Blake drives us to his house, where we have a quiet lunch. I don't have much of an appetite, and I feel like talking even less. I shift my food around with my fork, unable to force it down.
Eventually, I push the plate away with a sigh. "I'm sorry, but I'm not hungry."
"That's okay," he mumbles. "I'll put it in a container for you to take home."
I want to tell him that's not necessary, but it's impossible to utter the words without crying again and confessing I can't be in a relationship full of drama and anxiety. It's not his fault Lizzie and Audrey were so awful, and he's certainly not the man he claimed to be in his youth. The problem is that I'll always know what he did, and every time I think about it, I'll recall my own traumatizing childhood.
Blake takes our dishes into the kitchen and busies himself with cleaning while I remain in my chair, numb to his actions my surroundings. It isn't until he sits beside me and takes my hand that I look up, watching his cloudy expression. He seems as uncertain as I feel, drawing slow breaths and rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.
After a moment, he asks, "What's on your mind? You've been quiet since we got in the car."
I bite my lower lip. This is it--the moment I need to tell him we should break up. But I can't get the words to come out. Instead, I keep my gaze on our hands and say, "I don't know what to think. You basically admitted to being the person I dreaded running into every day when I was in high school."
Blake sighs and rests his forehead against mine, cupping the back of my neck with his other hand. "I'm not that person anymore. I'm so ashamed of my past, and if I could take it all back, I would."
"I know, but—"
"But what?" he interrupts, leaning backward. It's obvious by the way his eyes widen that he's afraid of the worst, and when he visibly swallows, my heart aches.
Taking a shaking breath, I force myself to speak, though it takes a moment of working my mouth before any words come out. "You have got to be one of the kindest, most supportive men I've ever met. You care so much about others, and I admire that about you. What's bothering me is that there are people like me, who were bullied relentlessly. Even if my peers were to offer a genuine apology all these years later, it would never remove the scars. The pain will always be there when I remember what my classmates and mother did."
There is nothing easy about breaking his heart when he's been nothing but my personal cheerleader. And though he's done a lot of soul-searching since his bad boy days, I don't think I'm strong enough to handle his toxic family. No matter what he says, his mother will eventually be around in one way or another. Even if he stands up for me, I know Lizzie will remind me of my inferiority.
I'll never measure up to his elite status, and people will always whisper and accuse me of being a gold-digger.
Blake hangs his head as he murmurs, "What does this mean for us?"
And here it is again: my chance to tell him the truth. But, either because I'm a coward or the words will shatter me, I whisper, "I don't know. I need time to sort everything out."
"I see."
His tone is so defeated and dejected, making me feel like the worst girlfriend in the world. If I was stronger, more secure, we could move past this.
My jaw quivers as tears splash onto my shirt. When I can no longer hold back the sob threatening to erupt, I bolt from the chair and run through the house, snatching my purse from the wall hook in the foyer. Then, before Blake can stop me, I rush outside, sprinting as fast as my legs can carry me.
I make it about half a block before I wheeze, my chest aching and muscles burning from the sudden exertion. Plopping down on the burning cement, I ignore the pain when the sidewalk scalds my thighs as I break onto loud sobs. People are probably staring at me through window blinds and wondering if the crazy girl on the sidewalk should be committed, but I don't care. My emotions have been pent up all day, and this is the first chance I've been able to release it.
It isn't long before Blake's Charger rolls to a stop in front of me, and I swipe away the tears. It isn't fair for him to see me like this and feel guilty when I'm the one jumping ship.
The window slides down, and Blake softly calls from his side of the car. "Get in the car. I'll take you home."
I shake my head and climb to my feet. "No," I whimper. Looping the purse around my shoulder, I hug my arms and trudge down the sidewalk, refusing to look as Blake matches my pace.
"It's too hot. You'll get heat exhaustion if you keep walking like that, and you don't have any water."
I whirl around, overcome with a myriad of conflicting emotion. My fingernails dig into my arms and my chest shudders. "Why do you have to be so nice! I don't deserve it, not when I'm such a hot mess."
"You're hurting," he says in a soft voice. "I don't blame you at all for how you feel. I'm not proud of my past, and regardless of how this affects me, I have to respect your desire to take a step back."
No, this is all wrong. He should hate me and curse my name. I'm no better than Audrey in the sense that I can't overcome the past, and that I'm judging him for something he did fifteen years ago.
When I don't respond, he tries again. "Kelly, please. I don't want to worry about you. Let me take you home."
I haven't been outside for ten minutes, and already, my hair is clinging to my neck in damp tendrils. My skin is rapidly drying out, and my head swims with fatigue. Still, it doesn't seem right to take a ride when I'm just hurting us both.
I don't get a chance to reply though, because Blake parks the car and jumps out, running around the front. He then places his hand on the small of my back and nudges me toward the passenger door. "Please. I promise, it's okay."
"It's not okay," I protest. "I'll never be the ideal girlfriend, and I can't stand between you and your family."
