Can't Turn Back Now, I'm Haunted (A Ben Willbond Rom Com)

Chapter Fourteen | London Bridge is Falling Down

My mouth was agape, but nothing came out of it. In shock, I looked around to see if anyone was watching the soap opera scene playing out in the corner. Across the room, my gaze landed on Ben. He was looking over at us with an expression of concern. It felt surreal — wrong — for these two people to exist in the same universe. The idea of Ben and Jason meeting made my stomach turn.

"Oh, god," I muttered, putting my face in my hands for a moment. Then, I looked back up at him and shoved his hands off of me. "I cannot believe you have the fucking nerve to do this right now."

He looked shocked.

"What are you talking about?"

"What do you mean, what am I talking about?" I was working hard to keep my volume under control. "You know, there was a time when this — this ridiculous grand gesture thing that you're doing — was all I wanted."

He looked at me expectantly, and I shook my head, my shoulders slumping.

"... That time has passed," I said simply. "We are very, very done — we were done the second you did what you did, but now I have the wherewithal to tell you directly to your face that you are never, ever getting me back."

His face looked a perfect mixture of hurt, shock, and disbelief.

"I don't believe you," he said, shaking his head. "I know how you felt about me, that shit doesn't just go away."

"No, it doesn't," I snapped. "Which is why it took me a while to feel like a human being again, but I'm sorry — I'm genuinely sorry to hurt you, but the ship has beyond sailed."

"Look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing for me."

I laughed mirthlessly, then looked him directly in the eye.

"I feel a lot of things for you," I said. "But not a single one of them is love."

His eyes clouded over and his face steeled, turning from open hurt to injured stoniness.

"I'm doing great, Jason," I continued, a little high on adrenaline. "I'm happy here — I'm with people who treat me well, and like me as a person, and respect me as an artist in a way that you never did!"

"What are you talking about?" He groaned, rolling his eyes. "I supported you as an artist, I went to work with you every day! What, are you talking about your screenplay? We all write screenplays, Maggie, it's like the LA version of joining a fantasy football league, I didn't know it was that big of a deal!"

"Yeah, well, it was," I shrugged, stung. "And I've been working on it with a professional TV writer, so it might even get made someday."

"That's great," he said in a loud, sarcastic voice. "Listen, I told you what I actually thought about that — if you're still this mad about me telling you the truth, that's a you problem."

"Hey, at least you told me the truth once in our relationship!"

"I don't get it," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't get it. I know what we had, how can you not— is there someone else?"

I bristled. The fact that there was someone else was irrelevant — I was instantly offended that he thought that the only way I wouldn't go running back to him was because I already belonged to another man.

"You didn't call me," I hissed, leaning closer to keep others from hearing how incredibly upset I was. "You didn't even text me after your fucking phone leaked — days on end of being sexually harassed en masse and having people accuse me of being a home wrecker on twitter, on podcasts, on national fucking television, and you didn't even think to reach out and see if I was okay?"