"Because, Luce." I tilt my head up and stare at the ceiling. Then I push down my hurt and my fear, and most of all my pride. "Because sometimes when I’m with you—I feel like people can tell."
"Tell what?"
"That I don't belong. That you're way too damn good for me, and sometimes I wonder if you'd even look twice at me if I weren't the only thing standing in front of you. What if we met under different circumstances? What if you didn't rely on me? What if you still had friends when I started to chase you? What if Claudia was there... would you have even talked to me?"
"Cam," she says skeptically. "Of course—"
"No, you say that, Luce. But you don't know. And I know it sounds horrible, but I always felt like I was less, and I put you on a pedestal, and I shouldn't have. And with Roxy—"
She flinches, but I keep going. I need to keep going. "With her, it was the other way around, and there was nothing romantic, or physical with her, but it just felt like I deserved what I had. She just made me feel like it was okay to not be able to afford college, or fancy things, or have to work to support myself. I didn't feel like a dumbass for not being smart. I know that you can't understand that."
She cries now, her hands frantically wiping her tears. "Are you saying that I made you feel like that? Did I not show you how I felt? How much I loved you? "
"No!" I drop to my knees at her feet. "It's not you. You never did anything wrong."
"Then why?"
"It's so hard to explain. It's like every day I woke up with you in my arms and it felt like I was counting down the seconds until you realized what you were doing and you'd be done with me. So you can move on and find someone that's going to provide you the life that you're used to, the one that you deserve. I can't do that. I can't even—"
"Stop!" she says harshly. "Just stop." She stands up and walks to her dresser, pulling open the top drawer and holding something in her hand. When she returns, she sits on the floor and faces me, then slowly reveals what she picked up. "Do you know what this is?"
There's a rock in her hand. "A rock?" I say nervously, because I'm pretty sure she's about to throw it at my head.
"Cam, this is a rock from our river."
I suck in a sharp breath.
"I skipped a class the day after you brought me there the first time and I found this, and I've kept it ever since. I keep it because that's where you helped me piece together my broken heart. That's where a boy I barely knew took me and he taught me that it was okay to break—that I could hold it in forever, or I could let it go and heal. And every day, since that day, I remind myself that I'm healed, and that you healed me. And money, and material possessions—they didn't heal a broken heart, Cameron. Only you did."
She's crying.
I'm crying.
And then I let out a bitter laugh. "I want to hold you but I don't even know if it's okay to hug an ex."
"What?" she says, her eyes huge. Then she presses a hand to her heart. "Wow," she cries, rubbing her chest. "It hurts so much."
"What hurts?"
"You, calling me an ex," she says quietly. "It's so final."
"Yeah, well you said we broke up earlier. I'm pretty sure you shredded my fucking heart."
She looks up, wiping her tear-streaked face. Her head moves slowly from side to side. "I don't like it."
"I fucking hate it, Lucy." I move closer, wanting to touch her, but I don't know what the hell she wants. "I don't want to be broken up," I say quietly, looking her right in the eyes.
She pouts. "I don't want to be your ex."
I lick my lips as I stare down at hers. "So what do you want?"
She blinks, swallowing loudly when she does. "I don't know." She shuffles back—away from me. "I think I want more time."
"Okay." I nod, feeling a shitload more hopeful than when I got here. "I'll give you all the time you need. I'll give you forever, Luce."
She inhales a shaky breath, looking from my eyes to my lips. I lick them again. Please kiss me.
Before she gets a chance my phone rings. I silence it, but I can't ignore it. "My dad's assistant is waiting for me. I couldn't afford a cab back to the airport so I asked Dad for help. He wouldn't leave his office, so he sent his assistant."
"Okay, I'll walk you out." We stand at the same time. I wait for her to replace the rock in her dresser, but she pulls out shorts and puts them on. Then she does something that sends a thousand silent messages. She puts on a shirt—my high school gym shirt, the one that has my name on the back. "Ready?" she asks.