Page 60 of Every Thought Taken

He whirls around, ripping out of my hold and raising his hand. When he sees it is me, he lets it slap against his thigh. “What?” Jaw tight and lips in a thin line, the single word is severe on his tongue. Sharp. Cruel.

I narrow my eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

With a shake of his head, he laughs without humor. “Nope.” He steps closer, his face inches from mine. “You’ve donenothing.”

And before I process the sting of his words, he spins on his heel and walks away. Just like he did a month ago.

“Catch you guys later,” I say to Mags and Lessa, jogging toward the front of the school.

Not that I love school, but the entire first day was shit after the run-in with Anderson this morning. His words echoed in my ear over and over. They tormented me throughout English class. Ate away at my sanity during math. Had me on the cusp of vomiting during lunch. By the end of history class, I’d been ready to scream.

I never said I wanted to break things off with Anderson. Never said I didn’t want to spend time with him.

What I did need was a way to balance it all. This is my last year. My grades and actions this year account for much more than any of the previous years combined. I can’t fail. I can’t let my parents down.

Unfortunately, finding a new rhythm also means having to make changes. Big changes. Changes that impact more than me.

Does it make me selfish to focus on my future? No. But it does make me callous to not think of how my decisions may hurt others. I chose to be with Anderson. I made him promises, some of which I failed to uphold. Thatison me. But shouldn’t he also be happy for me? If he loves me, shouldn’t he want what’s best? Even if it involves less time together.

I jog through the lot of the school, stop and scan the thinning crowd. Just as I’m about to give up, I spot him near the sidewalk. Taller than most, hood still on his head, he walks away from the school on fast feet.

Fisting my backpack straps, I run in his direction. I open my mouth to call out to him but think better of it. If he doesn’t want to see or speak to me, he’ll take off at the sound of my voice. Cramps pinch my side as I close the distance between us. After minutes of running, I finally reach him, shoulder checking him as I pass and whip around.

“What the—” His words cut off when his eyes meet mine. He opens his mouth to say something else but snaps it shut before taking the next step and walking past me.

“Really, Ander? Is this what we’re doing now?”

At that, he stops. Hands at his sides, he curls his fingers into fists, his chest heaving. I stare at his back, silently begging him to turn around. Begging him to give me something, anything besides his anger. He tilts his head, his fingers straightening before they cinch tight again. With a slow twist of his hips, he spins around. Eyes downcast, he worries his bottom lip. Relaxes his hands. Shakes his head then swallows.

“I can’t keep doing this.” His words come out in a staccato. Broken. He lifts his gaze and all I see is pain. Heartache. Devastation. Dark bruises rest beneath his eyes. His cheeks are sunken in again. “I can’t be at your beck and call. A romantic convenience only whenyourlife is good.”

“Ander…”

I take a step in his direction and he takes one back. The backs of my eyes sting as pain ripples through his features.I did this. I hurt him.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out. Emotion pools in my mouth and I swallow it down. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

Dull blues hold my greens, and in them, I see layer upon layer of agony, of suffering, of concession. The shadow that hovered over him for so many years, the one that disappeared when he was with me, is back. But it isn’t just a shadow anymore. Now it’s a storm. A violent tornado, sweeping in and stealing every good and loving piece of him.

And it is all my fault.

“What can I do? How can I make this right?” I point between us.

His lips bunch as irritation consumes his expression. “I’m not some fucking project, Helena.”

Helena. Not North.

“I’m not some sad little boy that needs someone to swoop in and rescue him.” He takes a step in my direction. “I loved you,” he bites out, tears welling in his eyes. “I love you,” he says, a breath above a whisper. His eyes fall shut, his jaw working back and forth as he takes methodical deep breaths. Then his eyes open and bore into me with unmistakable force. “But my love isn’t enough.” A sad smile turns up the corners of his lips. “Never has been for anyone. I get it now.” He takes a step back and swallows. “So, please, either say you’ll stay and actually follow through or let me go.”

Bile climbs up my throat, licking the back of my tongue. I open my mouth to say something but can’t seem to find the words. I want to tell him I love him too. That I will always love him. I want to tell him I will make this work, that I will find a way. But try as I might, my tongue refuses to form the words. My voice refuses to make a sound.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, giving me his back and taking a step away.

I lurch forward and grab his arm. “No,” I shout, yanking him back. I step into him, crowd him, lift my hands to his face and cup his cheeks. “No,” I whisper.

Heartache mixes with fear as he holds my gaze. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” He shakes his head. “Don’t you dare.”

“I love you, Anderson,” I breathe out. “But I’m scared.” Tears well up in my eyes and blur my vision.

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