The Shy One

Chapter 41

I nod and take the bag. I had never been in this room. Or this house. The house his father stayed at was the one I normally visited.

It was small, no doubt, barely enough room for a dresser next to his bed. I opened it tenderly and began to scoop out a large amount of crappily folded shirts, refolding them before placing them into the duffel bag.

It felt weird. Me in this house, seeing his things, packing his stuff. I felt out of place

but somehow, it was almost as if I was unloading some of the guilt resting on my shoulders, letting it fall into the bags as I filled them.

I had cleared out his entire dresser when I saw it. I reached into the back of his dusty drawer, pulling out a small, orange pacifier. 

It was my first one. I cried for weeks when it went missing. I refused all new pacis and went into almost a state of depression.

"I was going to give it back to you, I swear," I heard a voice. I turned to see Attius standing in the doorway. My heartbeat sped up but his eyes were locked on the pacifier in my hand, "but I just couldn't. I look at it every once in a while. It helps me never forget what a terrible person I am."

I sigh and try to retort back but the words got stuck in my throat. he wasn't a terrible person. But he was nowhere near a saint. And we both knew that.

"You can leave. I'll take over from here," he said, moving the tightly packed duffel bag into the hallway. I looked up at him. he wouldn't meet my eyes.

I wasn't surprised.

"I told your mother I'd help you, so I'm going to help you," I reply, opening his nightstand.

"You can keep the pacifier," he said, sitting down on the small, messily made bed, taking off his shoes.

I looked a the pacifier still clutched in my left hand but shook my head, "I think it would be better if it got thrown away," 

Atticus nodded but sighed, looking around, "It's probably so, yeah."

He shook his head and turned to me, "Why am I not in jail, Isabella?"

Startled, I dropped the pacifier and looked up, "What?"

He let out a loose chuckle and stood up, walking to the bookshelf cluttered with small knickknacks, "You know what I mean. So enlighten me, why am I not in jail?"

"I think you know. Haven't we talked about this?" I ask.

He shakes his head, "Not really. I just want to know why you didn't press anything against me. What I did to you was disgusting. I'll probably never be in another relationship because if they found out what I did to you. they'd leave. My own father is in jail, my mother is deliriously in love with you, and I've got no future. So why am I not in jail?"

my head pounded against my chest. I stood up and brushed the dirt off my legs. 

"You're not in jail because this way," I look over to him, "you at least have a chance of a happy ending.."

Atticus looked straight at me, "Maybe I don't deserve a happy ending."

I shrugged and moved his duffel bag, "Even so, I forgive you, and I'm giving you a second chance. Take it or leave it,"

And we packed in silence. 

I stuffed bag after bag until his room was packed.

"I'm leaving in the morning," Atticus said, walking me to the door. 

"Have a safe trip," I say softly, stepping down the porch. I had said goodbye to his mother, who was nearly in tears. 

I got halfway down the driveway before he called out to me, "Isabella, wait!"