“No.” He disappears into the hallway and sickening knots form in my stomach. I sit up and pull the sheet to my chest as he reappears, buttoning up his shirt.
“You don’t want me to come with you?”
He sits on the bed and grabs his boots and socks, not even sparing me a glance as he pulls them on and laces the boots. His movements are tense. He looks angry, and I don’t know why. Doesn’t he remember last night?
“Ethan … talk to me.”
He finishes tying his shoes and stares at the floor. His jaw tightens as he takes a deep breath.
“Cassie…” He sighs. “I can’t … we can’t do this. I thought that maybe…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “We just can’t.”
“No,” I say, my panic rising. “Don’t start with that crap again. We can. We did last night. Do you even remember how amazing it was? How incredible we are together?”
His breathing speeds up as he turns to look at me. “Last night was a mistake.”
I freeze. His words hang in the air like a toxic cloud. Something inside me cracks and ruptures.
He’s not saying this. He can’t be.
He was there. He felt it. How could he not? It wasn’t just sex. We made love. Many times.
“A … a mistake?”
For a moment, I see pain flicker across his face, then it’s gone.
“Last night was…” He shakes his head. “Yesterday, I flunked acting because I couldn’t open up. But that shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you, because you’ve been asking me to open up for freaking months, and I failed at that, too.” He looks over his shoulder but doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m not capable of being a proper boyfriend. We both know it. Last night doesn’t change anything.”
My cheeks burn with anger. “How can you say that? You proved how you feel about me all night long. We said we loved each other, for God’s sake! It changes everything!”
He turns to me, his eyes filled with tears. “Yeah, well, sometimes, love doesn’t magically fix things. I shouldn’t have allowed things to go as far as they did. We’re never going to work, and I can’t go on pretending that we are. You shouldn’t, either.”
I’ve felt this coming, but I still can’t believe he’s doing it. “This is ridiculous! You think we can’t work, so that’s it? Game over?!”
He pushes off the bed and spins around to face me. “Yes! Because I know I’m too fucking screwed up to be in a relationship right now. Any relationship. I will hurt you, Cassie! I’ve done it to others, and I’ll do it to you. Have you forgotten there’s a girl lying in a fucking hospital bed right now thanks to me? Because I sure as hell haven’t! And every time I picture Olivia half dead on that gurney, all I can think is, that could be you. It will be unless I get the hell out of this relationship.”
“Ethan, no.”
“Yes, Cassie. I’m no good for you. I never have been. I’m demanding and moody and jealous as all hell, and as much as I hate being like that, it’s who I am. Don’t you think I’ve tried to be different? The past few weeks it’s all I’ve done. I’ve fought all of my natural reactions to be the boyfriend you deserve, but it was all fake. Don’t even pretend you haven’t noticed, because I know you have.”
“Of course I’ve noticed, but I didn’t know what to do, because you never talk to me!”
He throws up his hands. “That’s because what I’m feeling is usually petty and fucking illogical! I see you dancing with Avery, and I can’t stop wondering how long it’s going to be before you fuck him. You’re ten minutes late, and I think you’ve finally decided I’m not good enough for you, and you’ve left me.”
“That’s crazy.”
“I know! That’s the problem! Yet I can’t help thinking it. I don’t trust you, even though you’ve done nothing to make me doubt you.” He exhales. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “I’ve done a lot of things in my life I regret. Treated people badly. Taken out my issues on others. I feel myself doing it to you, and I can’t fucking stand it. You don’t deserve someone like me, and I sure as hell don’t deserve someone like you. Just accept it and get on with your life. That’s what I’m going to try to do.”
My blood is hot, simmering beneath my skin.
I grip the sheet so hard it hurts. “Are you even listening to what you’re saying?”
“Cassie—”
I slap the bed in frustration, hating the hot tears which slide down my cheeks. “I love you, you ass! How on earth is breaking my heart protecting me?!”
He stares at me with a pained expression for a few seconds, and I hold my breath, hoping he’s going to take me in his arms and comfort me. But he doesn’t, and the knife piercing my ribs twists a little more.
Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor, and every angle of him screams of self-loathing and unshed tears.
“Cassie,” he says, “if I don’t do this now, I know that in three months’ time, I’ll have ruined both of us, and you’ll hate me forever. Or worse. At least if I end it now … maybe there’s a chance we could still be … friends.”
“Friends?” My breath hitches, and I hate it. “Friends?” Fat, ugly tears fall, and I hate them more. He’s actually doing this. Despite everything we mean to each other, everything we’ve shared … he’s doing it.