Текст книги "After We Fell"

Автор книги: Anna Todd

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

“Would you just stop and listen to me?” he says in a tone that’s electric, but at least it’s not yelling. “You know I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Yeah, well, you do a pretty good job at showing me otherwise.”

“What is that supposed to mean? I tell you how much I love you on a constant!”

I see the flicker of doubt cross his face as he shouts the words to me; he knows that he doesn’t show his love for me enough. “You don’t even believe that yourself. I can tell.”

“Tell me this, then: you think you can find someone else to put up with your shit? Your constant whining and bitching, your annoying need to have everything in order, and your attitude?” He waves his hands in the air in front of him.

I laugh. I laugh right in Hardin’s face; even with my hand covering my mouth, I can’t stop. “My attitude? My attitude? You are constantly disrespecting me—you’re borderline emotionally abusive, obsessive, suffocating, and rude. You came into my life, turned it upside down, and you expect me to bow down to you because you have this idea of yourself that is complete bullshit. You act like you’re this tough guy who doesn’t give a crap about anyone but himself, yet you can’t even sleep without me! I look past every single one of your flaws, but I will not stand around and let you talk to me like that.”

I pace back and forth across the concrete floor, and he watches my every move. I feel slightly guilty for yelling at him this way, but all it takes is remembering the words he just said to me to refuel my anger toward him. “And by the way, I may be a lot to handle sometimes, but that’s because I’m so busy worrying about you and everyone else around me, and trying not to piss you off, that I forget about myself. So excuse me if I annoy you, or bitch at you when you’re constantly lashing out at me for no damn reason!”

Hardin’s expression is grave. His hands are in fists at his sides, and his cheeks are a deep red. “I don’t know what else to do, okay? You know that I haven’t ever done this before, you knew going into this that I’d be a challenge. You have no right to bitch about it now.”

“ ‘No right to bitch about it’? This is my life, too, and I can bitch about it if I fucking want to,” I say with a snort. He can’t be serious. For a second, I thought the expression on his face meant he’d apologize for the way he treats me, but I should have known better. The problem with Hardin is that when he’s good, he’s so good, so sweet and honest that I love him so; but when he’s bad, he’s the most hateful person I have ever, and will ever, encounter.

I walk back into the bedroom and open the suitcase, tossing my clothes into a pile inside of it.

“Where are you going?” he asks me.

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. Away from you, I know that.

“You know what your problem is, Theresa? Your problem is that you read too many damn novels and you forget that they’re all bullshit. There are no Darcys, there are only Wickhams and Alec d’Urbervilles, so wake up and stop expecting me to be some goddamned literary hero—because it’s not going to fucking happen!”

His words wrap around me and seep into my every pore. This is it. “This is exactly why we will never work. I have tried and tried with you until I’m blue in the face, I have forgiven you for the disgusting things you have done to me—and to others—yet you still do this to me. Actually, I do this to myself. I’m not a victim, I’m just a stupid girl who loves you too much—yet still I mean nothing to you. Once I leave on Monday, your life will go back to normal. You’ll still be the same Hardin who doesn’t give a shit about anyone, and I will be the one who is in pain and can barely function—but I did that to myself. I let myself get wrapped up in you, wrapped around your finger, knowing that it would end this way. I thought that when we were separated before, you’d see that you’re better off with me than alone, but that’s the thing, Hardin. You aren’t better off with me. You’re better off alone. You’ll always be alone. Even if you find another naïve girl who’s willing to give everything up for you, including herself, she, too, will grow tired of the back-and-forth and leave you just the way I . . .”

Hardin stares at me. His eyes are bloodshot, his hands are shaking, and I know he’s about to lose it. “Go on, Tessa! Tell me that you’re leaving me. Better yet, don’t. Just pack your shit and get out.”

“Stop trying to hold yourself together,” I tell him, angry, but also pleading inside. “You’re trying not to break, but you know you want to. If you’d just let yourself show me how you really feel—”

“You know nothing of how I really feel. Leave!” His voice catches at the end, and I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around him and tell him I would never leave him.

But I can’t.

“All you have to do is tell me. Please, Hardin, just tell me that you’ll try, really try this time.” I’m begging him; I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to leave him, even though I know I have to.

