Page 89 of Not Until Her
Kara’s not a better person. She still doesn’t care about anyone’s feelings but her own.
I thought she cared about mine, but what if it’s all in my head? I fell for her suspiciously fast, and it’s all been so intense. What if I want to believe she cares about me, so I’ve convinced myself she does?
What does that even change? Nothing.
She’ll still be the person that did what she did, and acts how she acts.
It’s not enough that it’s not directed at me anymore. It could be, at any time.
And Autumn…oh my god, it would hurt her so bad to find out. She’d be crushed. Heartbroken. Betrayed.
“Reya, I am,” she says softly as she follows after me. “I have. I mean, I’m at least learning a lot. In therapy. Because Iwantto be better. And if I wasn’t so sure just how unwelcome my presence would be in either of their lives, I’d apologize. Not because I deserve forgiveness, but because she should know thatIam the fucked up one.”
The fucked up one,my thoughts repeat her words over and over.
The fucked up one. I don’t have room for that in my life. I have a daughter to protect.
“I can’t do this,” I gasp.
“No, no, no.” She’s panicking now. I make the mistake of looking back at her face, and she’s more distraught than I ever knew she could be capable of. “Please don’t leave. Talk to me.”
I plop my head against the top of my car door, and the second my face is hidden I start to cry.
“I need space. I need to think,” I wheeze. “They’re my friends. Both of them. They’re having a baby, and they worked so hard to have–” My sentence is cut off by my own uncontrollable sobs.
She starts to rub a comforting pattern on my back, but I can’t handle it.
“I need space,” I repeat quietly.
I hear her sniffle, and even the realization that she’s crying doesn’t convince me to turn around.
“Okay,” she rasps. “Okay, fine. Space. Take it.”
I step back, scuffing my feet on the ground as I give myself room to open my car door. I get inside without another look or another word. I start the engine, staring out the windshield, but not seeing anything.
Maybe I need a minute before I drive away.
“You’ll come back, right?” she asks, her muffled voice coming from my left. “We’ll talk?”
I give one nod, and hope it's enough. I wait for her to go, but I’m too scared to check if she does.
My first instinct is to go to Autumn. To cry on her shoulder, and spill it all, but I know I can’t. The timing is terrible. She has enough going on, and I can’t be the one to rain on her parade. I can’t tell herthis.
My second instinct is to go to my parents, but they’ll take one look at me and want to talk it all out. I’m not ready to reach into the tornado going on in my head and pull out the specific words I need. I just want to let it spin and spin until it’s run its course. I’ll be able to rifle through the scattered debris a little better then.
I opt for the ice cream shop.
I order a milkshake, but my stomach is in knots. I take maybe two sips as I sit in the corner and stare out the big window. Families come in and out. Couples. Friends. I tune them outthe best I can, because they’re all just a reminder of how overwhelmed I feel.
They probably glance at me with their peculiar looks, wondering what kind of weirdo is lurking at the far table. Not a lot of them sit inside, despite the chilly day, and I imagine I’m to blame.
Carly doesn’t kick me out, ever after the sixth group to hurry out after ordering, so I imagine I’m doing her somewhat of a favor. I’m keeping it quiet.
“Hey,” a soft voice comes from in front of me. My stare focuses back in, away from the dark clouds I’d be watching. Carly stands in front of me, a pitying smile on her face. “Sorry, it’s closing time.”
I blink. I must have been sitting here for hours.
“Thanks,” I tell her. My voice is harsh and raspy from not being used, and I clear it.