My Bad Boy Doctor

19

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.