33
RUBY
“Do you really want me to take you right home?” I ask when we’ve been driving for a bit. Aaron waited to leave until after we did, and now he’s following us, making sure I get her home okay. I know there’s nothing romantic between them, but it still makes me jealous. I want to be the one looking out for her, not the one catching glares from her friends.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Yes, I guess. What else is there to say? You made your point at school.”
I rub my forehead and turn into her apartment complex. Aaron flashes his lights once but keeps going, and I relax a little.
“I’m sorry. I know I handled it like shit earlier.” I pass her apartment as we drive through the complex.
“Um . . . I live over there.” Morgan gestures behind us.
“I thought we could go to the pond at the edge of the complex to talk a little. Is that cool? I’ll turn around if you want.”
“It’s fine, I guess,” she says, settling in against the seat.
I pull into a parking space near the pond. Morgan’s out the door and heading down to the little bench before I even shut the car off. She sits near one of the sleeping ducks, who barely even stirs. My mom used to bring me here to feed them back before things went off the rails. Back when I was still her little princess.
The moonlight glints off the green water as Morgan picks up a rock and tosses it into the pond, sending ripples shivering across it. I take a deep breath and get out of my car. I don’t know how to fix this, or if I even can. But I really want to.
“Can I sit?” I ask.
“It’s a free country,” she says. “Sort of. For some.”
I stand there, fidgeting. “I don’t know if that means yes or . . .”
Morgan huffs and scoots over, fixing her eyes on the fountain spraying in the center.
“I understand why you’re pissed,” I start. “You have every right to be—”
She cuts me off. “What am I to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you love me?”
“Jesus, Morgan,” I say, digging my fingers into my knee.
“Well?” she asks.
“Do you always have to push so hard? I’m trying to tell you I don’t want to break up, and you—”
“How can we possibly break up when we’re not even dating?”
I sigh. “You know I don’t do labels.”
“Do. You. Love. Me?” Morgan asks, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Because love is . . . well, love is a trap. Love is getting knocked up and abandoned. Love is a handprint on a cheek and your entire childhood wrapped in tulle. Love is letting someone have the power to hurt you in ways you haven’t even thought of yet.
“It’s a simple question,” she says.
“No, it’s not.”
“How?” she asks, and I don’t look up. I can’t. Not when the only possible answer I can give her is something I’ll never say. I can’t.
“Morgan . . .”
“If I matter to you, then answer me!”
“I can’t,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut at her sharp inhale. It all goes quiet then. Even the sound of the fountain dims in my head, stuck in that tiny void of silence right before everything explodes.
“Because you don’t, or because you’re so stuck on not ‘doing labels.’” I hear it, the hurt under the anger, tingeing her voice with pain. I’d do anything to make it stop. I lean in for a kiss—if she’d just let me show her, I’ve been desperately trying to show her from the start—but she jerks back. “Stop it. You can’t fix this with your body.”
“Not that you even let me get that far,” I snap, my temper flaring from yet another one of her rejections.
“Why would I?” Morgan asks, and it feels like I just got sucker punched in the mouth. I don’t know what she sees in my face, but her sneer slips and she grabs for my hand. “I didn’t mean it like—”
“It’s okay,” I say, pulling away. I’m used to people making me feel like I’m less than, making me feel unwanted. Just not her. Never her.
I get up and walk to the edge of the pond, but it’s still not enough. I need space. An escape. I think about walking straight through the middle of it and out the other side, not stopping till I hit the ocean two states away. I wonder if even that would be enough space, if enough space could ever exist between me and the moment Morgan Matthews ripped my heart out.
She steps up next to me and reaches for my hand, but I shove it into my jacket pocket before she gets the chance.
“I didn’t mean I wouldn’t have sex with you someday, or that I don’t want to,” she says softly. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, that’s not it, I promise.”
I flick my eyes to hers and then to the pond.
“But I’ve never done that with anyone, and I’m not going to do it just to make you feel better or to end a hard conversation.”
I face her, narrowing my eyes. “I would never do that to you.”
“You’ve already tried,” Morgan says. “More than once.”
And I go back to staring at the pond because we both know she’s right, even if I wish she weren’t.
“It’s just sex.” I shrug, not even sure why I’m arguing the point. I may be an asshole, but I’m not that much of an asshole. At least I didn’t think I was.
“Not to me,” she says, and I snap my eyes to hers. “I’m not going to lose my virginity to someone who . . .” She trails off.
“Someone who what?” I ask, running through the ten thousand possibilities in my mind: someone who’s slept around, someone who doesn’t have her shit together, someone who’s trash.
“Someone who’s not sure if they love me.”
And, oof, that hurts more than anything else. Because I may not be able to say the words, but why can’t Morgan feel it? How does she still not know?
I shake my head. “How do you not understand how much you mean to me? After everything! I don’t get it.”
“I need the words,” Morgan says, like it’s that simple.
“Why do they even matter? It’s all bullshit! People say them one second and take them back the next.”
“You don’t!” Morgan snaps. “You don’t say them. You don’t even say you love your car, even though I know you do. It might not mean much from most people, but it would mean a lot coming from you.”
“But you know how much I care.”
“Then maybe knowing’s not enough if I’m the only one who does!”
“Which is it, Morgan? Are you mad I won’t say the L-word to you, or are you mad that I won’t take out a billboard to let everyone else know?”
“Both!” she shouts.
I rub my temples. “You knew who I was when we started this. If you wanted PDA and labels, you should have asked someone from your precious Pride Club,” I say, jealousy lacing through those last few words.
Morgan glares at me for a second and then storms up the path.
“Where are you going?” I ask, chasing after her.
“Home.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
“It’s right around the corner. I can handle the walk.”
“But I want to.” I reach for her hand to slow her down. “Please.”
“No, thank you.”
“I don’t want to fight with you. The whole reason I’m here tonight is because I want us to go back to the way things were before I acted like an asshole. Please!”
“They can’t,” Morgan says, shaking me off.
I don’t want to believe that. I won’t.
I follow her as she cuts across the courtyard and around the corner, everything quiet except for the sound of our footsteps and the stray croak of a tree frog. Morgan slides her key in and unlocks the front door, hesitating as she steps inside. Dylan must not be home yet, judging by the lack of lights.
“Will you let me in at least?” I ask.
“Are you sure you want to? What if someone sees?”
“My car’s down by the pond. It’s not like anyone will . . .” I trail off, realizing too late that she was being sarcastic. “Obviously, I want to come in. Please.”
“Suit yourself,” Morgan says, pulling open the door.