Page 57 of The Choices I've Made
She moved off me, and the loss of her flesh on mine felt like some sick, tragic comedy. I’d pushed her away, and now, all I wanted was her back in my arms.
Walking to the edge of the living room, she stopped briefly. “This meant nothing,” she spit, tears running down her cheeks.
“No, you’re wrong,” I countered as my finger brushed along the place on my lips where she’d bitten me. “It means everything because it proves that there’s no hope for either of us if I continue to stay here. We’ll just end up broken and hurt all over again.”
“Then, I guess you should leave.”
I nodded, a wave of sadness rushing over me. “I’ll be gone by morning.”
She didn’t respond, and instead, she walked away. I listened to her footsteps echo down the hallway, toward her room, limping the entire way because she was too stubborn to use the crutches anymore.
I savored every sound, every moment she was still near.
And then I did the only thing I seemed to be good at when it came to Molly McIntyre.
I left.
