Pretending (Westshore Series #1)

Chapter Thirty-Four: Breaking Warner Brooks Heart

I don't know how long I'm on the floor crying. I can't catch the oxygen around me and I'm dry heaving into my sweater. The front door opens, and I see a face I don't recognize through my tears, wisps of words wicked away by confusion, my thoughts scramble so many times I don't know if I'm even conscious anymore.

My body is locked. I'm wheezing in deep, strained inhalations, and the walls won't stop swaying in front of me.

Someone pulls me into their arms.

"It's okay baby, I'm here" they whisper and as soon as I hear the voice, I know it's Warner. He clutches me tighter to him. Murmuring softly in my ear. Making promises we both know he can't keep. Through it all, he strokes my hair, my back, in long comforting sweeps. There is a sweetness, a gentleness to his touch even though I could feel him vibrating with anger beneath me.

I want to speak, but my lips aren't working. Warner is whispering words of comfort I can't hear, and his arms are wrapped entirely around me, trying to keep me together through sheer physical force but it's no use.

Warner is shushing me, rocking me back and forth, and it's only then that I realize I am making the most excruciating, ear-splitting sound, agony ripping through me. I want to speak, to protest, I'm so embarrassed I don't want him here. I'm ashamed of myself. "Baby," he whispers against the top of my head. "Talk to me. Please."

I finally break free from his arms, gasping and doubling over my stomach.

"Juliet, please, let me help you –"

"Everyone knows. I wanted a fresh start and now everyone knows." I choke on the words.

"I know, I'm so sorry," he says. "I saw what they are commenting, and I will get that post down and everyone who commented will be dealt with."

"Oh, God. My phone I need my phone." Suddenly I'm up on my feet and I grab my phone from across the floor.

"No Juliet don't look it will only make it worse. It's not worth it. You shouldn't care what those people think."

If I wasn't struggling to breathe, I would've laughed in his face. As if it were that easy not to care about what they were saying. "Of course, I care what they think!" I yell.

"Well, I really wish you didn't. I look at those photos and I see nothing wrong, and I hate that those people have made you feel differently." He reaches out to me, but I step back.

"You don't get it."

"I get that those people are horrible to you, and it hurts me to see you like this. You care too much about what they think! You can't let them upset you like this. There is nothing wrong with those photos and anything they are saying isn't true."

His words angered me. I know I cared too much about what people thought of me. That was the problem. But he couldn't just expect me not to care after years of bullying. He didn't know how it felt to be called these names. How it felt to change everything about myself, to start over and have my past thrown back in my face. I thought this would never happen again.

"No, you don't get it and you never will! You have no idea what it was like for me in high school and you have no idea what it is like for me to have those photos posted! Do you think I want to be like this? I look at myself and I hate what I see. Those comments aren't saying anything to me that I haven't already told myself."

"Please don't talk about yourself like this."

I knew it was hurting him to see me this way. I didn't want him to see me like this, I didn't want him to see those photos or to see the things people were saying. He must be so embarrassed of me.