Page 70 of The Casualty of Us
I’d give anything for her to look at me like that again now.
Like she expects something from me.
But the most fucked-up part might be that even after having obliterated any chance we had…I still thought maybe I could fix it. Beg my way to forgiveness for ever being stupid enough to go in that auditorium. Even after Ollie warned me and she fucking kissed Graham, I still wanted to believe I could fix it. That if I could just make her understand, then she could find a way to forgive it all somehow.
That she had to because I couldn’t lose her.
That it didn’t matter what kind of hell she was raining down because I would make it all work out.
I believed it right up until the end when she took a book to Josey’s face.
In retrospect that isn’t what should have clued me in on how well and truly fucked I am, though. It was the moment she called me less. I saw it then. In that split second she cracked the door enough to let me see all that hurt hiding behind the blue before they stilled again with something new. A complete lack of expectation.
Like I was a chess piece that she had to sacrifice, and while it might hurt, she had made her peace with it. She shut down. Shut me out.
I had to reassess after all that and still am, really. So fucking scared of messing things up worse that I don’t know what to do with myself half the time.
Fuck, the only communication we have these days is the damn books.
Exchanging a few questions and comments about them over meals like she’s freaking tutoring me as Ollie does nothing to hide his smirk next to her.
Fucker.
I got a little excited when she gave meWuthering Heightsat the start of last week, though. Thinking that maybe she might be warming back up to me since the book was supposed to be a romance.
I should’ve known better. The thing is as fucking as tragic asHamlet.
Plus, I have a sneaking suspicion that she’s trying to make a point about the toxicity of love with this one.
Can’t wait for those breakfast questions.
Because the thing I hate is that she’s right. I don’t know the first thing about love or even what it’s supposed to be. There was no happy family for me to reference growing up and I’ve made a mess out of pretty much everything in my life up to this point.
The only thing I do know is that I want to be the guy that gets to bring her tea every morning. That gets to walk her to class. That I like that guy better than myself.
That the guy I was becoming since coming here and meeting her is the only person I want to be. That’s the guy that might come close to deserving her.
Not the one who panicked and walked away and messed everything up.
So I’m definitely a little fucked.
Because her smile still lights my world up.
The sound of a door opening has me lifting my head from the arm of the couch, and I catch Ollie coming through the front door with his athletics bag thrown over his shoulder.
“Hey, man.” I jerk a nod at him, letting the book drop to my chest. “You on your way to practice?”
“Yeah.” He yawns wide, lifting his chin in greeting while heading into the kitchen. “Coach said he’s starting me on two-a-days for the rest of the year since I’m taking over for Wander in the fall.”
“Rough,” I whistle sympathetically. “Worth it though when you’re starting, right?” He nods while opening the fridge, and I wait for him to grab something or shut it, but he just stands there, face slowly blanking and making me prompt, “Dude, you good?”
“What?” His head whips my way, eyes landing on me with something like surprise. “Oh, yeah, uh.” He clears his throat. “Just realized I’m going to have to reorder a couple of things on my to-do list.”
“Right,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes on him as he pulls a water bottle from the fridge and wondering if he’s coming from O’s dorm since she’s the one that typically zones out like that between the two of them. Must be nice to be able to just come and go as he pleases from her presence still.
Fucker, fucker, fuck—Jesus Christ.
I shake my head, knowing I’ve got to get my shit together, but something about the blankness still lingering in his eyes bothers me. Irritates me, even. Reminds me of the matching pair that take on that look far more frequently and all the things I’m still trying to work out about her.