He stands there, only a few feet away from me, and I can see him shutting down. Every glimmer of light that my Hardin holds is disappearing slowly, burning out into darkness, and taking the man I love further and further away from me. When he finally tears his eyes away from me and crosses his arms in front of his chest, I can see the way that he’s gone now; I’ve lost him.

“I don’t want to try anymore. I am who I am, and if that’s not good enough, then you know where the door is.”

“That’s what you want, then? You’re not even willing to try? If I leave, this time it’ll be for good. I know you don’t believe me because I always say it—but it’s true. Just tell me you’re only acting this way because you’re panicking over me going to Seattle.”

Staring at the wall behind me, he simply says, “I’m sure you can find somewhere to stay until Monday.”

When I don’t respond, he turns on his heel and leaves the room. I stand in place, shocked that he hasn’t came back to put up more of a fight. Minutes pass before I finally pick up the pieces of me that he has shattered and pack my bags for the last time.

chapter

fifty-three

HARDIN

My mouth keeps saying shit that my mind doesn’t want it to say, but it’s like I have absolutely no control over it. Obviously I don’t want her to leave. I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her hair. I want to tell her that I’ll do anything for her, that I’ll change for her and love her until I die. Instead, I walk out and leave her standing alone.

I hear her rustling around the bedroom. I know I should go in there and stop her from packing, but what’s the point, really? She’s leaving Monday, anyway; she may as well leave now. I’m still astounded that she brought up trying a long-distance relationship. It would never work, her being hours away from me, only calling once or twice a day, not sleeping in the same bed. I couldn’t do it.

At least if our relationship is terminated, I won’t feel guilty for drinking and doing whatever the hell I choose to do . . . But who am I kidding—it’s not even that I want to do anything else. I’d rather sit on the couch and have her force me to watch Friends over and over than spend one minute doing something without her.

Moments later, Tessa appears in the hallway dragging two suitcases behind her. Her purse is slung over her shoulder, and her face is pale. “I don’t think I forgot anything except some books, but I’ll just get new copies,” she says in a low, shaky voice.

This is it—this is the moment I’ve feared since the day I met this girl. She’s leaving me, and here I am, doing nothing to stop her. I can’t stop her; she was always meant to do things greater than me, be with someone better than me. I knew that from the start. I was just hoping that somehow I would be wrong, as always.

Instead of all that, I simply say, “Okay.”

“Okay.” She gulps and squares her shoulders. When she reaches the door, she raises her arm to grab her keys from the hook, and her purse slides down her shoulder. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; I should stop her, or help her, but I can’t.

Tessa looks back at me. “Well, that’s it, then. All the fighting, the crying, the lovemaking, the laughs—everything—it was all for nothing,” she says softly. No anger tints her words. Just a blank . . . blank neutrality.

I nod, unable to speak. If I could speak, I would make this one hundred times harder on both of us. I know it.

She shakes her head and opens the door, holding it open with her foot so she can drag the suitcases behind her.

Once she’s through the door, she looks over at me and says so quietly that it’s barely audible, “I will always love you. I hope you know that.”

Stop talking, Tessa. Please.

“And someone else will, too, hopefully as much as I do.”

“Shh,” I gently coax. I can’t listen to this.

“You won’t always be alone. I know I said that, but if you just get some help or something, learn to control your anger, you could find some—”

I swallow the bile rising in my throat and step to the doorway. “Go, just go,” I say, and shut the door in her face. Even through its thick wood, I can hear her sharp intake of breath.

I just slammed the door in her face—what the fuck is wrong with me?

I begin to panic, and let the pain course through me. I held it for so long, barely controlled, until she walked away. My fingers go to my hair, my knees hit the concrete floor, and I simply don’t know what to do with myself. I’m officially the world’s largest fuckup, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It sounds so simple: just go to Seattle with her and live happily ever after, but it’s not that damn simple. Everything will be different there: she’ll be absorbed in her internship and new classes; she’ll make new friends, experience new things—better things—and forget about me. She won’t need me anymore. I wipe at the tears pooling in my eyes.

What? For the first time I realize just how selfish I am. “Make new friends”? What’s so bad about her making new friends and experiencing new things? I would be there, right next to her, experiencing them, too. Why did I go to such lengths to keep her from Seattle instead of embracing this opportunity for her? This opportunity to prove that I could be part of something she wanted. That’s all she asked of me, and I couldn’t fucking deliver.

