table. “I just don’t know how.”

“You don’t know how to talk to me?” I don’t know how to

take what he said. I always thought we were great at talking, which

is why I shared my secrets with him. “Why?”

He traces his fingers along the oval-ringed patterns in the

wood as he reaches up with his other hand and draws his hood off

his head. He rakes his fingers through his hair and rearranges his

brown locks into place so they’re out of his eyes and flipping up at

his ears. “Because you saw me like that. And I’ve never wanted

anyone to see me like that, especially you.”

I pick at the cracks in the table, knowing I have to choose my

words wisely. “Kayden, I’ve told you a thousand times that I’ll never judge you and I mean it.”

“It’s not about judgment, Callie.” He glances up at me and

the misery in his eyes matches what lies inside my heart. “It’s about what you deserve.” He sighs, rolls up his sleeves, and traces his

finger along a fresh scar running vertically down his forearm. “You

deserve better than this.”

“No, I don’t.” I think about the last time I threw up in the

bathroom because I couldn’t deal with the pain, something I’ve

done for years and years. “You and I aren’t that different.”

He looks even gloomier as he jerks his sleeve back down and

covers up the scars. “We’re nothing alike. You… you’re beautiful

and amazing and the sadness and pain in you was put there by

someone else.” He lowers his voice and sucks in a breath. “I put the

pain there myself.”

I keep my voice soft as I lean over the table. “No, your father

does.”

He shakes his head, staring at the counter. “I cut myself that

night.”

My chest compresses and squeezes my heart into a

miniature ball. “All of the cuts?”

He doesn’t answer and his scruffy jaw goes taut. Carefully, so

I don’t scare him, I slide my hand across the table and place it over his. “What happened isn’t your fault. It’s mine. It all started because of me.”

His head snaps in my direction and the fire in his eyes makes

me recoil. “In no way is this your fault and in no way do I regret

doing what I did to him.” His gaze is piercing, but his voice is calm.

“Are you mad that I did it?”

I promptly know the real answer because I feel it every time I

think of Caleb getting beat over and over again. “I wish I could say

that I was, because I never ever wanted you to be the one to do

that, but I can’t be.” Tears start to pool in the corners of my eyes, but I force them back because it’s not the right time or place to

cry. “I’m sorry, Kayden. I’m so sorry for bringing you into this

mess.”

He edges his hand out from under mine and positions it on

top of my fingers. “You have nothing to be sorry about… I’m the

one who should be sorry, for bringing you into this mess. I can’t… I

can’t even imagine how hard it must have been to walk in on me

when I was like that.”

I shake my head and focus on the unequal beat of his pulse

in his hand. Everything is real and it’s hard to keep up. “It was only hard because I… because I thought you were dead.”

He looks like he’s about to splinter apart and I’m verging into

the same place. I want to clutch onto him. I want him to clutch

onto me, because I know if we can just hold onto each other then

we can make it through this. But suddenly he’s pulling away and

getting to his feet and I don’t know what to do or say.

“I need to walk away,” he says, not looking at me but at the

door at the front of the café. “It’s better for you… You don’t

deserve this… I don’t deserve you.”

Just as quickly as I found him again he’s walking out of my

life. I watch him weave around the tables and then he’s out the

door, leaving me. I need to make him understand that I

understand him. I need to make him see that he deserves to be

happy and that he doesn’t ruin me. I get up and hurry around the

tables, not caring that everyone is looking at me like I’m crazy. I

slam my hand against the glass door and throw myself out into the

cold, completely defenseless without my jacket on.

“I sometimes make myself throw up,” I stammer as I run up

to the bike with my feet slipping on the snow.

He freezes with one foot on the ground on one foot off and

turns his head. His eyes scroll across my body and I feel naked and

exposed. “You what?”

I press my fingertips to my nose and shake my head because

I can’t look at him when I say it again. “I sometimes make myself

throw up.” I give him a moment and then I drop my hands to my

side. “And not because I think I’m fat. It’s because…” I take a step

toward him and angle my head back, looking up into his emerald

eyes. I can see the reflection of myself in them and I look as scared as I feel. “It’s because I’m trying to get rid of all the vile, foul

feelings inside me. The ones I can’t deal with.”

He’s looking at me, and I mean really looking at me, and

there’s this connection, this understanding that we are two people

who have been fractured, not by ourselves but by someone else

and we’re doing everything we can to not shatter to pieces.

I wait for him to react and when he doesn’t budge I decide

to do it for him. I walk up to him, getting close enough that I can

feel the heat emitting from his body. Then I stand on my tiptoes,

throw my arms around his neck, and hug him, praying to God he’ll

hug me back, because even though it’s a simple gesture in theory,

sometimes hugging is complex.

His arms stay slack at his side as his chest rises and falls. I’m

about to give up, back away, and allow myself to cry when his arms

wrap around my waist. He grips me tightly and it gives me hope

that maybe there might be some hope left.

He holds me for what feels like forever, nuzzling his face into

my hair. At some point it starts to snow, but we don’t move. We

are frozen in a moment neither of us wants to leave.

“For how long?” he finally asks, his breath warm against my

cheek.

I shut my eyes and bask in the feel of him. “Since it

happened.”

His arms tighten around me and he presses my body against

his. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” I tenderly run my fingertips up and down

his back, working up the courage to ask. “Kayden?”

“Since I was twelve.” He reads my mind and trusts me

enough to answer.

I constrict my arms around him, sealing us together in every

way possible. Maybe if I try hard enough, we’ll fall into each other

and become one single person and we can share our pain instead

of carrying it by ourselves.


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