Page 57 of Learn Your Limits
So I walk away.
Chapter forty-two
Reid
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Avalon's voice is low and gentle as she pulls up outside of my apartment building. My gaze fixates on the structure. I feel like I haven’t been here in weeks. Ihaven’tbeen here in weeks. Milo's house has become my home, and it's where I thought I would be tonight. I never imagined I would be spending the night alone.
I thought I would be waking up on Christmas morning in the arms of the man I love.
Instead, I threw it all to hell by being too weak to claim him like I'd wanted to.
My mom seemed to like Milo after talking to him for only a minute, yet the disapproving stare from my father sent my heart and mind into a riot of emotions.
When he so rudely questioned who Emiliano was, I suddenly couldn't breathe. My heart was screaming and begging for me to be strong. To introduce him as the love of my life. My boyfriend. The man I want to spend forever with.
But my fear won out, and I uttered some bullshit about him being my professor last semester. If the way he so quicklydismissed himself from the conversation wasn't evidence enough that I hurt him, then the way he left me standing alone outside the hotel was.
“I fucked up, Av,” I finally say. “He probably hates me.” The words taste like ash on my tongue. What if they're true? What if my inability to stand up to my father just ruined the best thing in my life?
“He doesn't hate you, Reid. He's just hurt. You have to give him some space to process.”
My chest feels heavy. Each breath I take is more shallow than the one before. “And if he decides that, after everything, I'm not worth the fight?” The last word escapes on a choked out sob, a few tears sliding down my cheeks.
She sighs and reaches across the center console of her car to place a hand on my upper arm. “You're my friend, and I love you, but I need you to hear me when I say this.” Her eyes search mine before a small, sad smile lifts the corner of her lips. “If you want him to fight for you, you have to fight for yourself.”
Reid:I’m sorry that I froze and for what I said. I should have told them right then and there.
Reid:I love you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Never in a million years would I do something to purposely hurt you, baby. You have to know that.
Reid:I know I fucked up… You deserve so much better than me.
The texts I sent Milo last night all went unanswered, but I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t have wanted to talk to me either after what I did. I should have chased after him, begged him to understand, and stormed back into the hotel to tell my father the truth.
I can’t believe I let Milo walk away.
I’ve never been more upset or disappointed with myself in my entire life. I began the night with every intention of coming out to my parents with Milo at my side, but the moment my father stepped into view, every atom inside of me froze and began to malfunction. My stomach had twisted into a series of complex knots that felt impossible to untangle.
Now, laying here in bed by myself on Christmas morning, I want nothing more than to go back in time and change my actions. The pressure remaining behind my eyes threatened to spill over the second I woke up and stretched out my arm beside me, only to feel nothing but the cool sheets. In my dreams, Milo and I spent the morning together, tangled up in each other before finally peeling ourselves out of bed to exchange gifts by the tree.
Waking up without his warmth was like being doused in ice cold water.
I didn’t want to spend my father’s money to purchase a gift for Milo, so I made something for him instead. A hand-painted ornament for him to add to his collection, and a coffee mug for him to use and hopefully think of me each morning he does. The coffee mug I did first, painting it to resemble the cabin and forestry where we spent an incredible weekend together. For the ornament, I painted a portrait of the two of us from the waist up, kissing under a sprig of mistletoe.
Part of me hopes he’ll open the gifts, each wrapped individually. Another part of me hopes he’ll wait. The idea that I’ll miss the look on his face when he sees the pieces I createdjust for him is like the press of a dagger to an already open wound.
The chime of my phone has me suddenly sitting up in bed, digging through my crumpled sheets to find it. I hardly ever take my phone off silent, but I didn’t want to risk missing a call or text from Milo last night. I must have fallen asleep with it in my hand. The flash of his name across my screen has my heart hammering in my chest.
He texted me.
I’m both desperate to hear from him and terrified to read whatever it is he’s said. Clutching the phone in my hand, I hold it to my chest and pull in a deep lungful of air, attempting to calm my racing heart. When I swipe open the message, my shoulders deflate.
Milo:Merry Christmas, Muñeco.
That’s it. That’s the entire message. No real response to anything I said last night.
But he called meMuñeco. That has to count for something, right? I refuse to believe that he would call me that and then break up with me.
If you want him to fight for you, you have to fight for yourself.
