For The Press

25 - And what if it's getting hard to act like I'm dating you

"And what if it's getting hard to act like I'm dating you?" I say in a moment, of stupid, stupid anger.

Shit. I don't mean that, why did I say that? I shouldn't have said that, I shouldn't have said that, I shouldn't have said that. I fucked up so bad. Now his eyes look hurt.

"Um, it's been about fifteen minutes," I hear Dawson's voice from beside us, making us both snap our head over. Asher reluctantly takes his hands off me but doesn't leave.

Dawson raises his hands to my waist but Asher stops him before they reach me. "Remember who's her boyfriend here," he says lowly, maintaining terrifying eye contact with Dawson.

He actually just said that despite everything I just said. The fucking nerve of this boy.

****************

I sit in the floor of Asher's room, my back leaning against the wall, fiddling with my fingers nervously.

Asher and I have barely talked since sixth period. I can't stand it. I'm pissed, and hurt, and I miss him. I hate all this confusing shit.

I don't even know where he is right now.

Maybe in the kitchen? I don't know.

Is he feeling like I am right now? I hope not.
He shouldn't feel like this.

Why did I have to fall in love with him?

That was probably to stupidest thing I've ever done. Falling in love with someone like him.

So gorgeous, so popular, so fucking famous. Someone that I was just supposed to be involved with in a fake way.

But I didn't fall in love with that version of him. The version everyone else sees. I fell in love with how kind he is, and how mischievous he is, and how much he feels like home.

I'm such an idiot. This can't go on for much longer or else it'll just end badly. Very badly.

I sigh and stand up. I think I'll go down and get something to drink.

I walk delicately across the hardwood floors down to the kitchen. The padding of my toes hit the cold floor and it makes me shiver.

I finally reach the kitchen but stop in my tracks when I see Asher. He's leaning against his forearms on the counter. He's shirtless, like always, with sweatpants on. His hair disheveled completely. I don't know if I've ever seen it this messy.

I don't leave. I probably should, but I don't. I'm frozen in place, watching him. He hears my steps and looks up. His eyes meet mine, they're glossy and hazed over. He's upset.

"I was just about to come get you," he says softly.

My heart sinks. "W-why? Is everything okay?" I ask suddenly worried, taking a seat at the bar.

He nods and then turns to open the fridge. He pulls out something and then sits it in front of me. A cheesecake. A whole ass cheesecake. My favorite dessert. My favorite fucking dessert.

"I'm sorry I'm such an asshole," he whispers softly.

I keep my eyes on the gift he made for me, my heart swelling.

"You're not an asshole, Asher. You're about the farthest thing from it, actually."

It's quiet for a moment. After a minute, he slices a piece of cheesecake for me. "So, I- I need to talk to you."

I finally look up to meet his eyes and they look full of pain. He's never looked so transparent. It scares me tremendously. "Okay," I say softly.

He takes in a deep breath and puts both his hands on the back of his neck. "What we've been doing, it's, well, I think it's um-" he stutters.

I can't breathe I'm so anxious. What is he about to say? Will it be good? I hope so. I really hope so.

"It's done it's job, I think. We've accomplished what we wanted to do originally. So, if you're ready, we can publicly break up and you won't have to be my girlfriend anymore. I have another event I have to go to this Saturday, it's a gala. We can go together as sort of a last act and then we can break up."

And then, just like that, my entire world shatters.

I suddenly can't breathe, can't think, can't form thoughts. I'm suddenly gone.

"You can still live here, don't worry. We just won't be of going concern to the public."

That doesn't make it better at all. It actually makes it worse. To live with him and not be able to touch him or hold him or love him.

I feel like I'm about to have a panic attack, like I'm about to come apart right here in front of him. But I can't do that, I can't let him know how I feel.

So instead, I force my eyes up to meet his. "That's fine with me," I say emotionless, my heart no longer in my chest.

Without another word I jump up and rush upstairs as fast as I can without gaining concern from him. I go straight for the bathroom and lock myself in.

Alone, just me and my reflection. And then the tears come.

Falling shamelessly down my cheeks.

I can't see much. I can't think much. I can't breathe much.

Nothing seems to be here anymore. I grip the counter for support and then I stumble down onto the floor.

Curling into a ball, my tears hit the floor. He's not here to hold me. He's not here to make my pain go away. He doesn't love me.

And now I can't even pretend to love him.