“You shouldn’t say things like that to me,” I whispered.
He threw his arms out. “Why not, hmmm?”
I scoffed at him. “If I was your girlfriend and you said that behind my back, I’d be really hurt.”
He’s just drunk—he probably didn’t even mean any of it. He’s always acting like this when he’s drinking.
“Ifyouwere my girlfriend, I wouldn’thaveto say things like that.” He said it so adamantly, and my heart jammed against my rib cage.Ifyouwere my girlfriend.Does that mean he thought about it?
I had to remind myself to keep breathing.
When I looked at Jackson, he just looked sad, and I felt bad for Sophie. But in a way, another part of me lit up, because when had he ever admitted it like this?
“Stop, Jackson.” I couldn’t take it. It started to hurt. It hurt so badly that he was with her and not me. She could touch him and I couldn’t.
“What!?” Jackson was yelling now, and I startled, flinching in my seat. “I can’t touch you, I can’t hangout with you, and now I can’t even tell you how I fucking feel? So what exactly can I do with you, huh?”
I slammed my foot on the breaks, causing both of us to jolt against our seat belts as they locked. “Linger” by The Cranberries started playing, a giant contrast to the song that was playing before. I’d almost missed the turn onto Sophie’s street because of how badly this conversation had fucked with my brain. My heart was beating even harder than before.So what exactly can I do with you?My entire body was on high alert, frazzled sparks fraying and sizzling at each of my nerve endings.
“You’re hurting me,” I whispered, so quietly I wasn’t even sure he could hear me. “And you need to stop.” I couldn’t even look at him.
My fingers were shaking, and I took a deep breath before putting my foot back on the gas and turning onto Sophie’s street.
“You think I’m not hurting, too?” he mumbled. I didn’t even respond. I couldn’t do this anymore.
I pulled into her driveway, the gears squeaking as I put the Buick in park. Jackson didn’t move to leave, and when I turned to face him, his arms were crossed and he was staring me down. He looked mad—madder than I had ever seen him. It pissed me off, because he couldn’t possibly be as mad as I was, or as hurt.
“Jackson, we’re here. Get out,” I said firmly.
His eyes didn’t move from my face. “No.”
I sucked in a large breath of air through my nose. I was losing my patience with him. “Jackson, please, get out of my car.”
“No,” he said again with his teeth clenched.
“Get the fuck out of my car, Jackson!” I wasn’t sure I had ever yelled at him before, or if I had ever been so angry with him. He was hurting me; I couldn’t look at his face for a second longer.
His jaw dropped open at my outburst. “Leave!” I screamed in his face again, before reaching across him and opening the passenger door by myself, unbuckling his seat belt for him.
We stared each other down until he finally gave up and got out of my car, slamming the door as hard as he could before putting his hood over his head and walking up to Sophie’s front door.
When I looked up at Sophie’s house, I saw her standing in the front window, watching me. I knew, somehow, that she had seen our entire interaction. Fuck.
I backed out the driveway as quickly as I could.
Chapter 29
NOW
July
The day after Jackson and I went through my bedroom, I was still reeling. I spent the entire day on the couch, watching movies on my laptop, crying on and off. I even called Wren to vent. I was an absolute mess. The more time I spent with Jackson, the more fucked up my heart felt. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep doing this.
Jackson had called and texted throughout the day, but I ignored every message. I needed space.
I had bottles of wine DoorDashed to the house, and I pushed myself to finish my room while listening to the song “Remembering Sunday” by All Time Low and blowing my nose every two seconds.
After I was done, I laid down on the couch, drinking as much as my body could handle. I had barely eaten anything all day, and it was hitting me hard.