Chapter 18

Abby:

I grab my purse and my coat and storm out of the club without bothering to see if Paul has even noticed I’m gone or if he’s still angrily wiping tequila off his face and clothes. My only regret is that shot glasses aren’t bigger and I couldn’t dump more of it on him. After all this time, he still hasn’t bothered to learn what really happened that night. And I’m reliving the pain of his utter abandonment all over again. I should have known better. But for all our time apart, I’m still not any wiser now than I was back then. I still trusted Paul to believe in me, to have my back. And once again, I’ve been blindsided when he didn’t.

On the short walk back to campus, I don’t see the city around me. Instead of high-rises and foot traffic, vehicles and traffic lights, I see the last night Paul and I were happy together three years ago, the memory playing in my mind as if it were happening all over again.

We were at his friend Rob’s apartment, hanging with his friends and bandmates. Logan had just proposed to his girlfriend, a girl he’d only known for three months who was now pregnant. Almost six full months less than the amount of time Paul and I had been dating. From the minute Paul laid eyes on the ring on Serena’s finger, He’d been quiet, almost pensive. By the time we climbed into his car to head back to campus, he was in a complete mood.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, reaching over to hold his free hand on his leg while he held the steering wheel with the other.

“Logan and Serena are getting married.” Paul’s tone had a serious quality. It was almost like he was blaming me for their engagement. That idea put a damper on my enthusiasm, and I pulled back slightly. “You sound kind of mad.”

He looked down at me, his hazel eyes full of something I couldn’t quite name, something deep and serious. “No, not mad. Just… thinking about us.”

I had a pretty good idea where this was going, and the direction was making me nervous. I was only nineteen, and just finishing my freshman year of college, my first year away from my parents, making my own choices and my own mistakes. But some mistakes were too big even for me to make.

I stayed silent through the ride, and so did he. When he pulled the car to a stop outside my dorm, he put it in park and turned to face me, holding my hand tighter. It wasn’t a painful grip on my fingers, but I felt it constricting my lungs.

“We should get married.” He punctuated his words with a soft peck against my lips. Then he kissed me harder, more insistently, without bothering to find out if I was going to agree.

I pressed my lips tight together and turned my head to the side. “Married?” Was he for real?

“Well, not right away. Over the summer, probably. We’ll make some beautiful babies, don’t you think?” His tone was confident, so self-assured.

“Of course.” The words were halfhearted and tasted bitter on my tongue. He was seriously talking about marriage. All I wanted right then was to go home, but he was still trying to kiss me. “Hey, I need to pee. I’m going to head up to my room. I’ll text you later.”

He scrutinized me carefully for a moment, and I held my breath the whole time, praying he wouldn’t be able to read the lie in my face, that he couldn’t tell I was just trying to put some distance between us. When he did finally lean back into his own seat, I scrambled out of the car.

He shut off the engine and got out as well. “I’ll walk you up.”

I cursed internally, feeling my escape from this conversation slipping farther away with every step we took together toward the building. True to his word, he did, in fact, walk me all the way up, all the way to my dorm room door.

The expectant look on his face as we paused outside was all the evidence that I needed that he was hoping I would invite him in.

I didn’t. “Well, good night!” I said with force cheer.

“I love you,” he called as I turned my back to him and reached for the door handle.

“Love you, too,” I murmured over my shoulder and scuttled into my room and all but slammed the door in his face. I had to fight the urge lock it behind me. That would tip him off to my growing panic. And I needed to keep it in check right then. My room was blessedly empty when I got there, but the one heavy wood door between me and the threat of marriage was not enough. I didn’t actually need to pee, but I headed for the bathroom anyway and flipped on the light. I did lock that door behind me, set my palms against the vanity, and did my best to calm my rising panic. My body was wound tight from his kisses, but the threat of marriage and babies had cooled my jets considerably.

It’s not that I was a commitment-phobe, or against marriage or anything, but I certainly wasn’t in any hurry to shackle myself to one person for the rest of my life. I had wild oats to sow. Which is exactly what I’d been trying to do with Paul. I mentally ran through our encounters since the day we met. Had I done something to lead him on? Had I said anything to give him the impression I was looking to jump into such seriously deep relationship waters? Heck, I was barely out of the dating kiddy pool.

I ran the tap and splashed some cool water on my face, desperately needing the refresher. I looked around for a towel, but the bathroom was barren. I must have left my towel in the bedroom. So, I patted my face dry with my hands, then wiped them on my jeans.

After retrieving my towel and my comfiest pair of pajamas from the bedroom, I returned to the bathroom to shower. I needed to wash away the day, the emotion. The dread. Under the spray of the warm water, I came to the realization that I needed to break up with Paul. For his good and mine. We wanted two completely different things.

Three days later, the universe did the job for me.