Icould only shrug and shake my head, but when I didn't speak, she pressedharder. “What, Vinnie? Tell me exactly what you're thinking right now andjustify every one of my reasons for doing this crap with you, instead of justbeing honest with you in the first place. Go ahead.”
Ipulled in a deep breath and lifted my shoulders. “I'm thinkin' that I reallyfucked you up. I-I-I fuckin' drove you crazy.”
“No,”she insisted, shaking her head fervently. “No, I swear to God, this is thetruth.”
“Yourfamily was right,” I went on. “You didn't wanna listen but ... fuck ...”
“Yourfather!” she shouted, desperation making her shrill, as she thrust a hand outtoward the area beside me. “He's right there!”
Awave of anger swept me away from my concern at the mention of Pops. “Don't youdare go there with me.”
ButAndy wouldn't listen. “He's been here for months. I needed to make him leave—”
“Enough!”
“—soI tried getting high and it worked. For the first time ever, something actuallyworked. But then, I get sober, and there he is, just staring—”
“God,Andy, shut the fuck up!”
Sheshook her head, stepping toward me without caution. “He's so worried about you,baby. He won't go away, not until—”
Thwack!
Herhand immediately flew to touch the spot on her cheek where I had slapped her,now hot and bright red. Fresh tears formed in her eyes and I faltered beforepulling her against my chest.
“I'msorry,” I whispered, shaking and appalled with myself. “I'm so sorry. Ishouldn't have done that, I just ... I just couldn't listen to it anymore.”
Andysniffled noisily, soaking my t-shirt with her tears. “I knew I sh-shouldn'tha-have told you,” she sobbed. “I knew y-y-you wouldn't be able to handle it.”
Therewas a hollow ache building in my chest that came along with my reluctantacceptance. Andy was sick. She was mentally unstable, and whether I had madeher that way or not, I didn't know. But what I did know was, I was hurting her,physically and psychologically, and that it would only get worse. I knew thatthe best thing I could do, the best way to show my love for her, was to let hergo.
“Sweetheart,”I said, pulling her away from my chest.
Hercheek wore the mark of my palm and I swore I couldn't hate myself more than Idid in that moment, and I knew that I deserved the pain I was about to suffer.Every last drop of it.
“What?”she asked, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her shirt.
“Iwant you to go back home to your parents, okay?”
Realizationdrew her brows together tight. “What? No.” She shook her head. “I'm not ... Ifit has to do with, with ...” She lifted her hand to delicately touch her tendercheek. “I understand w-why you did it. I don't—”
“Ifucked up, okay?” I cut her off. “I fucked up and I accept that, 'cause I'mused to it. But I won't keep draggin' you down with me. I would rather fuckin'die than watch you kill yourself with this shit, and I know that if you staywith me, that's exactly what's gonna happen. I love you too much to wanna dothat. Ican'tdo that.”
Ipushed past her with determination charging my bones, and began to collect herthings. Anything I could find, I gathered into a pile on the table, all whileshe followed at my heels, grappling at my arms and begging for me to stop. ButI wouldn't stop. I couldn't. Not when her life was on the line.
“I'mgonna call you an Uber,” I told her, surprised by the calmness in my tone. “Youcan take all this stuff with you now, or I'll have it sent to your parents'place, but either way—”
“Youjust need time to adjust,” she tried to reason as I took my phone out. “You,you need to wrap your head around it, I get it. S-So, I'll go back and stayovernight and give you some space, okay? But tomorrow, I'll—”
“No,”I interrupted gently.
“Yes!I'll come back and we can talk about everything, okay? W-We can get helptogether. We'll go to rehab, we'll go to therapy, we'll ... we'll ...”
Hereyes roamed the apartment, searching for the thing that would convince me toback away from my resolve. She was panicking and I understood why, becausesometimes the hardest things are the right things to do. And this, letting hergo, was the rightest thing I'd ever done.
“Andy,”I said, pocketing my phone and knowing the car was on its way. “Listen. I don'twant—”
“Whatabout whatIwant?” she cried, her face a mess of tears and snot. “Whenthe fuck do I get to choose what I want?”
