Page 91 of Broken By the Bad Boy

Stopping a few feet from me, he thunders, “Why didn’t you block that punch?”

I wince at the harshness of his voice. This boy sounds and looks like Ben, but he doesn’t act like my Benny. We have come so far and fallen apart. Maybe I can try to salvage our relationship.

We have to be okay.

“I… I’m sorry.”

His cheek is red from the contact with our opponent’s fist. Accepted, I was in a better position to stop the punch, but our proximity distracted me. It was different from the stage play, with our costumes separating us. It has been so long since we stood so close to each other, and it affected me.

“Sorry won’t fix my face,” he murmurs.

Ben stares at his feet as his fingers sneak into his hair. We should be out there with Coach and the crowd, celebrating our win. On instinct, I inch close to him. I want to hug my boyfriend.

I miss him.

I miss being loved by him.

I miss being called his Gracie.

“Benny,” I whisper. I’m right in front of him. Another foot forward and I’ll be in his arms.

“Don’t.” Don’t what? I take his hand, but he snatches it back like any form of contact with me is the worst thing to happen. Closing his eyes, he lets out a soft sigh. I don’t understand why he’s acting this way. He misses me, and I miss him too. I put him in an uncomfortable position, but that would never have happened if he didn’t make me doubt my place in his life. “Don’t touch me.”

But I want to touch him. “Ben, please.” I don’t know why I am begging. “Benny, it’s me.”

Another shake of his head, and he says, “I have to go.”

Ben takes a step to the left, and I block his path. Another step to the right, and I do the same. A sigh of exasperation escapes his lips. He runs his fingers through his hair, but I stand my ground.

I am fighting for my boyfriend.

“I need to be outside,” he says without looking at me. Standing taller, he frowns. “Out of my way.”

“No.” My arms circle his waist. I bury my face in his chest, and my eyes sting with unshed tears. “Don’t go, Benny. Let’s talk. I’m not happy. My boyfriend is not happy with me, and I don’t like it. You said we should always talk, Benny.” I might as well have been talking to a boxing glove. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t hug me back. “Please. You’re breaking my heart. Let’s talk.”

My arms tighten around him when he tries to pry them off him. He’s fighting to free himself, and I am fighting to hold on to him. I don’t want to lose him, yet it feels like I have already lost him.

A few moments later, Ben stops struggling. I think we are fine until he says, “Tessa, get off me.”

My already broken heart breaks again. How does a heart break twice?

When your boyfriend calls you by the name he loathes. My hands fall limply at my sides, and my body finally listens to my brain. I take the hint. I am not wanted here. Benny doesn’t like me anymore.

“I’m not Tessa. I’m Gracie,” I manage to whisper. The voice doesn’t sound like mine. I lift my head. Even if we break up, I know I fought for him. “I’m your Gracie, and you are my Benny.”

But my Benny is already leaving. He’s walking away from me. I feel it to my core that this time is different. We won’t get back together. I’m not sure what we are fighting about since Olivia is fine and back in school. I have been punished. What more does he want from me? My unhappiness?

“Ben,” I call out when Ben is at the door. His shoulders tense. He stops but doesn’t turn. I want him to look back so he can see and know how much his words hurt me. I know he loves me, so why is he being hard on me? Shouldn’t you be kinder to the ones you love? Seconds later, he hasn’t turned my way. My arms wrap around my middle. “If you walk out of here, we are done.”

My words spur Ben on. He walks out and slams the door behind him. I stare at the door until the tears blur my vision, and it finally sinks in. Ben left. My heart breaks for the third time. It breaks into a million tiny pieces that can never be glued together. I stagger to the couch and slump into it.

Curling into a ball, I try not to cry. This is it, I guess. The end of Benny and Gracie.

The ringtone of my phone coming from the other end of the room forces me to my feet. Through my tears, through the heartache, I exit the changing room and find my way home in one piece. I rap furiously on the door until it’s wrenched open. Mom wants to scold me for coming in late and knocking that hard, but one glance at my tear-stricken face, and she draws me in for a hug.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” she says into my hair. Another sob escapes me. “Talk to me.”

What is there to say? There’s nothing to talk about.

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