Page 88 of Outspoken

My throat tightens. I can’t. I don’t want to.

But, isn’t it better that he sees the real me so he can move on?

“Amber?”

I clear my throat. “Um, can you pick me up? Sorry to bother you so late.”

He falls silent, so I wait, leaning against the kitchen counter to keep from collapsing.

“Where are you?” he finally asks.

“I can text you the address.”

“Send it. I'll leave right now.”

“Thank you.”

I hang up immediately, which I know is rude, but it’s hard to hear his voice knowing where I am. Not letting myself think, I send the address and tell him I’m in the kitchen. I don’t have the strength to move, despite all the temptations. He doesn’t live too far away, so it shouldn’t take him long to get here. I bunker down to wait.

There’s an archway across from me that opens to a hallway. In the hallway, right in the center of the archway, is a mirror. There I am, in all my chubby glory: a wrinkled pink dress, mascara streaking my cheeks, blonde curls knotted and twisted at weird angles. Though I didn’t get wasted, it sure looks like I did.

A fucking charity case.

I don’t even fix my appearance. Miguelneedsto see me this way. It’s time. He needs the worst of me, so he can understand I’m beyond saving and stop this six-year pity crush.

A heavy lump swells in my throat, but I refuse to let myself cry. Miguel and Ineedto stop this strange back-and-forth game we’re playing. He needs a stable woman and I need…I don’t know what I need.

I need to not drag him into my mess while I'm trying to figure out my life.

I stare at my reflection for a long time, letting my mind go blank. It’s meditative, in a way. I’m completely empty. Just existing.

Miguel appears suddenly in the archway, looking frantic, and I flinch. He stops when he sees me, relief washing over his face. He’s wearing a white tank top—part of his tattoo poking out on one shoulder—and workout pants with sneakers. It's the most casual I’ve seen him dress.

I immediately spin around to hide my disaster of a face. I tremble. I thought I’d hold it together better than this—at least make it through the car ride and get home. But he’s here, behind me, and I’m always an endless river of tears.

I sense him approaching, his body heat warming my back. My chest twists and aches and tightens until my breath is shallow. At this moment, I’d give anything to rewind time so that I never came here.

He’s going to be so disappointed. His feelings really will change. I’ll never hear from him again.

I don’t want this.

Closing my eyes, I fight to hold it together, but it all crumbles when he touches my shoulders with hands that are too sweet and gentle.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” I choke out.

Without another word, he wraps his strong, steady arms around me and pulls me back against him. His vanilla scent penetrates every cell, and I sag into the embrace.

Gripping his forearms, a confession bubbles up my throat. He dropped everything without question to come and get me. Because that’s Miguel, isn’t it? He’s just here—just like when I needed him while Brody was in the hospital.

He's made mistakes, and maybe he falls too quickly and gets intense—maybe he does just pity me—but above everything, he'shere.

I swallow hard. “I…I fucked up.”

He nuzzles his cheek against my head, and the care radiating from his touch crushes me.

I can’t stop the stream of consciousness that flows out next. “I…I don’t know what I was thinking. I do but…why did I do this? Everything is so difficult and it hurts. I used to take drugs to make the pain stop, but what do I do now? Even with therapy, it hurts too much, and part of me feels like I deserve the worst. I've done such awful things. What do I do? There’s nothing powerful enough to help me. I’m beyond help. What am I supposed to do with my life? Nothing feels right, and I keep failing. I know you’re disappointed after you sent such a sweet text to say you trusted me. You shouldn’t…You can see that you shouldn’t. And…Brody and Paige will hate me and…They’ll stop talking to me and…” I fall into sobs.

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