Page 98 of Don't Say You're Sorry

It’s Sunday.

Sundays are your favorite.

You’re supposed to be here.

I miss you.

I need you.

I fucking hate you.

You ruined me. You ruined me for everyone else.

Why don’t you come back here and fix me, huh?

At least have the decency to block my number, you asshole.

Do you even miss me? You send me those stupid drawings, so I know you think of me. Does being away from me not affect you at all?

Did your mom tell you I have a girlfriend? I hope she did, and I hope it killed you.

I’m moving in with her tomorrow. I hate this fucking apartment.

I hate myself.

I hate you more.

Sometimes I crave your presence so much it hurts. I’d do anything to hear your voice. Your laugh. To watch your stupid hazel eyes light up when you look at me.

It’s been two years. How long are you gonna make me wait?

It’s my twenty-first birthday tomorrow. Any chance you’re gonna show up with a cupcake for me?

The next day, at midnight, he texted me again.

Guess not.

It takes two tries for me to get the words out. “I wanted to. Every year, I wanted to.”

He doesn’t have to ask what I mean. “But you didn’t,” he says.

No. I didn’t.

The last text he sent was just under a year ago.

Can you call me please? I need you.

“What did you need me for?”

“That was the day Lauren broke up with me,” he mutters. “It was nothing.”

That’s a lie.It’s written all over his face. He winces as if he knows it.

Leaning back against the door across from him, I slide down to my ass, tucking my knees up to my chin as I read them again. And again.

Fuck, if I had known…

Sniffing, I pull up Axel’s voicemails from Easton. All the color drains from my face when I see how many there are. I grit myteeth and cover my eyes with my hand, roughly dragging it down my face. I hate my brother. I fuckinghatehim.

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