Vicious hurt slashed across her face and speared me in the chest like a hot poker.
The only person I hated more than her in that moment was myself.
“What I did was wrong, and I’m sorry.” Her small voice contained the barest hint of her usual fire. “But you’re being cruel.”
“Am I?” I mocked. “Well, I’m fucking sorry. As you can see, being a nice guy hasn’t served me all that well in the past.” My eyes burned.
Looking at her hurt. Hearing her hurt. Everything hurt.
“You could’ve fucking told me, Jules. Did you really think so little of me that you thought I’d judge you for things you were manipulated into doing? That I wouldn’t have been on your side and took that fucker down with you? I understand why you didn’t tell me the truth at Hyacinth, but after Ohio…” My jaw clenched. “That’s what fucking hurts the most. That I considered you worthy of trust but you didn’t think the same of me.”
Jules’s chin wobbled. She pressed a fist to her mouth, her eyes glistening in the dim light.
“If you’d asked for the painting, I would’ve given it to you.” My voice cracked. “I would’ve given you anything you wanted.”
A sharp sob bled through her fist, followed by another, and another, until her gasping breaths soaked every molecule of air.
I watched, unmoving, as she hyperventilated, but my muscles strained with the effort to hold still.
I loathed the part of me that still wanted to comfort her. It was the part with no self-preservation, that needed her so much it would willingly hand her the knife to stab me in the chest just so she could be the last thing I saw before I died.
She was right. I was a masochist.
“Get out.”
Jules flinched at my quiet command. “Josh, please. I swear I didn’t—”
“Get. Out.”
“I lo—”
“Don’t you dare say it.” My pulse spiked with another burst of adrenaline. Breathe. Just fucking breathe. “I said, get out, Jules. Get the fuck out!”
She finally moved, her soft sobs growing fainter as she stumbled toward the door. It closed behind her, and then…silence.
The tension holding me upright collapsed.
I doubled over, hands on my knees, silent shudders wracking my body. The pressure inside me strangled every vital organ, but no matter how much it built and built, it refused to explode. It just sat there, suffocating me from the inside out.
Jules was gone, but I still felt her. She was everywhere—in every inch of the room, every fragment of my thoughts, every beat of my heart.
The visceral urge to destroy everything that reminded me of her propelled me off the couch and into my room. I rifled through my desk drawer for the Legally Blonde musical tickets and tore them into shreds, taking perverse satisfaction in the confetti of destroyed paper fluttering into my trash can.
Next went the shirt I let her borrow the first night she slept over; the receipt from Giorgio’s, which I’d kept as a stupid secret memento of our first date, and the pillow with her scent lingering on it. Every little thing that contained even the sparsest memory of us, destroyed and tossed.
By the time I finished, my room looked like how I felt: empty and hollow.
Unable to stand the sight of the stripped room, I walked to the kitchen and grabbed the nearest bottle of whiskey.
I would’ve been concerned about how much I’d been drinking lately if I gave a shit about anything except drowning out Jules’s lingering presence. It wasn’t like I was fucking blacking out every night.
I didn’t bother pouring the whiskey in a glass; I tipped my head back and chugged straight from the bottle.
I don’t know how much I drank, nor did I care.
I just drank and drank until I sank into the darkness of oblivion and thoughts of Jules finally faded from my mind.
47
JULES
Remember when I said I forgive you? I lied.
I stumbled toward the metro, Josh’s words echoing in my brain like an endless taunt.
Remember when I said I forgive you? I lied.
When I said I forgive you? I lied.
Forgive you? I lied.
I lied.
I lied.
Tears blurred my vision, and I wasn’t sure if I was going in the right direction, but I didn’t care. I just needed to get away.
From Josh’s cruel words, his cold eyes, and his vindictive touch.
From the knowledge that I’d fucked up and had no one to blame except myself.
People said to have loved and lost was better than never having loved at all.
They never said a damn thing about what it was like to have the person you loved and lost look at you like they utterly loathed you. Josh had never looked at me like that, not even when I thought he hated me.
I swiped at my cheeks with the back of my hand, but it was like trying to sweep water back into the ocean. Utterly futile.
I knew there was a chance Josh would react badly to the truth. I just hadn’t expected him to react that badly.
The worst part was, he was right. I hadn’t trusted him to take my side after learning the truth. I’d been so blinded by my insecurities, so terrified of destroying one of the few beautiful things in my life, that I turned its destruction into a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Josh hadn’t cared about the sex tape or the stupid painting. He’d only cared that I lied to him.
I was such a fucking idiot.
If you’d asked for the painting, I would’ve given it to you. I would’ve given you anything you wanted.
Fresh needles of pain pierced my chest. My heart burned like someone had raked it over hot coals, and I couldn’t drag enough air into my lungs. Maybe it was because every breath hurt.
Every breath, every heartbeat, every blink. Normal bodily functions that all just hurt.
Even my body hated me.
I wiped my face again as the metro came into view. I’d made it, sort of.
Six stops until I reached the station near my apartment, then a five-minute walk to my building.
Six stops. Five minutes.
I could survive for that long.
“Get yourself together,” I hiccupped. “Before people call the cops on you.”
I was already attracting a mix of alarmed and concerned looks from passersby. Talking to myself probably didn’t help.
Luckily, the train arrived right as I entered the platform, so I didn’t have to wait. I chose the emptiest car and curled up in the corner, watching the dark tunnels rush by outside. My crazed reflection stared back at me from the opposite window—hair wild, black tracks of mascara running down my face, skin covered with blotches of bright red like I had a nasty case of hives.
Did you really think so little of me that you thought I’d judge you for things you were manipulated into doing? That I wouldn’t have been on your side and took that fucker down with you?
I closed my eyes, wishing with everything in me that I could turn back time and redo all my decisions regarding Max.
I was supposed to be a lawyer. Logical, reasonable, strategic. But when it came to Max and Josh, I’d been anything but.
How had I fucked up my own life so badly?
I opened my eyes again, not wanting to spend too long in my thoughts. They would just torture me.
Instead, I watched the metro stops pass by with a detached awareness.