Page 178 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
Not pretty tears. Ugly, gasping sobs that seem to come from somewhere deep inside me I didn’t know existed.
He doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t fix it or make it stop. His hand moves slowly through my hair as he holds me.
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” I manage through the tears.
“You don’t have to know.”
“It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“Hux,” I hiccup. “I’m supposed to h-hate you!”
He brings my knuckles to his mouth and brushes a kiss across them.
“I know, Monroe.”
“I don’t want to love you. I’m not supposed to. You’re a big, mean, awful hockey player and I’m not supposed to want you.”
His lips twitch. “I know.”
“You don’t understand!” I pound a fist into his chest, feeling like a silly child and yet, I can’t stop the words pouring out of my mouth. “I’ve never felt like a normal girl before, because I never understood what love meant. And I hate you, but I realize that I don’t hate you at all. And I’m so mad about it. I’m so mad at you, Hunter Huxley.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He gathers me against his chest and holds me tightly as I whimper.
“You tricked me,” I say, lips moving against his chest. “You got me to let my guards down and acted all sweet and now I’m falling for you. Are you happy, Hux?”
He’s quiet for a beat. “Honestly? I’m over the moon, Juliet.”
I sniffle, feeling pathetic and raw. The feeling of his arms around me and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek lull me.
For the first time in my adult life, I let someone see every soft, scared part of me. And he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t tell me I’m being too much.
“Better?” he asks when my breathing finally evens out.
“I think so.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Sorry. I don’t usually...”
“Don’t apologize.”
“But I just completely fell apart on you.”
“Good. It’s about time.”
I look up at him, confused. “Good?”
“You’re always so controlled. So careful. It’s nice to see you let go.”
“Even when it’s messy?”
“Especially when it’s messy.”
I settle back against his chest, feeling wrung out but oddly peaceful. Finally, something inside me that was wound too tight has loosened.
“Hunter?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For today. For not being angry that I put out that statement without asking.”
