done.” He steps away from me, and his breathing is uneven as he stares at the floor. “I have to go.”
He turns his back and crosses the room, and something ruptures inside me. All my seams pull apart, flooding me with gut-churning pain. I hug myself, and try to hold it together.
“I love you,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out.
He freezes with his back to me, shoulders tense. Silence smothers the room, screaming like thunder in my ears. My heart curls in on itself when I realize … I know … he’s not going to say it back.
His hands tighten and release, but still, his feet are pointed squarely toward the door.
I have so much to say, but I know it doesn’t matter. He’s decided to ruin us, and I can’t do a thing about it.
He turns his head. “Good-bye, Cassie.” His voice is quiet, but he might as well have yelled. “I’ll see you in the new year.”
He strides out of my bedroom and down the hallway, and I swear I hear him groan as he opens the front door.
There’s a long pause—long enough for me to think he’s changed his mind, but then the front door slams behind him, and any chance I had of holding myself together shatters into a million pieces.
The first sob is so painful, I think I’ve injured myself. The second is no better. Then, all I am is pain, and tears, and wrongness, and when I press my face into my pillow, all I can smell is the man responsible for it.
NINE
FLOODGATES
Present Day
New York City, New York
The Apartment of Cassandra Taylor
He tries to soothe me as my breathing becomes harsh, but the echo of heartache fills all my empty places.
“Hey,” he says, and brushes hair away from my face.
“Cassie … it’s okay…”
“You hurt me. Broke me.”
“I wish I could take it back, but I can’t.”
“Is this how you used to feel? Angry? Out of control? I hate it.”
He cradles my face. “I know. And it’s my fault. I’m sorry.” He strokes my back. I shove him away. He pauses for a second, then steps forward to put his arms around me once more, patiently riding out my frustration. I shove him again, and my face is hot with too many emotions to identify. I want to lash out.
To punish him.
He knows. It’s easy to recognize his former self in what I’ve become.
“Do it,” he says. “Hit me if you want. Slap me. Yell. Do it, Cassie. You need to.”
I’m choking on emotion. I try to swallow, but it refuses to be suppressed any longer. I groan as the floodgates open, and hot tears spill down my cheeks as I slap at his chest.
“Yes. Let it out. Do it.”
I slap him once … twice … three, four times, and then I’m swearing and sobbing, and he stands there and takes it, all the while whispering that he loves me.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Cassie. I’m so sorry. I’m not going to hurt you anymore, I promise.”
My sobs get deeper as I grasp at him, purging the rage all the pain he caused, all the time he wasted. Letting out years of venom until I have nothing left. No fuel for my fire. No bitter voice telling me he’s not worth it.
At last, all I have left is exhaustion. Then his arms are around me, and he supports me as my legs buckle.
He just stands there and holds me, murmuring that everything’s going to be all right. That we’ll be all right.
I’m too tired to fight anymore. Too lonely.
Too much in love with him.
When the wetness on my cheeks begins to dry, I hug him back and let myself believe him, just a bit.
Just enough.
I don’t know how long we stand there, but neither one of us seems eager to move. It’s like we don’t want the moment to end.
After a while, he loosens his grip. I guess he realizes I’m not going to run.
He kisses the top of my head, then my forehead, then my temple. He cups my face and kisses my cheek, and every touch makes me shiver. The soft brush of his lips tingles down my limbs and collects in my stomach, lighting up places that have been dark for too long.
Everything else fades
He turns his back and crosses the room, and something ruptures inside me. All my seams pull apart, flooding me with gut-churning pain. I hug myself, and try to hold it together.
“I love you,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out.
He freezes with his back to me, shoulders tense. Silence smothers the room, screaming like thunder in my ears. My heart curls in on itself when I realize … I know … he’s not going to say it back.
His hands tighten and release, but still, his feet are pointed squarely toward the door.
I have so much to say, but I know it doesn’t matter. He’s decided to ruin us, and I can’t do a thing about it.
He turns his head. “Good-bye, Cassie.” His voice is quiet, but he might as well have yelled. “I’ll see you in the new year.”
He strides out of my bedroom and down the hallway, and I swear I hear him groan as he opens the front door.
There’s a long pause—long enough for me to think he’s changed his mind, but then the front door slams behind him, and any chance I had of holding myself together shatters into a million pieces.
The first sob is so painful, I think I’ve injured myself. The second is no better. Then, all I am is pain, and tears, and wrongness, and when I press my face into my pillow, all I can smell is the man responsible for it.
NINE
FLOODGATES
Present Day
New York City, New York
The Apartment of Cassandra Taylor
He tries to soothe me as my breathing becomes harsh, but the echo of heartache fills all my empty places.
“Hey,” he says, and brushes hair away from my face.
“Cassie … it’s okay…”
“You hurt me. Broke me.”
“I wish I could take it back, but I can’t.”
“Is this how you used to feel? Angry? Out of control? I hate it.”
He cradles my face. “I know. And it’s my fault. I’m sorry.” He strokes my back. I shove him away. He pauses for a second, then steps forward to put his arms around me once more, patiently riding out my frustration. I shove him again, and my face is hot with too many emotions to identify. I want to lash out.
To punish him.
He knows. It’s easy to recognize his former self in what I’ve become.
“Do it,” he says. “Hit me if you want. Slap me. Yell. Do it, Cassie. You need to.”
I’m choking on emotion. I try to swallow, but it refuses to be suppressed any longer. I groan as the floodgates open, and hot tears spill down my cheeks as I slap at his chest.
“Yes. Let it out. Do it.”
I slap him once … twice … three, four times, and then I’m swearing and sobbing, and he stands there and takes it, all the while whispering that he loves me.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Cassie. I’m so sorry. I’m not going to hurt you anymore, I promise.”
My sobs get deeper as I grasp at him, purging the rage all the pain he caused, all the time he wasted. Letting out years of venom until I have nothing left. No fuel for my fire. No bitter voice telling me he’s not worth it.
At last, all I have left is exhaustion. Then his arms are around me, and he supports me as my legs buckle.
He just stands there and holds me, murmuring that everything’s going to be all right. That we’ll be all right.
I’m too tired to fight anymore. Too lonely.
Too much in love with him.
When the wetness on my cheeks begins to dry, I hug him back and let myself believe him, just a bit.
Just enough.
I don’t know how long we stand there, but neither one of us seems eager to move. It’s like we don’t want the moment to end.
After a while, he loosens his grip. I guess he realizes I’m not going to run.
He kisses the top of my head, then my forehead, then my temple. He cups my face and kisses my cheek, and every touch makes me shiver. The soft brush of his lips tingles down my limbs and collects in my stomach, lighting up places that have been dark for too long.
Everything else fades
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