{18+ COMPLETED • COLLEGE ROMANCE}
When a college freshman with a learning disability and a reputation collides with a straight-A, straight-laced girl in the dorm kitchen one night, he sees the darkest parts of himself reflected in her. But the two o...
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T R I G G E R W A R N I N G M A D I E
October Eighteenth
....
—
"It's okay to not be okay, Madie."
Bren hovered over me, a blanket of calm for my overwrought nerves. I fiddled with the long sweatshirt sleeves, balling the ends of them into my fists. I was afraid to look into Bren's eyes, uncertain what I'd find there.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," I finally breathed out. "What am I doing wrong?"
"Excuse me?" Bren whispered harshly, and I brought my head up, so it was nearly level with his.
"Everything is falling apart," I tried to explain. "And I don't know how to fix it." The words came out as a plea—a plea for this boy with the soft eyes to untangle my life for me.
My hands moved idly to my neck, tracing the line that Quinton had all but drawn.
Unfortunately, Bren seemed lost. His brows knitted as his open mouth tried to find the words to say. Finally, he breathed, "Madie, you're not doing anything wrong. Quinton is—"
"Bren," I cut him off. "Clearly, I'm doing something wrong if my boyfriend is pushing me around in public. It seems like we can't do anything lately without pissing each other off."
His eyes widened. He stuffed his hands into his apron pockets in a quick, stiff movement. When Bren spoke again, it was with measured and even tones, despite his rigid body. "I don't think this is something you can fix, Madie."
The words slapped me in the face, and I jerked back at the force of them. The idea hurt as much as any physical pain I'd endured.
A muscle in Bren's jaw flexed. "Because there is nothing wrong with you. You didn't do anything to deserve the way he just treated you."
Tears welled up—I could feel them, but I didn't care enough to stop them from spilling over.
"Then, why does he do it?" I whispered.
Bren shook his head and took a hesitant step toward me, which I evaded by stepping to the side and inching my way back toward the cafe. I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't have this conversation that felt like I was being exposed in ways I'd never been before. Bren didn't need to see this side of me. He didn't understand; clearly, he didn't understand.
Quinton loved me. Quinton had loved me since we were fourteen. If he loved me, there must be a reason that he'd hurt me. And if his love had somehow turned sour, how was I not partially to blame?
"Don't go back there," Bren said, and this time it sounded like he was pleading.
