Page 55 of The Way We Are

“That’s not true,” Savannah denies, her voice picking up as she shakes her head.

“It’s not?” When she continues shaking her head, I add on, “Then why have you been avoiding me the past two months? Why didn’t you answer any of my calls and texts? And why did you refuse to answer your door when I came knocking every day, twice a day, for the first two weeks?”

Savannah balks, shocked by the aggression in my voice. I’m not usually a confrontational type of guy, but the hidden messages in her sneaky glances all night have added to months of frustration I’m no longer capable of ignoring.

“I saw your shadow under the door, Savannah. I smelled your scent through the wood. I knew you were there, yet you left me hanging. What more did I have to do to get you to talk to me? Fall to my knees and fucking beg? Is that what you want? You want me on my knees?”

Savannah’s mouth opens and closes, but not a word spills from her lips. My chest is opened and exposed for the world to see, yet she remains silent. That pisses me off even more than the plea for understanding in her eyes. Frustrated at being played like a puppet, I dump my empty beer into the trash can at my side and head back to the party.

“I didn’t pick him over you, Ryan.”

The anger in her voice has me spinning on my heels so fast, dust kicks up at my feet. “Are you fucking kidding me? You left withhim, Savannah. You walked away from me to go tohim.”

When she shakes her head, denying my claims, tears threaten to spring down her face. I don’t know if it's the alcohol heating my veins or anger, but her tears don’t have the same effect on me they usually do. They still cut me raw, but for once, they don’t have me swallowing words I should have said months ago, if not years.

“Don’t cry. You have no right to cry,” I snarl through gritted teeth. “It’s been two months, Savannah. Two whole fucking months—”

“I know how long it’s been. I’ve counted every single day,” she interrupts, her voice lower than mine, like she is afraid people might hear our argument. “I want to talk to you, Ryan. I want to explain everything that's happening, but I can’t. Not yet.”

"But you can today? The one day I have a date at my side is the day you can talk to me again.”

Savannah takes a moment to consider my reply before nodding her head. I should be grateful she chose honesty over deceit, but I’m not. All I’m feeling is months of frustration coming out at once. I am both angry and confused.

“Fuck that, Savannah. I'm not a lap dog who barks on command and plays fetch so my owner's douchebag friends can see what a good, obedient little dog I am. I’m not you."

I see Savannah’s slap coming from a mile out, but I do nothing to stop it. The sting of her palm on my cheek can’t hurt me any more than the scars she placed on my heart the past five and a half years.

“You’re being mean,” she blubbers through a sob, her tears falling more freely when she notices the red welt her hand seared on my face.

Returning my head to its rightful spot, I reply, “Yeah, I am. But supposedly, that’s what girls around here like, an asshole who speaks to his woman like trash while smacking her around.”

I laugh. It's laughter filled with pain.

“Here I was my entire childhood trying not to follow my dad’s footsteps, only to discover I should have all along, because according to you and half the female population in this town, he has the perfect recipe for a solid, compatible relationship.”

Anger lines Savannah’s face, enhancing the white lines streaming from her eyes. “You don’t mean that, Ryan. You’re just angry and upset. I get it. You have every right to be mad at me.” She locks her tear-filled eyes with mine. “But you have no right to judge me—none whatsoever. I didn’t come here to add to your torment. I came here to give you my blessing.”

“Your blessing?” I mock through laughter. “You can shove your blessing. I don’t need it, and I most certainly don’t want it.”

Her eyes fall to the pocket of my trousers when I thrust my hand inside to produce the condom Chris gave me earlier. “But if it makes you feel any better, I give you my blessing. Be withhim—be miserable withhim—just make sure you use protection, because we sure as hell don’t need any more men like Axel in the world.”

Savannah’s hand shakes when I raise it to place the condom into her palm before saying, “If you have a daughter, be sure to name her after me, as that may be the only item on our list you can cross off without lying.”

Ignoring her pleas for me to stop, I trek down the hill I climbed in trepidation two hours ago. I knew I shouldn’t have attended this party. My intuition has never steered me wrong, so I don’t know why I ignored it tonight.

Our argument was brutal—ten times worse than I had prepared for. So I yank my cell phone out of my pocket and call a cab before my brain cites a single objection. I'll take the hit to my savings if it will ease the pain ripping my heart into tiny pieces.

“You promised to give me time,” Savannah shouts, her loud voice projecting over the thumping of bass in the distance.

Not bothering to spin around to face her, I reply, “Yeah, and you promised to love me until the day you died. We both know how that turned out, don’t we?” My tone dips at the end, unprepared for the combined roar of several male voices that follow it.

Swinging my eyes to the side, I spot Douchebag Number 1 and a handful of his minions standing to Savannah’s left. Axel’s friends are mocking the way I scolded Savannah with the playfulness of drunk men. Axel’s face is nowhere near as friendly. His ropeable, almost murderous eyes are locked on me.

I want to rub salt into his wounds at discovering his girl promised to love me for eternity years before they met, but I shelve my egotistical reply when a pair of tear-filled brown eyes captures my attention.

“Amelia—fuck.”

The glistening of moisture on her white cheeks reveals she witnessed our entire exchange, as does the disappointment in her eyes.

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