Page 49 of Code Word
Not one thing.
There were photos of me, taken earlier today in the recordstore. I barely recognized myself in those photos; that smile wasn’t my own. The two girls who’d helped me had written a post on Instagram that I’d beensweet and polite – but he didn’t seem himself.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
Like theyknewme.
They didn’t know the first thing about the real me.
Their post had twenty thousand likes and hundreds of comments. I searched for any mention of Luke and his new location, but there was nothing.
Plenty of comments about how Luke and Vana had broken up and how the real Bluke had a chance. If they could only get rid of Becca.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I hated them all.
Becca never deserved any of that, and I was surprised she’d stuck by me as long as she had.
I remembered thinking how Luke hadn’t looked truly happy since Becca and I got together and realizing now how much I’d hurt him.
Being surrounded by all these photos, and the damn song he’d written, wasn’t helping. Or maybe it was helping me the most.
Helping me see what I should have seen before.
Not just how he looked at me, how he clung to me, how he was always by my side.
But also how I looked at him, how easy I’d held onto him, put my arm around him—how I’d clung to him—and how blind I’d been.
I’d taken him for granted.
And I’d hurt him so fucking bad.
Seeing those early photos of us, seeing his grin, the light in his eyes. How happy he’d been.
Remembering how unhappy he’d been when I’d last seen him at the cabins.
When he’d asked me for space.
For time.
I heard someone in the house, a door closing, then a faint, “Blake?”
Jeremy.
I didn’t have the energy to reply. Sitting on the floor, clutching the damn song lyrics, surrounded by Luke’s photo collection of the years I’d hurt him.
I didn’t want Jeremy to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. And I didn’t want them to see Luke’s photos. I didn’t want them to see that I was the one to blame.
That this was all my fault.
“Blake?” his voice was louder now.
So I began to scoop up the photos, and I didn’t even realize I was still crying until Jeremy was too blurry to see at the door.
“Blake,” he whispered.
I sobbed. “Please, don’t.”
