myself to look back at him, putting on the charade that he didn’t just tear me apart with every syllable.
“This is what I am talking about!” He runs his hands over his hair as he paces back and forth across the room. “You . . . you make me crazy, literally fucking mental! And then you have the nerve to ask if I love you? Why would you even ask that? Because I said that one time, by accident? I told you already that I didn’t mean it, so why would you ask again? You like rejection—don’t you? That’s why you keep coming around me, isn’t it?”
All I want to do is run, run out of this room and never, ever look back. I need to run, I need to flee.
I try to stop it, but he has me in such a rage, I yell the thing I know will get to him, break his control: “No, I keep coming around because I love you!”
I cover my mouth immediately, wishing I could push the words back in. He couldn’t possibly hurt me worse than he has, and I don’t want to be left wondering years from now what he would have said if I told him. I am okay with him not loving me. I got myself into this knowing how he was all along.
He looks astonished. “You what?” He blinks rapidly as if trying to process the words.
“Go on, tell me how much you hate me again. Go ahead and tell me how stupid I am for loving someone who can’t stand me,” I say, my voice coming out foreign and almost in a whine. I wipe my eyes and look at him again, feeling as if I’ve been gravely defeated and need to leave the scene to bandage my wounds. “I’ll be going now.”
As I go to turn, he takes one long stride to close the gap between us. I refuse to look at him as he puts his hand on my shoulder. “Damn it, don’t go,” he says, his voice full of emotion.
Which emotion is the question.
“You love me?” he whispers and puts his busted hand under my chin to tilt my head to him. I dart my eyes away from his and nod slowly, waiting for him to laugh in my face.
“Why?” His breath comes in a hot burst against my face.
I finally bring my eyes to his and he looks . . . afraid? “What?” I ask softly.
“Why do you love . . . how could you possibly love me?” His voice cracks and he stares at me, and I feel like the words I say next will determine my fate more than anything I’ve ever done before.
“How could you not know that I love you?” I ask instead of answering him.
He doesn’t think I could love him? I have no explanation except that I just do. He drives me crazy, makes me angrier than I have ever been, but somehow I fell for him, hard.
“You told me you didn’t. And you went out with Zed. You always leave me; you left me on the porch earlier when I begged you for another chance. I told you I loved you, and you rejected me. Do you know how hard that was for me?” he says.
I must be imagining the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, though I am too aware of his callused fingers under my chin.
“You took it back before I could even process what you said. You’ve done a lot of things to hurt me, Hardin,” I tell him and he nods.
“I know . . . I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you? I know I don’t deserve you. I don’t have the right to even be asking this . . . but please, just one chance. I am not promising not to fight with you, or get mad at you, but I am promising to give myself to you, completely. Please, just let me try to be what you need.” He sounds so unsure of himself, it turns my insides to liquid.
“I want to think this can work, but I just don’t know how it could, so much damage has already been done.”
But my eyes betray me as the tears fall. Hardin brings his fingers up from my chin and captures them, even as a single tear escapes down his own cheek.
“Do you remember when you asked me who I love the most in the world?” he asks,