Paper Hearts

41

By the time we got back to Daniel's place, I was feeling better. I walked up the stairs and to my room without trouble, and although Luke had to help me adjust the brace that dug into my stomach and clipped in the back, I was otherwise completely independent.

Luke, however, seemed to be in a state of constant worry. He kept popping his head in, asking if I needed anything, or if there was anyone he should wake up, or offer me a glass of water. I refused each time, and he would shoot me a nervous glance before walking away again, and then returning, just to be sure.

"I'm sure," I told him, after being asked whether or not I wanted breakfast for what seemed like the hundredth time, "Besides, I'm sure you're a terrible cook."

"Hemmings, I work at a café and my parents watch Food Network more than the news. I know a few things."

I laughed in spite of myself, and I saw the faintest flicker of hope dance across his eyes, before he cleared his throat and it disappeared. I looked down, suddenly flooded with embarassment. We weren't supposed to be this friendly with each other. Not anymore.

"It was just for last night," I said, quietly, and he nodded, blowing out a breath.

"Yeah. I know."

I glanced back up at him, and he gave a small smile, stepping forwards and taking my hands in his own, keeping them there even as I tried to flinch away.

"I just don't want to get hurt," I told him, my voice catching in my throat as I blinked back tears. "I―this has been too much. I don't want to get hurt."

There was a pause, and I couldn't bring myself to look at him, so I waited, regulating my breathing, pinching my eyes closed.

"It's okay, Victoria," he said finally, his voice full of sympathy. "I understand, and―and it's okay. I'm just sorry that I couldn't have done more."

My mind travelled back to the night on the beach, the look on his face when I'd confessed my feelings, the silence and the rejection and pain. And suddenly I wished he could have done more, too, I wished that he would have kissed me and told me he felt the same way, but he didn't, and it was unfair of me to force that upon him.

"It's not your fault." I said finally, and he gave a curt nod.

"Maybe not. But I shouldn't have led you on."

At this, I felt a pang of hurt resonate in my chest, realizing that he understood what he had done, that he'd come to terms with it, that he knew it as well as I did.

And as we sat in silence, with my hands still clasped in his―I realized that things were now truly over. There would be no furthering of what had already happened―no more one-more-nights, no more sweet nothings, no more empty promises and no more sneaked glances from across the room. Luke Callaway was my poison, and I was his chaos, and when I looked at him, I realized why storms were named after people.

Because he had come into my life with the rage and fire of a hurricane, and I was so caught up in the beauty of it that I hadn't even realized he was destroying everything in his midst.

Let him go, I told myself, and as my hands worked their way out of his own, I felt as if I finally, finally could.

________

We didn't tell Mom about the visit to the clinic, nor the broken rib. In fact, she didn't even know about the car crash back in Grayson―she seemed so happy walking downstairs that morning; I didn't want to ruin her mood.

Luke and I said our goodbyes around breakfast, when most everyone was asleep, except for Mom and Daniel. Daniel gave me a hug and told me to stay safe, and then clapped Luke on the shoulder with a grin. I went into Mom's arms, and she held me tightly, whispering,