After he got that sucker punch out of his system, he let me explain, and once I got the story out, it was like a switch flippedbehind his eyes. He didn’t say he believed me. He didn’t need to. He just looked at me like maybe he realized I wouldn’t be stupid enough to waste my time with Honey if she wasn’t it. If she wasn’t everything.
That’s what makes this worse. Because I’m not lying. I’d burn the world before I’d betray her, and now I can’t fucking find her.
“Honey,” I shout into the night air.
That’s when I hear it.
Sobs. Sharp, jagged, and unmistakable.
Hersobs.
I hate that I know how they sound.
I freeze, my pulse spiking so hard I swear I hear it in my ears. She’s here.
“Honey?” I call her name, following the sound.
When I finally see her, relief washes over me, but it’s quickly replaced with anger and frustration. She’s crumpled on the cement steps of the lecture hall across from her dorm. Her face is buried in her hands, and her shoulders are visibly shaking.
I did this. Ifuckingdid this to her because I trusted that fucking snake.
“Honey,” I whisper under my breath as I take slow, tentative steps toward her, not wanting to startle her, or worse, make her run.
She doesn’t look up.
My heart can’t take it.
“Honey!” I yell this time, making sure she hears me over the sobs as I run over to her.
When her head snaps up, every ounce of resolve I have breaks.
“Honeycomb?” I say weakly as I take in my beautiful girlfriend.
My beautiful Honeycomb, who’s always been so good at keeping it together even when she feels like breaking has finally cracked on her own in the dark.
I hate it.
I hate that she looks like this. I hate that I can’t change what happened tonight. Most of all, I hate that I wasn’t there to catch her before she fell apart.
When I’m beside her, I drop to my knees without thinking and hold her frozen hands. She doesn’t pull away, but she won’t meet my eyes, either.
“Jenni’s lying,” I tell her, my voice hoarse with frustration.
She lets out a small whimper, but doesn’t look at me, and I can’t blame her. I get it. She’s worried that I’m going to break her heart all over again. That I’m just another Jamie Nicks.
I’m not.
I’m never going to be that.
She’s the love of my fucking life.
“What happened?” she whispers, barely audible.
I squeeze her hands because I think it’s the only touch I’m allowed. Her fingers are numb. Her knuckles are white, but I’m not letting her go.
“Nothing—” I start.
“But you were with her?” she asks, finally looking up, searching for an answer. The way she looks makes me want to scream. Why does it feel like she wants this to be true? Like some part of her is angling for proof.