"They're the ones who are acting like shit heads," he counters, leading me to the car and opening the door. He urges me to sit, and when I slide into the vehicle, I'm greeted with a cool burst of air blowing at full speed. It's a relief, which makes me hate myself more for enjoying the small reprieve.
When he slips into his seat, he continues. "I won't pressure you to choose me. This is your decision, and I want you to take all the time you need."
"And what if I can't do this? I don't want to hurt you."
For a second, his hand takes mine, but then he quickly releases it and grips the steering wheel instead. His shoulders quake as he stares straight ahead. "I know, and regardless of the outcome, I truly am glad I met you. The world needs more people like you."
I don't know what to say. Part of me wants to tell him I'm being stupid and petty, but maybe today was the wakeup call I needed to sort myself out and figure out what the hell I want to do in life. Or maybe a pair as mismatched as us don't belong together.
The ride to my house is silent. After he pulls into my driveway, he pats my leg, offering me a tight smile. "I can't make this decision for you, but I want you to remember that it's all right to end our relationship if this isn't working for you. Even if it's not what I want to hear, I'd rather you be honest than drag it out."
I nod once before clutching my purse to my chest, rooted to the squeaky leather upholstery. With monumental effort, I step out of the car without kissing him like I desperately want. I manage a small wave as he backs out and disappears around the corner.
I unlock the front door and immediately make my way upstairs. I'm halfway up when Dad's familiar footsteps thump on each ascending stair below me. "Kelly? I thought you were with Blake. Is everything okay?"
I push myself faster and dart onto my room, locking myself in. Then I toss my bag on the floor and drop onto my bed, unleashing a fresh wave of tears into my pillow.
Val and I are curled together on my comforter, with my head on her lap as she strokes my hair. Nova is pressed against my back, purring like a loud motor.
The moment I could stop gasping for air, I texted her. If there's anyone I can count on to always have my back and not judge me, it's Val. And there are some things that only a best friend can make better.
"Lo siento, angelita. Estara bien."
I only understand the first half and the word bien, but none of this is good. I spilled the entire story over the phone, prompting her to rush over here with a tub of sorbet and everything she needed to mix margaritas. After two strong drinks, I'm calm and noodley, but the tightness in my chest has yet to ease.
"Why do I have to ruin everything?" I moan, drawing myself into the fetal position. A loose string from Val's distressed jeans stares at me, and I wrap the thread around my finger. Her fruity perfume lingers between us, and I inhale the comforting scent.
"I don't think you did," she says in a soothing tone, brushing a stray lock of hair from my tear-stained cheeks. "His family sounds awful, and I think it's more than fair to consider what you'd be getting into. Based on what you told me, Blake seems to understand this too. If he didn't, I'd be cutting off his verga right about now and feeding it to someone's pitbull."
"I wish he'd been more angry with me," I confess. "It would have made it a lot easier to walk away."
"No it wouldn't. You fell kind of hard for him and spent an entire month in quarantine together."
"Now I just sound clingy." With a groan, I release the thread on Val's pants and flop onto my stomach.
Everything, from the way I initially misjudged Blake to me running away the moment things became too difficult, makes me want to gouge my eyes out if it means I don't have to look at myself every day. It's embarrassing, and if he had any sense, he'd run far in the other direction.
Val rips me out of my thoughts with a hard slap on my ass. I yelp and roll over, fixing her with a glare. "What was that for?"
She raises an eyebrow and puckers her lips as if I should already know this. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. I love you, but you need to stop putting yourself down so much. You're a good person. We all have our flaws, and the sooner you accept yourself for who you are, the better off you'll be. If you're upset, that's fine, but stop beating yourself up."
Her words cut deeper than a knife, and my first instinct is to run and hide, but where could I possibly go in such a tiny house?
She's right though. I do need to stop hating myself. The problem is, I don't know how to control the soul crushing thoughts once they take root in my mind. Once I reach a certain point, all I can do is wait for the anxiety and helplessness to go away and pray my episode will be short.
Val sighs and gathers me into her arms. "I'm sorry. I hate when you get like this because anyone can see how great you are. I'm only being tough because I care about you, and it's so frustrating to always hear you list your worst traits instead of embracing everything you are."
And just like that, I melt back into her embrace, taking comfort in her affection. And despite her candor, I feel secure that she will never, ever lead me astray.
My eyes droop as fatigue suddenly descends upon me like a hammer on an anvil. Yawning, I say, "I love you, Val."
She kisses the crown of my head and tightens her hold around me. "I love you too, angelita."
And I don't know if the alcohol is making me imagine this, but I swear she mutters the words, "more than you know."
I mean to ask about it, but the urge to sleep is stronger than my voice. My breathing has evened, and the last thing I remember is her soft touch and perfume, swaddling me as I drift away, safe in the arms of my best friend.
Tomorrow is a new day, and I can figure everything out then.