He sniffed once, looking right into my eyes. "I don't know what you want from me, Amanda." His voice was strained.

I knew he was holding back his tears, and his own emotions. He had to be. Because this can't be it. This can't be all there is to us. To our story. This can't be how it ends.

"I want you to want me." I tell him. "I want you to need me. I want you to fucking choose me. I want you to fight for me. You have to fight for me, Logan! You can't walk away. Not again." I moved so I was standing in front of him, my hurt and anger taking over. I grabbed his shirt in my hands as best I could. And some time between walking into his house and now, I'd become desperate. "You have to choose me." My fingers gripped the material tighter. And this—this is the moment I lost all control. "You have to fucking choose me. Please Logan. You just have to."

I was crying so hard I didn’t know if my words were clear.

Outside of my head it was silent.

But in my mind, every single conversation we'd ever had played. All the time's he told me how he felt about me. The ways he showed me that he cared. The late night conversations with those stupid truths. The times we talked about our lives, our future. And now? This. Me—begging him to stay. And I have no idea what the fuck happened to us.

I tried to calm my breathing, but the sobs wouldn't quit, not even for a second.

"Amanda." He said it so softly I almost didn't hear him.

I lifted my eyes to his, and held my breath, waiting for him to say something. To tell me that I was right. That he wanted me, as much as he needed me. Like air. Those were his words.

He pried my fingers from their hold on his shirt and pushed my hands away. "I can't."

The second the words were out of his mouth, something in me changed. I slowly closed my eyes and took a deep breath in. When I opened them, I refused to see him. Instead, I walked straight to the door and opened it.

"Wait," he said.

So I did.

I stopped halfway out, but didn't turn around. Because I couldn't stand him anymore.

"It's still pouring out, I'll give you a ride to your mom's."

Whatever.

I didn't move, but I didn't decline.

I heard him grab his keys before he brushed past me and led me to his car.

The drive home was silent apart from my soft cries.

When he pulled into the driveway, he didn't turn the car off, and he didn't look at me. Not until I opened the door to get out.

"Wait," he said again.

So I did.

Finally, he turned to face me.

And we stared at each other. Like we did the first time I sat in this car. Not knowing that one night would lead us here—to this moment.

He swallowed and cleared his throat, his eyes started to glaze with his own tears. He sniffed once, trying to hold it together. And I don't know why he chose this moment. Why he said what he said next. Or why he even said it all.

"I love you, Amanda."

And then he quickly turned and faced forward again, refusing to look at me. Refusing to acknowledge what he'd just said. What he just did.

And I know why.

It's because he doesn't.

He doesn't love me.

Not at all.

Those words he promised would belong to me forever—they don't.

And I didn't have him.

Not forever.

Not even for now.

Not anymore.

So I told him the one truth that wasn't a truth, but one I had to believe to get through the rest of my life without him.

"I hate you, Logan."

And then I was out of his car, slamming the door shut, and walking away. Because it was my turn. It was my fucking turn to leave him behind.

Logan

Dad looked up when I entered his office.

"Everything okay?"

I nodded

"You ready?"

I nodded again.

FORTY ONE

Amanda

Five weeks.

It's been five weeks since I'd seen him. I hadn't heard from him once. Not a thing. And I think it's for the best. I think that maybe I needed a clean break. A way to completely erase him from my life. I'd told Micky and Lucy, and they understood. They knew that being around them might mean being around him, or even hearing about him. And I couldn’t do that to myself. Not now. Not yet. I was back to where I was when I first got here. Trying to do everything I could to avoid him.

"I have something to tell you." Ethan turned the TV off and I faced him. He was home more often now, and I knew why. He was worried about me. He thinks I've turned into the girl from that summer. But I wasn't. Not really. I was nowhere near as broken as I was then. Maybe it was because I was immune to the fucked up ways of Logan Matthews. Maybe it was because I'd come to accept the fact that maybe—just maybe—it was my fault. That I never should have taken him back the first time. Or the second time. Or the third. Whatever it was. I didn't care. I was over it.

"Dimmy." He tried to get my attention again.

"What? What do you have to tell me? If it's about his room—not yet, okay? Just wait. Another week. I've got to go in there and clear out my stuff."

Okay, so maybe I wasn't not over it yet. But I was close.

"No." He shook his head. "That's not it. But uh, it's about him."

I looked away. "Then I don't want to know."

"Dimmy, I think you need to know."

"I don't think I need to know shit about him anymore, E. I'm done with him."