He sat on the bed to tie the laces of his boots but said nothing.
“I wish you didn’t have to go.” I rubbed a hand up and down his back. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”
“Sorry,” he said shortly.
I took my hand back, biting my lip. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” He stood, turning to kiss me quickly. “Night.”
He was gone before I could even tell him I loved him.
But maybe that was the idea.
Thirty-Four
Theo
* * *
I was such an asshole.
I’d done some shitty things in my life, but I’d never felt worse than when I left Claire alone in bed on Valentine’s Day, confused and hurt, naked beneath the covers because I’d just fucked her.
Yeah, you did.
Grimacing, I shut the door behind me and hurried through the dark to my car. The snow had melted, but the wind was still biting cold. I thought of her, warm and soft under the blankets, and wanted to put my fist through my car window.
But I had to leave. I had to get away.
Inside my car, I growled a string of curse words at myself, but none of them made me feel better. I peeled out of her driveway and sped down the street, tires squealing.
“Fuck!” I yelled. I was so mad at myself. And I was mad at Claire too. As irrational as it was, I’d started to get angry with her for telling me she loved me. Maybe even for loving me in the first place.
For making me love her.
Because I did. I loved her so much I couldn’t see straight. I needed her. And I was powerless because of it.
Fuck it all, she didn’t understand what that did to me! How terrified I was that any minute now, she’d come to her senses and realize what I’d told her was true—I was no good for her. I’d never be the man she deserved. When had I ever been anything but a disappointment to anyone?
I felt like I was on an elevator whose cables were about to snap—heading for the inevitable crash that would happen when she discovered the truth. I had to get the fuck off.
What had I been thinking to let myself love her? To let myself need her? Why had I thought for even one second that I was capable of this—of surviving the loss of her?
Because I knew in my bones that no matter what you did or said or tried, love wasn’t enough to make anyone stay.
The realization that one day this would all be over and she’d be gone sliced right through my heart. It stopped beating. My throat closed up. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe.
Pulling over to the side of the road, I put the car in park and tried to get control of myself as I gasped for air. You are not a child. You are a man. You can fight this. You still have control. You can get out of danger. You can leave first.
By the time my breathing returned to normal, and I could feel my heart beating again in my chest, I’d made up my mind.
It had been a mistake to let her break down my walls. It would hurt her, but in the long run, I’d be doing her a favor. The sooner she realized love was a losing game, the better. Or maybe loving me was the losing game, and she’d have a better chance at happiness with someone else. Someone who believed in her fairy tale life with the porch swing and the bikes and the lemonade stand. Someone who could give it to her. Share it with her. Someone who could love her without disappointing her.
But it wasn’t me.
It had never been me.
* * *
I couldn’t fall asleep that night. Instead I lay awake trying to think of how to leave her. She was going to be furious no matter how I did it. She’d call me names. She’d say I’d lied to her. She’d accuse me of breaking all my promises.
I could take it. Hell, I deserved it.
What I knew I couldn’t take were her tears. Her pleas to stay. Her vulnerable sweetness. If she fell apart, it would kill me. So why force myself to watch it? Why make this any harder than it had to be? But I couldn’t just leave without saying anything. I owed her a reason, at least.
A text was too insulting, even for me. But a letter could work. I’d write her a letter and leave it at her house—I had a key. If I got it done tonight, I could take it there tomorrow after she left for school. She’d find it in the afternoon when she got home.
I got out of bed and went into the kitchen, where I grabbed a pen and a notebook. Sitting down at the counter, I stared at the blank page in front of me. This will crush her. She doesn’t deserve it. It’s all your fault.
“Fuck off,” I growled at myself. Then I put the pen to paper.
Dear Claire,
I’m sorry. I thought I could do this, but I can’t be what you want. You are better off without me.
Theo
My stomach churned. Burying my face in my hands, I sat there in agony for a few more seconds, unable to even look at the letter in front of me. For the first time in years, I wanted a drink. Wanted to numb myself to the pain of facing my true self.
Fuck-up. Liar. Coward.
I was. I was all those things and worse.
But at least no one would have the power to hurt me again.
I ripped the page from the notebook, folded it into thirds and dug an envelope from a drawer. When the letter was safely sealed inside, I left it by my keys on the counter and went back to bed.
I tried not to think about her. I turned on the television. Opened a book. Buried my head beneath the pillows as if they could keep a thought from getting in. But nothing worked. I was awake all night long, imagining her face when she read that letter. It made me sick.
At least I wouldn’t have to see it.