“Okay,” he agrees, but I can see the change in his posture, and the shutters close off his eyes. He’s a smart man. Before I talked to Theo, I might’ve called him the smartest man I know. So he knows as much as I know that we are over.
* * *
—
SOMEHOW, I MANAGE to beat Maxwell to my place by ten minutes.
I don’t know if I was driving like a bat out of hell or he was doing his best Sunday driver routine, but by the time he knocks on my door, I’ve gone over what’s about to happen so many times, I’ve almost psyched myself out.
I open the door in silence and Maxwell walks in without saying a word. The tension is so thick, I might choke. I take off my sweater because I’m suddenly sweating . . . even though today was a high of fifteen degrees. As soon as Maxwell sits in his usual spot on the couch, I just blurt it out. “Theo came to HERS today.”
Even though Maxwell was doing a decent job of looking laid back and relaxed, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, that changes the second he hears his brother’s name. He leaps off the couch and starts pacing across my living room, mumbling things I can’t quite hear beneath his breath. He comes to a sudden stop, pivoting his feet to stare at me. “Is that all you’re going to say, or are you going to tell me how the brother I told you to stay away from somehow got so deep in your head that you’re ending us?”
I already knew he was aware of where this was heading, and even though it was my decision to end this—well, I kind of feel like my hand was forced—hearing it out loud causes all the air to leave my lungs.
Once I’ve regained my composure, I square my shoulders and look him dead in the eyes. “He told me about the person you were in college.”
His head flinches back slightly and his eyebrows knit together like he has no idea what I’m talking about. “My behavior in—wait.” He puts both hands in front of his chest and looks down to the floor as if everything is starting to click into place. When his head snaps back up, his nostrils are flaring, and throbbing veins are protruding from his neck. “That son of a fuckin’ bitch.” He digs his fingers into his scalp, and then drags them down his face, leaving scratch marks on his otherwise flawless skin. “He’s not allowed to fucking talk about that shit!”
“Really? You’re harping on him breaking a rule?” I keep my tone calm and even. “Are you worried he’s going to ruin your perfect little image? And really”—I drop my ear toward my shoulder and stick out my bottom lip—“after what you did, do you really think I’d actually care?”
His head snaps as if I’ve slapped him. “Wait.” He tilts his head to the side, staring at me like I’m a stranger to him. “You think that I did it?”
I hold my fingernails in front of my face, examining the polishless nails with rapt interest. “I know that the overwhelming majority of victims don’t lie about sexual assault. I also know that Theo saw you in bed with her after he warned you that she was too drunk to consent, so yeah”—I look into his eyes—“I think you did it.”
“Wow.” He nods his head, his whole body seeming to roll with the small movement as he steps away from me. “That’s how you see me?” His lips curl up in disgust like the mere sight of me turns his stomach.
“Give me a reason not to.” I flex my fingers into a fist at my side, ashamed by my overwhelming desire to go and comfort him. That despite everything I know now, my body yearns to touch him.
He shrugs a shoulder and waves a dismissive hand my way. “I thought I already had.” He grabs his jacket off the couch and slips it on over his usual sweatshirt. “I guess you aren’t who I thought you were either.”
The way he looks at me, it’s like I’ve betrayed him. Like I’m lower than the dirt under his shoe? God. My sinuses start to sting but I don’t move. I push the faceless girl to the front of my mind and try to focus on her. On the pain she’s felt, the injustice of being shoved into the dark while her abuser is in the light, lauded for his charity and kindness. And I say nothing as he takes the painful measure not to so much as brush against me before he’s gone, my door slamming shut behind him with so much force that one of the new frames Vonnie hung up falls off the brick wall, splintered glass exploding all across the hardwood floors.
I cross my apartment, not making an effort to avoid the broken glass, and stand by my window. I watch as Maxwell hurries to his car and climbs inside, reversing out of his spot without so much as a glance up.
When his brake lights disappear into the distance as he drives away, I slide to the floor. The feel of broken glass slicing through my leggings and into my skin is the only thing preventing me from becoming completely numb. My tears, as heavy as the blood dripping down the backs of my thighs, start to fall.
I’ve never had a boyfriend, so I’ve never had a breakup.
I always rolled my eyes at my friends who moped and cried over them. I didn’t understand.
I was an asshole.
Because now, sitting on the floor, I feel like the world has ended. The future I envisioned with Maxwell disappeared with him as he walked out of my door. And picturing my life without him now is impossible. Just a dark and miserable void where I’m alone. Always alone. The tagalong to my friends as they get married and have babies and go to their homes overflowing with love. And I’ll just be.
Alone.
In my condo. Bleeding and crying on the floor. Nobody will know and nobody will care.
I wish he had cheated on me. I wish he had ended it with me. Because now, worse than the total and utter darkness that has surrounded me, the loneliness threatening to consume me, is the guilt . . . the doubt that maybe I did the wrong thing.
I push my legs harder against the glass, hoping that the pain can help me conjure an image of a broken girl, just becoming a woman, and Maxwell stealing her trust . . . her innocence. But I can’t.
Shame eats away at me as Maxwell’s face haunts me. My eyes open or shut, his face haunts me. The protectiveness he showed when I was stranded on the highway. His quiet kindness as he sat holding my hair while I was sick. His reverent touch the first time we made love.
The look of disgust and betrayal as he left.
None of it makes sense.
And as much as I want to hate him for what he did, I can’t, because the person I’ve grown to know . . . to love isn’t capable of it.
Then I remember that I never even told him I loved him, and the life I knew we could have together barely started. The tears that stream down my cheeks run hot and angry because we could’ve been something. We could’ve lasted. But he hid his past. He kept me in the dark and now I’ll never see the light again.