If I call her right now, she’ll turn the car around and I can pack my shit and find us somewhere, anywhere, to live in Seattle . . .

No, she won’t, she won’t turn around. She gave me the chance to stop her, and I didn’t even try. She even tried to make me feel better while I was watching every ounce of faith she had in me die right in front of my eyes. I should have been comforting her, but instead I slammed the door in her face.

You won’t always be alone, she said. She’s wrong: I will be, but she won’t. She’ll find someone to love her the way that I couldn’t. No one will ever love that girl more than me, but perhaps they can show her how it feels to be loved, how it feels to have someone love you despite all the shit you put them through, the way she was always there for me, always.

And she deserves to have that. Thinking about the fact that getting what she deserves means being with someone else makes it hard for me to breathe. But this is the way it should be. I should have let her go a long time ago instead of sinking my claws further into her and making her waste her time on me.

I’m divided. Half of me knows she’ll come back to me tonight, maybe tomorrow, and forgive me. But the other half of me knows she really is done trying to fix me.

SOMETIME LATER, I pull myself up from the floor and pad into the bedroom. When I get there, I nearly collapse again. The bracelet I had made for her sits on top of a piece of paper, alongside her e-reader and a copy of Wuthering Heights. I pick up the bracelet, twirl the infinity heart charm between my fingers, and look at the matching tattoo on my wrist.

Why would she leave this here? It was a gift from me to her, at a time when I was desperate to show my love for her. I needed her love and forgiveness, and she gave it to me. To my horror, the piece of paper under the bracelet is the handwritten letter that I wrote her. As I unfold it and read it over, my chest is slowly ripped open and its contents are tossed onto the hard floor. Memories flood my fucked-up mind: the first time I told her that I loved her, then took it back; the date with the blond girl that I tried to replace her with; the way I felt when I saw her standing in the doorway after reading the letter. I continue reading.

You love me when you shouldn’t, and I need you. I have always needed you and always will. When you left me just last week it nearly killed me, I was lost. So completely lost without you. I went on a date with someone last week. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I can’t stand to chance losing you again.

My fingers tremble, and I nearly tear the flimsy paper trying to hold it still enough to read.

I know you can do better than me. I’m not romantic, I won’t ever write you poetry or sing you a song.

I’m not even kind.

I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you again, but I can swear that I will love you until the day that I die. I’m a terrible person, and I don’t deserve you, but I hope that you’ll allow me the chance to restore your faith in me. I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you, and I understand if you can’t forgive me.

She did forgive me, though. She’s always forgiven me for my wrongs, but not this time. I was supposed to be restoring her faith in me, yet I continued to hurt her over and over again. My hands work quickly, tearing the pathetic confession into pieces. Falling, they swirl around before settling into a scattered pattern on the cold concrete.

See—I destroy everything! I know how much that damn thing meant to her, and I turned it into a pile of shit.

“No! No, no, no!” I scurry to the ground and frantically try to gather the pieces and restore the page. But there are too many little bits—none of them line up, and I keep dropping them back onto the floor and watching them float here and there. This must be how she felt trying to put me back together. I stand and kick my boot at the pile of scraps I’ve gathered before quickly bending down and picking them up again and putting them in a pile on the desk. Covering them with a book so they can’t blow away, I see I’ve grabbed Pride and Prejudice, of fucking course.

I lie back on the bed and wait for the sound of the door clicking open, signaling her return.

I must wait there for hours and hours, but the click never comes.

chapter

fifty-four

TESSA

I lie to Steph. I don’t want to tell anyone about my relationship problems, especially right now, when I haven’t had a chance to process what just happened. And that’s exactly why I called Steph: Landon is too close to the situation, and I don’t want to trouble him again. I have no other options, which is what happens when you have exactly one friend and they happen to be your boyfriend’s stepbrother.

Well, ex-boyfriend, now . . .

So when Steph sounds concerned on the phone, I tell her, “No, no. I’m fine. I just . . . Hardin is . . . he’s out of town with his father, and he locked me out, so I need somewhere to stay until he comes home Monday.”

“Sounds like Hardin,” she says, and I feel relieved that my lie has worked. “Okay, come on over. Same room as before—it’ll be just like old times!” she goes on cheerily, and I try to muster a little laugh.

