Page 62 of White Horizons
His lips, which are already closed and pressed together, flatten even more, and something that feels a lot like cold water and panic slides into my veins. All this time I’ve been trying to show him me, show how I’m a great friend, loyal, caring, and generous to those who mean something to me, and suddenly I don’t feel like I’m good enough. No matter what I do, I’m never going to be able to atone for my past.I’m the villain in our relationship; I always will be.
And there’s my answer.
This is definitely one-sided. All this time I’ve been trying to give him pieces of me, to be there for him, and he’s been second-guessing everything, second-guessing me. While I’ve been falling in love with him, he’s still teetering between steps one and two wondering if I’m real or just a fake. I want to evaporate, melt into the floor, anything that will get me out of this room.
I should have known.He never wanted to give me a second chance. He’s made that clear on many occasions. He was stuck with me over New Year’s, and then I just became convenient to him.This hurts more than I ever imagined it could and I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t look at him or my knees just might give out and I’ll crumble to the floor, I don’t want to look at the bed where I spent so many hours sharing my heart and soul with him, and I don’t want to look like I am breaking in front of him which is exactly what is happening.
“I want to spend time with you,” he says, but debilitating and blinding hurt and anger have already moved in, and I feel so overwhelmed I feel a numbness start tingling in my fingers and toes. I trusted him. It never even occurred to me not to. Self-preservation takes over, and I answer him the only way I know how.
“So come to New York,” I say flatly while turning to add the last few things to my suitcase. My hands are shaking, trying to control my breathing is hard, and I feel so naïve.
“Okay, I’ll go to New York to visit you, and then what?” he says.
Visit.
Not “I’ll go to New York so we can see where this relationship is going between us” or “I’ll go to New York because I want to be with you.” Just visit, as in temporary.
“What do you mean?” I ask, still not facing him.
“Emma, h-how do you see this working between us? I saw you over New Year’s, I saw you for twenty minutes last month, and now it’s April and I saw you for less than forty-eight hours. How?” He shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders in question.
I was so stupid. Why did I ever think this was going to work between us? I’ve spent so much time focusing on him and the now, on how to get to step three, and I never really stopped to consider the logistics of what happens after that. He’s right—based on his previous answer, this is going to be just another Justin relationship all over again. One where I’m not an equal, my feelings aren’t respected, and the love I have to give isn’t treasured. It’s not Sunday afternoon.
After zipping my bag, I stand it up next to the desk and look at him. “I’m not sure what you mean. I live in New York.”
“And I live in Horizons Valley,” he fires back.
“Would you consider moving?” I ask, even though I know all the hope in the world wouldn’t be enough. I am not enough. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now. He’s right; this is history repeating itself, and I long to be home so badly these tears I’m holding back are screaming to be let free.
His eyes narrow and he tilts his head just a little as he studies me. “And do what?”
Do what?
His words are slicing through me. It’s funny, all these months, I never considered the idea of Clay hurting me, but he sure is right now.
I swallow hard again and blink forcefully to keep my breaking heart from being seen, even though I’m sure he recognizes something is happening to me. “I don’t know. I guess stupid me thought you’d want to come so you could be with me.”
Two lines appear between his eyes, and then the tightness around them releases a little at whatever he sees on my face. It’s not like I think he intentionally wants to upset me, but he has. He has to know this. Silence hangs between us as he’s thinking about what I’ve just said, but what is he thinking about?
“How about you consider moving to me? Avery moved.”
“Yes, but she’s different.”
Clay’s eyes flicker down and then back to mine. I didn’t realize I was thumbing the ring on my finger so hard it would twirl around and around, but now that he’s inadvertently pointed it out, I stretch my fingers and stop.
“How so?” he asks.
“She never considered New York her home. She was just there for school and then stayed a little longer because we were there. I love New York. It is my home. I never saw myself leaving it, and why are we talking about her? This is about me, about us.”
“What does Avery consider home?”
More slicing. Instead of hearing me, getting to know me and my character, loving me, he’s comparing me to her and wishing I were more like her. Just when I thought this couldn’t get any worse for me, it does.
“I don’t know . . . Ash and the lake. Well just Ash, I guess. She doesn’t care where she lives, she really never has.”
“Right.” His cheeks flush red, and it slowly creeps down his neck to the tops of his shoulders, shoulders I love to wrap my arms around.
This is so awful.