Page 6 of If You Say So

Two

Blake

I hate him.

That’s a lie.

It’d be a lot fucking easier if I hated him. I don’t. I love him, which is the problem. I can’t see past the love, and Ineedto see past it. If I ever want to feel anything other than blinding hot pain, I need to.

Three months ago, I realized something about myself that was weighing me down. I realized I needed help, and I realized I needed to find it outside of Nate.

I asked for time.

He gave me hours.

“Blake? Did you hear me?”

I blink twice, noticing how dry my eyes feel. I haven’t stopped staring at this screen since we arrived back at the house and Nate ran upstairs while I plunked my ass down on the couch to wallow, which seems to be the usual lately.

“Sorry, no,” I say, dragging my gaze from the scene playing out in front of me, the one that takes place two episodes after where I began watching today. “I was engrossed in this episode.” Elliott gives me a sad smile, not buying my excuse. I ignore it. “What’d you need?”

“I asked if you wanted to order pizza or Chinese. It’s your night to pick.”

“Chinese. We love that place—” The words die on my lips.

We, as in me and Nate, but we aren’t aweanymore. Hell, I’m barelyme, and he’s…well, he’s whatever the fuck it is he is.

Fine. Yeah, he’sfine. I’ve heard him toss that word around too often as of late.

I almost believe him.

“Chinese is good,” I tell Elliott. “I’ll have the sesame chicken with white rice. Add on an order of shrimp lo mein and crab rangoon.” I don’t have to tell her the second order is for Nate. I pull my wallet from my back pocket and shove two twenties at her. “Just yell upstairs when it’s here.”

“This is too much, Blake. We always split.”

I wave her off. “It’s fine,” I call out as I take the stairs two at a time.

My chest is on fire by the time I reach my bedroom, and it’s not because I practically ran up here. No, it’s because I slipped up, because it felt natural—because I still fucking want him.

He ripped my heart in two and I. Still. Want. Him. How screwed up is that? How wrong does that make me?

I stalk back and forth, walking away the memories burning holes in my head and in my heart. I don’t think about how he’s right down the hall. I don’t evenlookat the bed because it taunts me. I don’t call up images of our time spent in this room or this house. They hurt too much.Thishurts too much.

The creak of a door opening down the hall rings loud in the quiet upstairs. The noise halts my movements, because Nate’s the only other one upstairs right now.

I rake my hands through my hair, tired and agitated by…well, a lot. The part about all of this that sucks the most is that while I’m doing better withme, I’m still hurt and upset about what happened with Nate.

I felt like he burned a bridge between us, and it’s hard to reconcile how quickly he was able to move on.

“Shit. I didn’t know you were in here.”

His voice slides over me, and the hairs on my arms prickle. I bring my gaze up and meet his surprised stare in the mirror sitting atop our dresser, opposite the bedroom door.

Fuckme. Just looking at his reflection is doing things to me.

“What’d you need?” My voice is gruff, like I’ve just woken up or haven’t spoken in hours.

“I was coming to look for…” He trails off as his eyes fall to the small air mattress smashed between the bed and the wall closest to the door. “What the hell is this?”

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