“Meant what?”
“That I’m sorry.”
I nod. Not sure what to do with that. It’s easy to say you’re sorry. It’s much harder to make it count. To back it up with actions of contrition and change.
People don’t change. So where does that leave us?
“It’s okay,” I hear myself saying. “You wanted a quick fuck, nothing more. You made that clear.”
“That isn’t… how it was.”
“Oh?” A flare of anger makes it through the numbness. “That’s basically what you said. That’s what you did.”
“Yeah… you’re right. That’s what I did.” His hands twist between his knees. He fidgets with the hem of his black T-shirt.
Ryder. Fidgeting.
I sigh. “I’m tired, Ryder. Is that all you have to tell me?”
“No. No, listen…” He grimaces. “There are things… you should know about me.”
“Why would I care?”
He huffs out a laugh. “Fair question. Because… I truly regret what I did. It wasn’t fair to you.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No,” he says. “Because it was a lie.”
“I don’t understand. What was a lie?”
“Saying that I didn’t want more with you.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Really.”
“You’re right to be skeptical. I deserve that.” He lifts his hands and rubs them over his face. “I fucked up really bad with you. It’s not the first time I fucked up.”
I don’t say anything. If this is a ruse to get me to forgive him, it’s well played. His voice is strained, his jaw clenched. He looks distressed. Caged.
“I’ve been an asshole to many girls,” he says eventually. “And a few guys. Fuck them, then leave them. That has been my motto for many years.”
I grab my favorite little cushion and pull it to my stomach. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No, that’s not… Not what I meant. Of course not. You have every right to hate me. I regretted it the same instant, believe it or not. I’ve never regretted anything more than the moment I told you to go.”
“Then why? Why did you do it?” My voice is rising with every word and I clamp down on the anger and ache that wants to spill out. “Why?”
“It’s… hard to be self-aware,” he whispers. “To understand why you have certain behaviors and how to break them.” He snorts softly. “The villain’s origin story.”
“You’re not a villain,” I say. “You’re just…”
“An asshole. I know. Normally, I choose girls and boys who are already in a relationship and want a night of fun. I’ve never been with someone as soft as you.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m not naïve.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he tells me. “You’re sweet and soft and kind, and that’s a good thing, girl. That’s an amazing thing, and you should never give it up. Even when assholes like me hurt you.”
“But I need to protect myself,” I whisper.
