep I got last night, it might as well still be yesterday.
Perusing the bag of skincare my mom had delivered, care of a Neiman Marcus salesperson, along with a fresh set of clothes this morning, I settle on a simple moisturizer and call it a day.
Normally, I’d work my way through a painstaking one-hundred-step routine, complete with serums, moisturizers, treatments, and makeup, and I’d blow-dry my hair section by section and smooth it out with the precision of a stylist.
But this morning, I just…don’t care.
I towel off my hair until it’s damp and let it hang loose around my shoulders. My skin feels tight from the shower, but I can’t muster the energy to do anything about it. Thirteen days on the island stripped away a lot of things, and apparently, my meticulous grooming habits were one of them.
