“T-Thanks.”
I'm not sure why it matters, but I need to prove to him I'm not the immature type to cut my nose to spite my face.
I wipe my lips while my insides continue to twist. I close my eyes, but it doesn't make any difference. I still remember everything, and that's what makes me sick. And I just...I just...
“Please let me go.”
I see it in his face.
He knows what made me sick. He was there, too.
And her.
“Juniper—”
“I saw you,” I choke out. “I saw you with another woman that night—”
“I meant you to.”
“Just please stop—”
“I paid that woman to play a role—”
“So she's your mistress—”
“I needed her help to break your heart so completely that you won't be tempted to look me up when I leave.”
All I can do is stare at him, and his jaw clenches.
“I know I hurt you—”
A strained laugh escapes me.
“Hurt me? Are you serious?”
Memories come rushing in, of how those first few months had me spiraling. Of how the tears didn't even come at first. Of how it took months before I cried about him for the first time, like my body needed that long to believe what my eyes had seen.
“You didn't hurt me—”
I almost call him Nate. But stop myself in time when I realize the Nate I married never existed, and my heart breaks anew when another painful realization hits me.
“Are we even married?”
I don't even know what I'm holding my breath for as I wait for his answer. All I know is that my heart is hammering against my chest, and it's the silliest thing, always the silliest thing with him, but it suddenly feels like my life is hanging on a thread as the silence between us turns more excruciating by the second.
“How do you want me to answer that?” he asks, his voice low.
“Why won't you just tell me if we're still married or not?”
“Then why won't you tell me first—”
“No, I don't want to be married to you.”
The words come out stilted, but I don't let myself think why that is.
“I don't even want to see you again. So if I had a choice—”
“You don't.” His voice is flat.