“I never want you to settle for less. You deserve all of the attention and … love.” It feels strange to say that word to her when it’s not connected to the other two I feel.
But if I give her those three big words, I’ll want to keep her. Make her mine forever. If we admit we’re in love, the pressure that puts on this, on staying together, on succeeding? We’ll crash and burn so much more epically if it fails.
When she finally connects with my gaze, our eyes locking, I see anger simmering there.
“If I settle for less, because that’s what you’re saying I do in my life … then you know what you do? You’re so fucking scared, checking around every corner, following every rule that a Van Hewitt is supposed to, that you don’t live your life for yourself. It took us weeks of back and forth and miscommunication after you opened that letter, that was private, to actually get our act together because you were so freaked out about being Webton royalty. And now you’ve finally stood up to them and suddenly you’re the poster child for reaching for the stars? Don’t shame me, Austin. I may have a fucked-up family, but at least I put my own needs and wants ahead of theirs, and I always have. Just because I’m not screaming and raging at them doesn’t mean I’m not standing up for myself. I’m here, I’m thriving on my own, and I haven’t forgiven them for what they’ve done. You act like I’m some doormat, when in truth I walk quietly and carry a big stick.”
She’s right, about all of it. My stomach and heart are in my throat, I feel nauseous and broken at the same time. She has every right to call me out, to rage at me. I’ve been distant and complicated for a while now. I just don’t know how to see past it, especially in the state I’m in now with my family.
“You’re absolutely right, you’re not a doormat at all. You’re the strongest, most inquisitive, special woman I’ve ever met.”
“Just not one you think is worth keeping around,” she counters, and I can practically feel the anger buzzing off of her.
“Of course, I want that, of course. It’s just—”
“There is always a ‘just’ with you, isn’t there? And this summer? When we’re both in New York?” She’s furious with me but still wants to make this work.
She’s still willing to put herself on the line, and how the hell could I ever call her meek? How the hell could I think she doesn’t stand up for herself?
She’s a controlled burn, the kind of fire that knows exactly what it wants to accomplish and holds back until it can strike. Only this time, I’m one move ahead of her and won’t let her extinguish herself.
Part of me wants to stop this right now. To punch myself in the fucking face and see what I’m doing to this woman. I already know how fucking dumb I am to let her go, but I can’t hold her back. She deserves the most epic kind of love, and I’m not sure I can give that to her, knowing what pressures are about to be loaded onto my shoulders. I just got free of my family, it’s selfish, but I don’t know if I can take on a relationship while trying to keep myself afloat in New York with no safety net. It’s not fair to her.
You know that saying? If you love someone, set them free. It’s the hill I’m dying on right now.
“Taya, I just …”
“You can’t even say it, can you? You’re going to make me do it? Coward. We should end this. It’s done.” Taya nods, like she’s trying to convince herself and then stands.
It’s not when she firmly shuts my door without another word that I know I made a mistake. I knew that a week ago, when the distance started. I know I’ll regret this for a long time. Maybe forever.
I love her. We’re in love, though neither of us has said it. And we can’t do a damn thing about it. There isn’t a name to what’s keeping us apart or some tangible reason. It just … is. And sometimes, that’s the only way to explain things.
But if it means she gets to move on, to fall in love with someone who isn’t as fucked up as I am and doesn’t need to work through shit, then I can take it.
Even if my heart is a bloody, mangled mess.
36
Taya
I sit in the quiet, wondering how we reached the end of sophomore year and where the time went.
This year felt like a million jam-packed into one. We’ve gone through so many changes, all of us together. And I personally have grown more than I ever have in a calendar year.
I’ve lost innocence when it comes to my family. I fell in love. I achieved a dream, one that will put me on the path to achieving the one I’ve always had; to work for the United Nations.
My future seems bright, and at the same time, so lonely and gray. The living room is my most frequented spot now. Because even though it puts me in the direct line of fire when it comes to Austin walking around the house, at least I don’t have to be in my bedroom. Where we’ve slept in my bed together, where he’s explored my body, where we’ve sat night after night studying or watching TV. It’s too painful to spend time alone in there now that we’re not together. I have no idea what I’m going to do with this house once he doesn’t live here anymore.
While I’m heartbroken and drowning my sorrows in every typical breakup ritual, I’m also angry—that he would pin this on me. That he’d make me be the one to actually come out and say we’re through. For years I was silent, waiting for him to notice me, and when I finally spoke up and asked if he wanted to be with me, he didn’t even have the balls to say a thing.
I sigh into the void, the house deadly quiet. No one is here except for me, and I should be upstairs packing to go home for the first part of the summer until my internship, but I just can’t bring myself to. Leaving the house in itself signifies how over Austin and I really are.
Bevan and Amelie are at the library studying, Austin is somewhere that he clearly wouldn’t share with me now, and Scott went to grab his personal belongings from his call center job at the student center.
Even though Callum no longer lives here, he went home earlier than the anticipated end date of the semester, Bevan has been avoiding the house, too. She’s in a lot of pain, and I think being here just reminds her of him too much. I have no idea how they’re both going to survive this, but it’s necessary. That also doesn’t mean something that needs to be done won’t hurt like hell and feel like your world is ending, though.
The doorbell rings, and I rise from the living room couch to answer it. It’s probably just a package or something. None of the roommates would ring the bell.
But when I get to the door, I’m shocked as hell to see who is standing there.
“Kathleen?” My forehead is full of wrinkles as I squint my eyes at my sister standing on the front porch.
“Hey, Taya.” She does a small, awkward wave.
I look past her, swiveling my head, looking for—
“Mom isn’t here. Neither is Dad. I drove myself.”
“I didn’t even realize you got your license.” It comes out before I can think not to say it.
As I move aside and wave her in, Kath chuckles. “Somewhere in between my schedule, which rivals Beyonce’s, I took the road test.”