Twisted Palace
Page 75
“I feel really fucking bad for her,” I admit.
“Abby?”
I nod.
“Well, you shouldn’t,” Ella says bluntly. “I hate to say this, but I think Abby might be a tad delusional.”
I sigh. “A tad?”
“Okay, a lot delusional.” Ella squeezes my hand. “But it’s not your fault. You broke up with her. You haven’t led her on since. She’s the one who isn’t able to move on.”
“I know.” But I still can’t erase the image of Abby’s grief-stricken eyes from my mind.
I’ve run through these last few years with little regard for anyone but myself. I was proud of being an unfeeling asshole. Is this karma? Is me going to prison for five years punishment for the guys I’ve beaten, the girls I’ve hurt?
I’ve tried to act like nothing’s wrong. I’ve gone to classes, played football, went to Winter Formal. I’ve acted as if every day is an ordinary day in the life of a high school senior. But I can’t pretend anymore that everything is okay. Abby’s not okay. Brooke’s murder is not okay. My life isn’t okay.
Every night, I lie awake staring at the ceiling, wondering how I’ll survive inside a prison cell. It’s the wait that’s the hardest.
“Reed? What’s wrong?”
I take a breath as I meet Ella’s worried eyes. No amount of sweet words is going to take the sting away, so I speak abruptly, like pulling off a Band-Aid. “I’m going to sign the plea deal early.”
She whips around so fast, she loses her balance. I reach out and steady her, but she jerks out of my grip and shoots to her feet.
“What’d you say?”
“I’m going to sign it early. Agree to start serving the sentence starting next week instead of the first of January.” I swallow. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“What the hell, Reed?”
I rake a hand through my hair. “The sooner I go in, the sooner I’m out.”
“This is bullshit. We can solve this. Dinah paid off Ruby Myers, so that means there’s new evidence—”
“There’s no new evidence,” I interrupt.
It kills me that she’s holding on to this dream that something’s going to magically appear to get me off. Her inability to accept me going to prison or to understand why I want this sentence over with tells me all I need to know.
I can’t keep asking her to wait for me for five years. I’m a selfish jerk for even entertaining that idea. She’ll miss out on everything. What kind of senior year will she have with everyone believing her boyfriend is a murderer? What about college? I may be an asshole, but I’m not this big of one. Not to her, at least.
I brick up my heart, the useless, shitty thing, and stare down at my feet because I can’t look into her pale, beautiful face while I say the rest of the words that are galloping around my head.
“We should take a break. I’ll be inside and you’ll be out here.”
The bedroom grows so quiet, I can’t help glancing in her direction. She’s frozen in place, a hand to her mouth, her eyes as wide as platters.
“I want you to enjoy your time at college. It’s supposed to be the best time of your life.” The words taste bitter, but I push them out. “If you meet someone, you shouldn’t be thinking of me.”
I stop then, because I can’t get the rest of the lies out. The ones where I’m supposed to say that I won’t be thinking of her. That she was just a convenience. That I don’t love her.
If I say those things, it’ll truly be over. There’d be no coming back from it. No way she’d forgive me.
Be a man, I tell myself. Let her go.
I take another deep breath and gather up some more courage. But before I can open my mouth, Ella flies into my lap and mashes her lips against mine. It’s not so much a kiss as it is a slap across my face. A scolding for everything I just said and every awful thing that sits in my throat.
And while I know I shouldn’t, my arms close around her waist and I hold her, letting her kiss me.
The tears fall, sliding between our lips. I swallow her tears, my words, our despair, and kiss her back until she’s crying too hard to keep kissing me. I press her face against my chest and feel the tears soak my shirt.
“I don’t want to hear that crap from you,” she whispers.
“All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t feel guilty about moving forward with your life,” I say gruffly.
She stabs her finger into my chest. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel. No one does. Not you. Not Steve. Not Callum.”
“I know. I’m just saying...” Hell, I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t want her to date anyone else. I don’t want her to move on. I want her thinking about me the entire time I’m thinking about her.
But I also hate the idea of her being alone, wanting me and not being able to have me, all because I did something stupid.
“I’m trying to be a better person,” I finally say. “I’m trying to do right by you.”
“You decided what was right for yourself without asking me,” she says flatly.
I struggle to find the words to explain my position, but then her hands tangle with my belt buckle and all my good intentions fly out of my head.
“E-Ella…” I stammer. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she taunts. Her hands deftly unzip my tuxedo trousers, sliding inside to hold me in her palm. “Don’t touch you?”
“No.” This time I’m the one backing away. My body throbs with need, but I’m not going to put my own selfish desires ahead of hers.
“Too bad. I’m touching you.” She grabs my wrist and holds it against her stomach. “And you’re touching me. Do you really want someone else to touch me like this? Are you really going to be okay with that?”
The images her words conjure in my head are terrible. The hand I have planted on her ass curls into a fist. “Don’t,” I choke out. “Don’t say that to me.”
“Why? You said it to me. I would never, ever be okay with you ‘moving on’ to another girl. That kind of betrayal would ruin us. Not you going away for five years. Not a raft full of Daniels or Jordans or Abbys or Brookes. You moving on, even for a day, for an hour, is what I’d hate.”
