Page 229 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

Was this—this awful, horrible loss—really worth it? Wouldn’t I have been happier—less…less fucking miserable, if I’d simply told the truth? Why the fuck had I actively chosen to lose him? If that decision was supposed to protect me—it had definitely backfired.

I couldn’t recall ever feeling worse.

Sweaty, shaking, my vision flooded with black spots.

My chest squeezed, and squeezed, and squeezed.

I could hardly get a breath in.

And I knew…if I kept driving in this sorry state, I was bound to crash. So I pulled over onto the side of the road, lost in my head, as thunder rumbled above. The tracks were behind me now. I must’ve been driving at a crawl, if I’d barely gotten this far past them.

It wasn’t until I’d put the car in park, and I could actually let my guard down, that I realized my vision was swimming—not because of the rain—but because I wascrying.

“Alex?” Dad’s voice was fraught with concern. He was in the passenger seat now. He’d switched over during my staring session with the door George had disappeared through. I hadn’t spoken to him since we’d left. Not a word. And he hadn’t said anything either.

Until now.

I groaned, resting my head against the steering wheel as the tears began to spill. Hot and angry. Angry at the situation. Angry at myself most of all.

“Alex?” Dad’s hand rubbed my back.

My masks fell away, one by, one by, one.

Until nothing was left.

Just me.

Just the aching black hole that was my heart—desperate to be loved. So desperate I’d convinced myself I had to be perfect to deserve it. I kept people at a distance. Pushed them before they could pull away. Before they could see the real me and decide that I wasn’t enough.

When had my self-esteem gotten this…bad?

Jesus.

When had I…

When had I begun to think that love was something I had to earn?

I ran, just like George did.

“Alex?” It was the third time Dad had said my name. Three times he’d tried to break me out of my teary-eyed, dazed stupor. My shoulders were shaking. I couldn’t get them to stop. Didn’t know if I even wanted to, as I folded over the steering wheel and sobbed.

“I hate myself,” the words were brittle. “Fuck. I hate myself so much?—”

Dad’s hand stroked up and down, comforting me. But it wasn’t the hand I wanted. Wasn’t the comfort I wanted. He wasn’t the person I wanted.

“How could he ever love me if I don’t love myself?” My tears smeared down the steering wheel as that gaping, cavernous hole in my heart cracked wider. “How could I ask him to stay with me? When I’m likethis?”

The car was silent as my brain caught up to my mouth.

Only the drum of the rain, and the rattle of a train in the distance echoing through the quiet.

“Ilove you,” Dad said, tone as gentle as his hand.

I sobbed again, turning from the steering wheel and crumbling into him. He was smaller than me, but he held my weight, as I maneuvered across the console to cling to him. I couldn’t recall ever having a conversation like this with him. Ever opening up. Not even when I was a kid.

“Even like this?” My voice broke, tears wetting his collar.

“Especiallylike this,” Dad reassured.

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