Great. Old times.

“I’m supposed to be going to the mall with Tristan later, but you can hang out here if you want, or come along. It’s up to you.”

“I have a lot to do to get ready for Seattle, so I’ll just hang around the room, if that’s all right.”

“Sure, sure.” Then she adds, “I hope you’re ready for your party tomorrow night!”

“Party?” I question.

Oh yeah . . . the party. I’ve been so preoccupied with everything that I forgot about the party Steph planned for my going away. As with Hardin’s “birthday party,” I’m pretty sure his crew would be hanging out and drinking regardless of whether I showed up or not, but she seems like she really wants me to go, and since I’m asking her this big favor, I want to be nice.

“One last time, come on! I know Hardin probably said no, but—”

“Hardin doesn’t decide what I do,” I remind her, and she laughs.

“I know! I’m just saying, we won’t ever see each other again. I’m moving and so are you,” she whines.

“Okay, let me think about it. I’m on my way over now,” I say. But instead of heading straight to her dorm, I drive around a bit. I have to make sure I’ll be able to hold myself together in front of her; no crying at all. No crying. No crying. I bite down on my cheek again to stop myself from giving in to the tears.

Luckily I’m used to the pain by now. I’m practically numb to it.

By the time I get to Steph’s room, she’s in the process of getting dressed. She’s pulling a red dress down over some black fishnet stockings when she opens the door with a smile.

“I’ve missed you!” she squeals and pulls me in for a hug.

I nearly lose it, but I hold firm. “I missed you, too, even though it hasn’t been that long.” I smile and she nods. It feels like ages ago that Hardin and I met her at the tattoo shop, not a mere week.

“Guess so. It seems like it, though.” She grabs a pair of knee-high boots from her closet and sits down on the bed. “I shouldn’t be gone too long. Make yourself at home . . . but don’t clean anything!” she says, noticing the way my eyes are scanning the messy room.

“I wasn’t going to!” I lie.

“You so were! And you probably still will.” She laughs, and I try to force myself to do the same. It doesn’t work, and I end up making a noise between a snort and a cough, though fortunately she doesn’t call me out on it.

“I already told everyone you’d be there, by the way. They were excited!” she adds right as she walks out of the room and shuts the door. I open my mouth to protest, but she’s already gone.

This room brings back too many memories. I hate it, but love it at the same time. My old side is still empty, although Steph has covered the bed in clothes and shopping bags. I run my fingers along the footboard, remembering the first time Hardin slept in the small bed with me.

I can’t wait to get away from this campus—from this entire town and all the people in it. I’ve had nothing but heartbreak since the day I arrived at WCU, and I wish I’d never come in the first place.

Even the wall reminds me of Hardin and the time he tossed my notes around the room, making me want to slap him, until he kissed me, hard, up against it. My fingers move to my lips, tracing the shape of them, and they tremble at the thought of never kissing him again.

I don’t think I can stay in this room tonight. My mind will be reeling the entire time; memories will be haunting me, playing behind my eyes each time they close.

Needing to find something to do to keep myself distracted, I take out my laptop and try to search for somewhere to live in Seattle. Just as I suspected, it’s a lost cause. The only apartment that I can find is a thirty-minute drive from Vance Publishing’s new office, and it’s slightly over my budget. I save the phone number in my cell anyway.

After another hour of searching, I end up swallowing my pride and call Kimberly. I didn’t want to ask her if I could stay with her and Christian, but Hardin has left me no choice. Being Kimberly, of course, she happily obliges, emphasizing how delighted they’ll be to host me at their new house in Seattle and bragging a little that it’s even bigger than what they’re in now.

I promise her that I won’t stay longer than two weeks, hoping to buy myself enough time to find an affordable apartment that doesn’t come with bars across the windows. Suddenly I realize that with all the Hardin drama I’ve been dealing with, I’d almost forgotten about the mess at the apartment and the fact that someone broke into it while we were gone. I’d like to think it wasn’t my father, but I just don’t know if I can believe that. If it was him, he didn’t steal anything; maybe he just needed a place to stay for the night and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. I pray that Hardin doesn’t hunt him down and accuse him of the break-in. What would be the point? Still, I probably should try to find him first, but it’s getting late, and honestly, I’m a little afraid to be on that side of town alone.