“Abby?”
I nod.
“Well, you shouldn’t,” Ella says bluntly. “I hate to say this, but I think Abby might be a tad delusional.”
I sigh. “A tad?”
“Okay, a lot delusional.” Ella squeezes my hand. “But it’s not your fault. You broke up with her. You haven’t led her on since. She’s the one who isn’t able to move on.”
“I know.” But I still can’t erase the image of Abby’s grief-stricken eyes from my mind.
I’ve run through these last few years with little regard for anyone but myself. I was proud of being an unfeeling asshole. Is this karma? Is me going to prison for five years punishment for the guys I’ve beaten, the girls I’ve hurt?
I’ve tried to act like nothing’s wrong. I’ve gone to classes, played football, went to Winter Formal. I’ve acted as if every day is an ordinary day in the life of a high school senior. But I can’t pretend anymore that everything is okay. Abby’s not okay. Brooke’s murder is not okay. My life isn’t okay.
Every night, I lie awake staring at the ceiling, wondering how I’ll survive inside a prison cell. It’s the wait that’s the hardest.
“Reed? What’s wrong?”
I take a breath as I meet Ella’s worried eyes. No amount of sweet words is going to take the sting away, so I speak abruptly, like pulling off a Band-Aid. “I’m going to sign the plea deal early.”
She whips around so fast, she loses her balance. I reach out and steady her, but she jerks out of my grip and shoots to her feet.
“What’d you say?”
“I’m going to sign it early. Agree to start serving the sentence starting next week instead of the first of January.” I swallow. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“What the hell, Reed?”
I rake a hand through my hair. “The sooner I go in, the sooner I’m out.”
“This is bullshit. We can solve this. Dinah paid off Ruby Myers, so that means there’s new evidence—”
“There’s no new evidence,” I interrupt.
It kills me that she’s holding on to this dream that something’s going to magically appear to get me off. Her inability to accept me going to prison or to understand why I want this sentence over with tells me all I need to know.
I can’t keep asking her to wait for me for five years. I’m a selfish jerk for even entertaining that idea. She’ll miss out on everything. What kind of senior year will she have with everyone believing her boyfriend is a murderer? What about college? I may be an asshole, but I’m not this big of one. Not to her, at least.
I brick up my heart, the useless, shitty thing, and stare down at my feet because I can’t look into her pale, beautiful face while I say the rest of the words that are galloping around my head.
“We should take a break. I’ll be inside and you’ll be out here.”
The bedroom grows so quiet, I can’t help glancing in her direction. She’s frozen in place, a hand to her mouth, her eyes as wide as platters.
“I want you to enjoy your time at college. It’s supposed to be the best time of your life.” The words taste bitter, but I push them out. “If you meet someone, you shouldn’t be thinking of me.”
I stop then, because I can’t get the rest of the lies out. The ones where I’m supposed to say that I won’t be thinking of her. That she was just a convenience. That I don’t love her.
If I say those things, it’ll truly be over. There’d be no coming back from it. No way she’d forgive me.
Be a man, I tell myself. Let her go.
I take another deep breath and gather up some more courage. But before I can open my mouth, Ella flies into my lap and mashes her lips against mine. It’s not so much a kiss as it is a slap across my face. A scolding for everything I just said and every awful thing that sits in my throat.
And while I know I shouldn’t, my arms close around her waist and I hold her, letting her kiss me.
The tears fall, sliding between our lips. I swallow her tears, my words, our despair, and kiss her back until she’s crying too hard to keep kissing me. I press her face against my chest and feel the tears soak my shirt.
“I don’t want to hear that crap from you,” she whispers.
“All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t feel guilty about moving forward with your life,” I say gruffly.
She stabs her finger into my chest. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel. No one does. Not you. Not Steve. Not Callum.”
“I know. I’m just saying...” Hell, I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t want her to date anyone else. I don’t want her to move on. I want her thinking about me the entire time I’m thinking about her.
But I also hate the idea of her being alone, wanting me and not being able to have me, all because I did something stupid.
“I’m trying to be a better person,” I finally say. “I’m trying to do right by you.”
“You decided what was right for yourself without asking me,” she says flatly.
I struggle to find the words to explain my position, but then her hands tangle with my belt buckle and all my good intentions fly out of my head.
“E-Ella…” I stammer. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she taunts. Her hands deftly unzip my tuxedo trousers, sliding inside to hold me in her palm. “Don’t touch you?”
“No.” This time I’m the one backing away. My body throbs with need, but I’m not going to put my own selfish desires ahead of hers.
“Too bad. I’m touching you.” She grabs my wrist and holds it against her stomach. “And you’re touching me. Do you really want someone else to touch me like this? Are you really going to be okay with that?”
The images her words conjure in my head are terrible. The hand I have planted on her ass curls into a fist. “Don’t,” I choke out. “Don’t say that to me.”
“Why? You said it to me. I would never, ever be okay with you ‘moving on’ to another girl. That kind of betrayal would ruin us. Not you going away for five years. Not a raft full of Daniels or Jordans or Abbys or Brookes. You moving on, even for a day, for an hour, is what I’d hate.”
