Page 44 of Back To You

I’ve been tossing and turning since I got into bed, no longer smelling like a whole work day with animals and stale beer—there’s been butterflies in my stomach since leaving the bar.

Not the cute kind that you get before your first date.

No, these fuckers are the kind that are just there to remind you of all the things you should be worried about when thinking about what’s to come.

And what’s to come is a conversation that I’m really not ready to have.

Would it be easy to fall back into the role of pretending to hate Luke? Yes.

Would it be even easier to go out there and kiss him until I forget my name? Also yes.

But I can’t keep doing this. Not to me, and most definitely not to him.

We need to talk about what happened the night of Grant’s party. The video I saw of him and Devin. The reason I left in the first place.

I’ll be the first to admit that this high school bullshit is just that.High school bullshit. It shouldn’t matter all these years later. I shouldn’t let it dictate me in the ways that it does.

But after seven years of reflecting on what happened, that night was a culmination of being bullied by the girls who were supposed to be my friends, my parents telling me what a waste of space I was, and a whole relationship built on the promise that Luke and I—no matter what—were enough for each other.

And that night, all of it coming to a head, felt like all my fears were proven true.

All of this to say, it ends.Tonight.

We get the closure we need, and we can get over these feelings that should’ve faded a long time ago.

“Annie?” I hear, followed by a small knock on my door. Rosie’s head pops up from where she is laying at the edge of my bed, and she jumps off as the door cracks open.

After tonight, some might consider me brave.

I did smash the truck of a grown man for touching someone who doesn’t even belong to me.

But when the door to the guest room slowly opens, and I pretend to be asleep, using the term “brave” to describe me is an insult to the word.

“Annie?” I hear again, this time a little louder, but I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady, even though I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate.

Years of theater and faking confidence has prepared me for this endless minute of waiting for Luke to lead Rosie out of my room to let her out. It isn’t until I hear the front door open and close again that I open my eyes, bringing my hand to my forehead in a slap, cursing myself for being such a wuss.

No.

This is not who I am.

Not anymore.

I ask for what I want. I tell people what’s on my mind, whether they like it or not.

When Luke gets back inside, I am going to march out there and tell him that we need to talk. No flirting, no back-and-forth, and no kissing.

Definitely no kissing.

I push the covers off me and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, getting up before I lose my nerve. I start pacing the kitchen, my mind reeling over what I’m going to say and how this is all for the best.

I’ll tell him what happened, and he can finally know why I left.

Then we’ll agree to move on.

I hear the jingle of keys and the turn of a lock, and I freeze, telling myself that if I move now, I can be back in bed before the door opens.

But it’s too late. The click of Rosie’s nails on the floor echoes in the quiet apartment as Luke kicks off his shoes and closes the door behind him.

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