"Then what's wrong? Will you please talk to me?"

"If you don't know—"

"No. I'm sorry, but don't pull that, if you don't know then I shouldn't have to tell you shit. Obviously I don't know. You need to tell me."

She sighed, glancing at me quickly. "I don't know, Logan. It's not just about her kissing you. It's that you just let her sit there and talk about you guys like that. You didn't interrupt her; you didn't ask her to stop. Do you know how that made me feel? She was disrespecting me, and you didn't even care."

Shit.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she asked.

I got defensive. I don't know why. Maybe because I knew she was right, and I felt like an asshole. "Why didn't you say anything?"

She got louder. "Because she's your friend, Logan. Not mine."

"It's just stupid that we're arguing about this right now."

"You think my feelings are stupid?" she cried.

"That's not what I said."

"How the hell would you like it if Tyson sat in front of you and all of my friends and started talking about us, and how we used to fuck." She spat out the last word, wanting to hurt me.

It did.

I stayed silent.

"You think it would be okay if he told you about how he took my virginity? And that I had no idea what I was doing so he taught me everything, just the way he liked it? Maybe the things you like, that I do to you, are things he showed me." I felt the bile rise in my throat. I wanted to tell her to stop, but she kept talking. "You'd want to sit there and listen to how he used to sneak into my room at night so we could have sex? Or the times out in his car, when we had nowhere else to go? Or how about the first time we made each other co—"

"Stop!" It came out more forcefully than I’d intended, but I felt sick. Legit, sick to my stomach. I wanted to puke. "I get it, okay? Enough."

"You get it?" She laughed once. That bitter fucking laugh I hated so much. But it was different this time—quieter—as if she were still lost in her own thoughts. "That's not the point, Logan. The point is that I would never let him talk about that stuff. Not in front of our friends, and definitely not in front of you. And you know why?" It wasn't a question. "Because I respect you, and I respect us. And you—you didn't. You just let it happen. And then you left me sitting there, feeling disrespected and pathetic, while you walked her out of the house to make sure she was okay." She took a few calming breaths. "I hope she was okay, because I wasn't."

Finally, I found my voice. "What did you want me to do? I wanted to make sure she got in the car safe."

She shook her head. "She had four other friends there. If they didn't know to look out for her, you should have asked one of them to. You should've known how that would make me feel."

The worst part is—is that she wasn't angry. She just stared straight ahead, letting the tears fall silently. She didn't raise her voice. Maybe if she was angry, it wouldn't hurt so much. She was sad, upset, disappointed.

I'd fucking disappointed her.

I caught her eyes lower to my hand on her leg. It wasn't trembling anymore; now it was all-out uncontrollably shaking. My heart beat so hard against my chest, it made my ribs ache. I waited for her to cover it, or to hold it, maybe lift it and kiss my palm like she used to. But she didn't. Instead, I removed it from her leg, shook it out twice, and sat on it, hoping it might help.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, staring straight ahead. I vowed to spend the rest of the night telling her, and showing her, how sorry I really was.

She parked next to her car when we got to the apartment's parking garage. I stepped out of my truck, but she didn't. Walking to her side, I opened the door, and held out my hand to help her. She didn't take it, just jumped down on her own. She leaned against the car, rifling through her bag. "I think I'm just going to go home," she said quietly, refusing to look at me.

"What?" My chest ached, not from the thumping of my heart, but from the breaking of it. "Please, don't do this." I was begging. I didn't care. "I mean, I know I fucked up. And I'm sorry. It just seems so insignificant, so petty—" She finally looked up at me with her eyes wide, filled with tears. Shit. "That's not—" I sighed, trying to calm myself. "That's not what I meant. I just mean in comparison to everything we've been through—"

"Maybe," she interrupted. "But it doesn't stop it from hurting. Pain is pain regardless. And I need to feel that pain, deal with it, and I can't do that with you around. I just can't."

I sucked in a shaky breath.

She pulled out her keys and unlocked her car. I opened her door and watched as she took a seat and started it. She tried to smile up at me, but she couldn't.

Then she was gone.

I watched her taillights fade away while I hoped, prayed, begged for her to turn around and come back.

But she never did.

My hand shook against my leg. Lifting it, I inspected it closer. And then I snapped. "Fuck you," I growled. I turned around and smashed it against the side of my truck. It made the shaking worse.

***

Jake called an hour later. I was wide awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling. I hit answer but didn't speak. He sighed. "Should I come over?"

"No," I answered quickly. I didn't want to see anyone.