Page 122 of The Jerk in Apartment 1B

“I only said that because I could tell you wanted out. That’s why you acted that way in the storage room. Just admit it. You started a fight with me so we’d break up.”

“Trina, that’s not what happened.”

“Are you saying you didn’t want that?” she asks. “That you didn’t want to break up?”

I look down, rubbing my jaw, wanting to tell her everything but not able to do it.

“Why didn’t you try to change my mind?” she asks, her voice trembling. “If you didn’t want it to end, why didn’t you say something?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Because you were right. It needed to end.” I look up at her and my heart breaks when I see tears falling down her face.

She nods, gazing down at the floor.

“Trina, I’m sorry. I—”

“You don’t have to say any more. I got it.” She races down the hall, back to her apartment.

I can’t do this. I can’t let her think things ended between us because I was just having a bad day. If that’s all it took, it implies she meant nothing to me, and that’s the farthest thing from the truth.

I didn’t want to do this, but I don’t think I have a choice. She deserves an explanation.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Trina

It took a lot of courage to go over there and confront Scott. As I stood at his door, my heart was beating out of my chest and my stomach was in knots, but I had to do it. I had to find out what happened that day that led to us breaking up.

I tried to let it go. Ever since it happened, I told myself to forget it, not worry about it. But I couldn’t do it. My mind kept going over it, again and again, trying to figure out what set him off. It was like he flipped a switch and we went from everything being great to it being over.

So I finally confronted him, and what did he say? That he wasn’t himself that day. I know it’s a lie, but he won’t tell me the truth.

A text pops up on my phone. It’s from Scott and reads,Come up to the storage room. I’ll explain when you get here.

Why does he want me to go to the storage room? Why can’t he just come here and tell me whatever he needs to say?

Curious what he’s up to, I go to the second floor and find him in the storage room, sitting on one of the boxes. There’s another one next to him.

“Hey,” he says when he sees me. “Have a seat.”

“What is this about?” I ask, sitting on the box.

“What you said earlier. You were right. I owe you an explanation for why I reacted the way I did.”

“Yeah? So what is it?”

He reaches over to a shelf and picks up a piece of paper. It’s the sketch I asked him about that day. The one of the inflatable chair.

“The person who did this,” he says, handing me the sketch. “Her name was Megan. She was my fiancé.”

“Wait—what?” I look at Scott. “You were engaged?”

He stares down at the floor. “We met in college. Got engaged after we graduated. Bought a house.” He pauses. “We were supposed to get married a few weeks after her trip. It was her bachelorette party. She and her bridesmaids went on a ski trip in Utah.”

As I’m listening to this, I’m still trying to process that Scott was engaged. I try to keep up with the story, but I’m getting worried the more he talks. Why is he using the past tense? What happened to this girl? Why isn’t he still with her?

“Megan loved to ski, and she was really good at it. Way better than me. I didn’t even think to worry about her when she went on the trip. I kissed her goodbye, told her to have fun and that I’d see her in a few days.” He clears his throat. “I got a call the next day from the hospital. They said she’d lost control on the slopes and hit a tree.” He shakes his head. “I still don’t understand it. Why she lost control. Her friends said it looked like she hit a patch of ice, but I don’t think that was it. I’ll never know what really happened, which makes it even worse.”

He pauses, still staring at the floor. I almost don’t want him to finish the story. It’s too awful. I’m sure it’s even worse for him, having to say it.

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