Jaime didn’t come down, and Deirdre and Connor remained in the living room. Jaime’s words rolled like a tumbleweed blowing in the wind, and no matter how hard I tried to get away, it kept coming back. It was giant and disruptive and made it difficult to see, but if I just waited long enough, it would disappear. Could I do that to Jaime? Could I ignore him until he went away? Tears stung my eyes, and I scrunched them closed. No. That may have been my tactic in the past, but I couldn’t do that to Jaime. Not when our time was so limited. Not when tomorrow hung in the balance.
I heard someone stand from the couch, so I rushed to the cabinets. Opening the wooden door, I grabbed the first mug I could find and pretended to drink the emptiness inside.
“Oh, Rory, dear. I didn’t realize you were still in here.” Deirdre’s soft voice brought me back to my childhood when my mom told me to be brave and jump into the pool without swimmies attached to my arms. The same apprehension that swept through me then swept through me now, and I wondered if I could jump to Jaime like I jumped in the deep end, believing the words I heard more than the words I said to myself.
She eyed me up and down, and I dressed my face with my brightest smile. “Yeah, just finishing up.”
“Where’s Jaime?”
“Upstairs still. I was just heading up.” As I walked around her, I ducked my head and escaped up the stairs.
I had to go back into his room.
He remained on his bed with his back against the wall, and a light throw resting over his muscular body.
My stomach flipped, and I wasn’t sure if it was a deep attraction, nervous misfires from seeing him again, or buried anger. He didn’t look at me, and I closed the door. The click echoed through his room, and I sat on the floor next to his bed, staring up at him. “Jaime.”
“Hmm?” His voice lacked any personality, and his face remained flat. His empty eyes looked past me to the pillow on the freshly made sofa bed.
I hated myself for hurting him. The words formed in my mouth like putty, my tongue struggling to manipulate and move. Inhaling, I filled my lungs with courage, and pressed on. “I’m sorry.”
“No worries.” He shifted on the bed, straightened his body, and lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“No, Jaime. Look at me.”
“Why? There’s nothing to say.” He didn’t sound angry, just sad.
“I’m sorry for hurting you. It took me by surprise. You took me by surprise, and my feelings scared me.”
His eyes averted to the left, and his set jaw told me he wanted to say something.
“Jaime, my feelings are complicated. I had a boyfriend when I came here.”
A scoff erupted from Jaime’s lips. “You call him a boyfriend? He was never your boyfriend. He was using you.”
Tears pricked my eyes again, and I leaned away from him, trying to hide my weaknesses. “I considered him my boyfriend, even if he wasn’t great.” Why am I defending Scott? I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to grasp whatever straw of dignity I had floating around me. “You and I were having fun, that’s it. And it evolved into something more. But I’m leaving. I’m leaving to live halfway around the world forever. I’m never coming back here. So whatever we had will be over in a few weeks. I can’t open my heart, knowing it will get stomped on because of distance. I’m not strong enough for that.”
The floodgates opened, and my confusion and irritation quickly transformed into grief. I knew I was losing him, and I had stupidly let my heart take over my brain.
He grabbed my hands and pulled me toward his bed. “Do you mean that? That this thing—” he waved his arms around us “—is over when you’re gone?”
We had never discussed the future, but how could he assume long-distance would work? It wasn’t like I could hop in a car and drive to him when I had a bad day. “You deserve more than that. You deserve to be happy, and so do I.”
I couldn’t allow myself to get hurt again. What would stop him from seeing girls on the side and stringing me along? How could I know that he was being faithful or that I wasn’t making a laughingstock out of myself again? The words were too painful to speak, so I climbed onto his bed and buried my head in his shoulder.
I could tell by his rigid back and shallow breathing that he was angry. “Do you love me?” His voice was sharp as a tack, and the words poked me.
I recoiled, unsure how to respond or which response would make the next twenty-four hours less painful.
“You told me you loved me that night in the bar. You told me!” His voice boomed and cracked like thunder.
“I was drunk, Jaime. I don’t even remember that night.”
“People speak the truth when they’re drinking. Stop lying to yourself. Stop lying to me!” He jumped out of bed and paced his room. “You love me. You know how I know?”
I couldn’t answer, my body frozen in time, afraid that whatever move I made would set him off further and ruin us.
“You bring me chocolate when I have a bad day and leave it on my pillow. You make sure I eat breakfast every morning before school. You give me your umbrella even when you need it. You kiss me every night before bed. You TOLD me you loved me. You make me feel alive, loved, and certain. More certain about everything. You’re scared. I get it. I’m scared too, but can’t we be scared together?”