I WAKE UP when Steph stumbles into the room around midnight, tripping over her own feet as she falls onto her bed. I don’t remember falling asleep at the desk, and my neck aches when I lift up my head. When I run my hands over it, it hurts worse than before.

“Don’t forget your party tomorrow,” she mumbles and passes out almost immediately.

I walk over and take her boots off her feet while she begins to snore, quietly thanking her for being a good friend to me and letting me stay in her room with only an hour’s warning.

She groans and says something incoherent before rolling over and snoring again.

I’VE BEEN LYING in my old bed reading all day. I don’t want to go anywhere or talk to anyone, and I especially don’t want to run into Hardin, though I doubt I would. He has no reason to be anywhere near here, but I’m paranoid and heartbroken and don’t want to take any chances.

Steph doesn’t wake up until after four in the afternoon.

“I’m going to order pizza—do you want some?” she asks, wiping last night’s heavy eyeliner from her eyes with a small napkin from her purse.

“Yes, please.” My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten once today.

Steph and I spend the next two hours eating and talking about her upcoming move to Louisiana, and how Tristan’s parents are less than pleased with him transferring schools because of her.

“I’m sure they’ll come around—they liked you, right?” I encourage her.

“Yeah, sort of. But his family is obsessed with WCU and something like legacy blah blah blah.” She rolls her eyes, and I laugh, not wanting to explain to her what it means to families to continue a legacy.

“So, the party. Do you know what you’re wearing yet?” she asks, smiling wickedly. “Or do you want to borrow something of mine for old times’ sake?”

I shake my head. “I can’t believe I’m even agreeing to this after . . .” I almost mention Hardin, but I redirect. “. . . after all the times you’ve forced me to come to these parties in the past.”

“But it’s the last one. Plus, you know you won’t find anyone even remotely as cool as us to hang with at the Seattle campus.” She bats her long false lashes at me, and I groan.

“I remember when I first saw you. I opened the door to this room and nearly had a heart attack. No offense.” I smile, and she returns it. “You said the parties were big, and my mother nearly passed out. She wanted me to switch rooms, but I wouldn’t . . .”

“Good thing you didn’t or you wouldn’t be dating Hardin,” she says with a smirk, then looks away from me. For a moment I fantasize what it would have been like if I had changed rooms and never seen him again. Despite everything we’ve been through, I would never want to take any of it back.

“Enough reminiscing—let’s get ready!” she cheers, clapping her hands in front of my face before she grabs me by the arms and drags me off the bed.

“NOW I REMEMBER why I hated communal showers,” I groan, while towel-drying my hair.

“They aren’t so bad.” Steph laughs, and I roll my eyes, thinking about the shower at the apartment. Every single thing reminds me of Hardin, and I’m doing my best to keep this fake smile going, but inside I’m burning.

Finally, my makeup applied and hair curled, Steph helps zip me into the yellow-and-black dress that I bought just recently. The only thing keeping me standing and present right now is the hope that the party may in fact be fun and I can have at least two hours of peace.

Tristan arrives a little after eight to pick us up; Steph refuses to let me drive, because she plans on having me drink until I can’t see straight. Which is an idea I think I like. If I can’t see straight, then I can’t see Hardin’s dimpled smile or scowl before me every time I open my eyes. Still, it won’t stop me imagining him when my eyes are closed.

“Where’s Hardin tonight?” Nate asks from the passenger seat, and I panic momentarily.

“Gone. Out of town with his father,” I lie.

“Aren’t you two leaving Monday for Seattle?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” I feel my palms beginning to sweat. I hate lying and I’m terrible at it.

Nate turns around and offers me a sweet smile. “Well, good luck to both of you. Wish I could’ve seen him before he left.”

The burn increases. “Thanks, Nate. I’ll let him know you said that.”

When we pull up to the frat house, I immediately regret my decision to come. I knew this was a bad idea, but I wasn’t thinking clearly and felt I needed a distraction. This isn’t a distraction, however. This is one big reminder of everything I’ve been through and everything I’ve subsequently lost.

It’s almost humorous, the way I regret coming here every single time but somehow always end up at this damn frat house.

“Showtime,” Steph says and hooks her arm through mine with a wild smile.

For a second her eyes brighten, and I can’t help but feel as if there’s something else behind her choice of words.