Sour Sweet Love

Chapter Seventeen

                "You came."

I folded my arms across my chest, my eyes wandering to Liam's astonished ones. I know, I know. This was a mistake. That was just it; I was irrational. The more I thought about Liam, the easier it had been to latch onto our best days and ignore the worst. I wondered if he had truly changed and decided rather idiotically to take the risk.

"The poem was nice," I told him vaguely. 

Liam leaned against the bookcases, his eyes not leaving mine. "I didn't think you would."

"But I did, Liam. So what do you want?"

"How have you been?"

A curt silence followed. I was at a loss of words because I hadn't rehearsed this. Every scenario that I had gone through in my head involved Liam going on with a speech, or begging for my forgiveness somehow. The vacant nature of the library added to our terseness. Time was suspended and it was just Liam and I—literally.

All I could think about was the fact that I had made out with Neil Armer behind these same bookcases just a year before. This space was tainted.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," Liam murmured, coursing his hands through his hair.

My eyes wandered to Liam's lips. "I still hate you with every fiber of my being."

"I know," he said. "Can I ever make it up to you?"

"I don't know, Liam," I told him truthfully. "You hurt me a lot."

"And you did too," he blurted out. Then he sheepishly glanced away, clarifying, "The poem. I found it in the trash. Spent a whole fucking week on that, you know? I didn't fancy it being surrounded by bubblegum and frozen tuna."

"So did you expect me to glue it to my wall?" I asked him incredulously. "Come on, Liam."

"It's just—"

"You should have saved a copy," I interjected.

He feigned a laugh. "I just expected a better reaction from you, that is all. And maybe I'm misguided. Maybe I'm not into you at all but still torn about the person you used to be," he speculated. I wondered if he knew that I was right there, then with his voice sharp: a mixture of hurt and anger. I avoided his gaze to see it again in my thoughts.

I sighed, relapsing. "Liam, it's just a damn poem."

"A poem I wrote, only for you. You know what, Avery. I'm tired of this. Of you running away."

I resisted an urge to roll my eyes. How long had he been running? A couple of weeks? Because I had watched him run after that night. He had gone so far away in such an infinitesimal amount of time that I had become convinced I was the plague. 

"—Is there something else going on?" he pressed. "Why do you keep giving me mixed signals? One minute, we're happy and then we're ignoring each other." Liam sighed through his deep adolescent torment. "The nicest thing you could've done is throw it out in a hidden place. Fuck, at least I wouldn't have to deal with the 'she hates me' crap."

"I'm sorry Liam, but I'm being honest. I really did like it. I threw it out because I'm not much of a preserver." I was no fucking museum—did he expect me to be? Maybe he did. Maybe that explained why for much of our relationship, Liam had flaunted me in public as if I were an exhibit instead of a human being. "And you know what," I growled, leaning into him. "I do hate you. In fact, I despise you. I've been doing it since that day you left."

That was when he shamelessly and utterly baffled me by cornering me into a bookcase, pressing his body against mine. Despite my anger, my my heartbeat accelerated. Our noses grazed. His breath pooled onto mine. My lips brushed against his neck. My body erupted with undesirable tingles. I became fragmented once more.

"So this is innocent then," he said. "None of this means anything to you anymore."

It did though. And maybe it was the exuberance of human nature or the intimacy of the moment, but when I responded with silence, Liam had gotten his answer. He asserted his authority with a satisfied grin. That was the last thing I saw before he crashed his lips onto mine.