Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“The whole point is that I’ve been your backup plan, Ace. Whether you want to face that reality or not. And now that I’m dating someone—actually dating someone—you, all of a sudden, decide that you want to be with me? That you’re in love with me? And I’m supposed to just believe it? I’m supposed to tell Drew to fuck off and be with you? Is that what you expected?”
“I didn’t expect anything, Julia.” I shake my head and stare at the floor for a long moment before I lift my gaze to hers again, the deep pain of being the root of her life’s evil shaking me exponentially. “I didn’t expect anything, and I guess that’s good because you’ve clearly decided you’re better off without me.”
She doesn’t say anything.
On the inside, a battle is raging in my body. My heart is telling me to fight for her. To do everything I can to make her realize that we belong together. To get on my fucking hands and knees and beg her to open her eyes to see how perfect we are for each other. But there’s another part of me, the one that’s not used to being rejected—the one that’s scared I’ve had this coming for a really long time—that thinks I should go.
“Good night, Julia,” I say quietly, and this time, I mean it.
I don’t slam the door when I leave. I don’t throw anything. I don’t scream.
I just go.
Back in my apartment, I sit on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, heart still racing a hundred miles a minute.
Fifteen minutes. That’s our rule. Fifteen minutes to be mad, and then we fix it.
I check the time.
2:00 a.m.
I stare at the door.
2:10 a.m.
2:15 a.m.
I don’t move. I can’t move.
2:16 a.m.
2:17 a.m.
2:20 a.m.
2:32 a.m.
And for the first time in our entire lives, fifteen minutes come and go, and there’s no happy makeup. No apology. No…anything.
Tonight, both of us know fifteen minutes won’t make it better.
Sunday, September 14th
Julia
Seventeen hours and forty-two minutes.
That’s how much time has passed since Ace left my apartment after kissing me and confessing to a laundry list of manipulative moves over the last few months, and I feel an emptiness in the space right beside my heart where I usually keep our friendship like you wouldn’t believe.
I’m cold to my bones and shriveled where I used to bloom. Betrayal lingers at the edge of all our sweet memories, and a new fear, rooted in how cavalierly he lied to me, sinks claws into my innocence.
Ace has always been a pillar of trust for me, and with all his omissions and illusions, that strong foundation crumbled into a pile of rubble.
And now, it’s been seventeen hours and forty-three minutes since he walked out my apartment door, and I’m fighting every naïve part of myself to keep my backbone from bending.
I love him. But I don’t deserve to be anything but first in line.
I woke up this morning to several soft knocks on my door and Yoko barking because of them. Drew, smiling and holding up coffees and a bag of muffins, was on the other side.
I told myself not to be disappointed.
I’m still working on following the order.
I sit on the couch in my apartment and try to swallow a bite of blueberry muffin while Drew tells me a story about his childhood dog Betsy. His expression is soft. His hand is warm on my knee. He’s everything I should want, and my mind knows it.
My heart is just a little bit behind.
But I nod at the right places. I even smile when I’m supposed to. I am fake-it-till-you-make-it live and in color. Yoko, the adorable traitor, decided it was too early to be up and went back to my bed to sleep it off, so it’s just the two of us, and the newness of our relationship is helping me pull it off.
Seventeen hours and forty-six minutes now. And yet, there’s no knock on my door. There’s no text. No paper airplane through the window with “I miss you” written in Ace’s scratchy handwriting.
Fifteen minutes. That’s our rule. We fight. We stew. We cool off. But fifteen minutes later, we’re back. One of us shows up. We say we’re sorry. We fix it.
I glance at my phone again, not because I expect anything—but because I can’t help it. I am programmed to beg for Ace’s leftovers.
Drew notices. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I force a smile and pointedly set my phone down. “Just a group chat blowing up.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. “You’re quiet this morning, babe. Maybe I should’ve let you sleep in.”
“It’s no big deal. I was basically tossing and turning all night anyway. Pretty sure getting up and getting moving was a good thing.” Which is true. I slept like garbage. I dreamed of nothing, and I woke up feeling heavy, like I was drowning with my shoes on.