Page 113 of All Our Nevers

I need to be alone. Need space from this. Don’t want to be watched. Don’t want to be judged. I’m not ready to be seen like this; unprepared, a mess, a fucking wreck.

I storm down the block and I can hear Owen following me. My muscles brace for him to catch up, to tug me, stop me, make me do as he says, push me past my limit.

But he doesn’t.

He follows, and I know he’s there. Two paces behind. Not trying to catch me, but not leaving me either. Another twenty paces and I can’t think like this, can’t process like this, I need to be alone and unseen but he’s right there so I spin on him.

“What do you want, Owen? Why are you following me?”

I expect Why do you think?

I expect I want you to stop being a bitch.

But I don’t get either. Instead I get a pensive stare as I notice the letter, still folded open in his hand.

“You read the whole thing, didn’t you?” I ask.

The words on the page flash behind my eyes

…always hated your stupid games…

…think you’re too good for me now?...

…and now I know where you live…

…stupid bitch…

“It’s him, right? It’s Connor?”

“It better be. It would be horrible news if I have two stalkers.”

“Lia.” He takes a step towards me, one hand raised like I’m a feral animal. “We can work with this. This is good evidence. We can take it to the police and probably get a restraining order—”

“Ha!” I laugh in his face. “You still think you have all the answers, don’t you? I told you before, I don’t need some lawyer to tell me what to do.”

“I do have answers. I have professional experience with this kind of thing.”

“Well I have personal experience with it!”

I’m yelling but he refuses to meet me there as he calmly says, “And I’m not discounting that, but from an objective standpoint—”

His patience boils my blood. How dare he be so unaffected when my chest is carved open, my most vulnerable parts spilled onto the concrete?

I march up to him and shove his chest, forcing him off balance as I say, “Fuck you.”

He grabs my wrists, firm but desperate. “Why are you doing this, Lia? Why are we going backwards? You know I’m on your team.”

I break from his hold. “Yeah? Well everyone’s got an ugly side, Owen. So why don’t you show me?” I shove him again. “Show me now. Get mad. Yell at me. Just be fucking honest with me so I know what I’m getting myself into. I won’t be surprised again.”

He takes each slicing word in stride, saying calmly, “I’ve always been honest with you.”

I turn and march away, down the block, needing to calm down, needing space.

But he’s there too and he won’t give up, saying, “I just want to help.”

He wants to help. Well, fine. But I want to fight. I want to rage. I want to push him and have him push me back, past my limits, because then I’ll know I was right—no one can be trusted. Nothing is ever safe, especially not a heart.

I say, “I don’t care.”