The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(77)

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means…” I start slow, choosing my words carefully and speaking them one at a time so I get them right. “That you’re only seeing negative things about your life. Basically sabotaging your own happiness before you even know something is going to fail, before people leave. Because despite your tattoos and your devil-may-care attitude, you actually lack…”

His nostrils flare. Gray eyes like gunmetal.

“Lack…what? I lack what? Just fucking say it.”

“Confidence!” There, I said it. “You lack confidence, okay?’

He laughs then, loudly tossing his head back, black hair tussling. “Oh okay. I lack confidence. Ha ha, good one, Violet.” He moves back, pointing an accusatory finger in my direction. “You are out of your fucking mind. I’m the most…the most…”

He searches for the words but can’t find them. “You know what, Violet? You’re being a judgmental bitch. You don’t know the life I’ve lived.”

I stare are him incredulously.

The nerve of him. The nerve!

Blood rushes to my face and my fists clench at my sides.

“I don’t know the life you’ve lived? Me? How…how d-dare you!”

His lips begin to snarl. He opens that big insensitive mouth to speak, but I cut him off—something I’ve never done to anyone, ever. In my entire life, I’ve never interrupted anyone.

But my heart…my heart won’t let him speak.

“Be quiet! Shut up for once!”

Those stunning gray eyes widen with shock.

I’ve stunned him. Good.

“Oh my god, do you hear me talking about how shitty my life was growing up? Huh? Do you?”

Numbly, his head shakes back and forth, still stunned by my outburst.

“No, of course you don’t. Do you know why? Because wallowing about how lonely it was would be pointless, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?” This time I do shout, bracing my hands on two desk chairs for support.

“I didn’t have rich parents. I didn’t have any parents at all! They’re dead, you selfish jerk. Dead! I had no one! Not even family, because no one could afford to keep me.” The tears—all the hot tears—are rolling down my face, creating a path so wet I feel them dampening the collar of my shirt.

“No aunts and uncles to take me in like you had—there was no money to pay anyone off with. Poor as church mice, every last one of us. And my grandparents? They died before I was born. Yeah, poor Zeke, your parents travel.” I roll my eyes toward the ceiling, staring into the fluorescent lights and swiping at another tear.

“Go see them! Go do something! My god! I-Instead of standing there in your two-hundred-dollar jeans and driving around in your expensive truck and whining about how bad you feel for yourself. Ha!” I laugh, the sound almost maniacal. “At least you have a family. I’m not acting like an asshole because I spent my childhood being ping-ponged around between strangers. Did you know I can’t even go see my family because I can’t afford a plane ticket.”

My body is quaking.

And my hands?

I raise them up to stare at my fingers; I’m shaking so hard I can’t even gather up my laptop.

Zeke takes a step forward.

“Don’t come near me, I-I’m so done with you!” I’m shouting now and fighting to control my stutter, but it’s hard. So damn hard my chin trembles. “A-All I wanted was someone to treat me with respect, but you couldn’t even do that.”

His mouth drops open to argue.

“I-I’m done listening to you cut people down instead of building them up. I’m d-done listening to you condescend to your roommates and to Jameson. She is amazing! Did you know that? And you won’t even try to befriend her. You treat her like shit! Why Zeke? Why? What has she ever done to you but date your friend?”

My hands are balled into angry fists and I can feel my face burning up, to the roots of my blonde hair, and curse my pale skin.

Curse it.

Curse this whole miserable day.

“She’s going to fall in love with him. Watch, Ezekiel. Love! Love, love, love,” I repeat like a song, spreading my arms wide. “It’s wonderful and I’m sorry you don’t know what it feels like.”

His face…it’s hard to describe what it looks like in this moment as my words pour out on a wave of tears. Crestfallen and devastated. Furrowed black brows, heavy, but not from annoyance. Mouth downturned and sad.

Eyes?

I swear those sullen gray eyes are damp in the corners.

So achingly beautiful and heartbreaking and devastated…

Those eyes will haunt my dreams.

“You can’t let yourself feel it, can you?” I whisper.

A shake of his head.

No.

I nod, understanding. “Well then, you’re missing it, Zeke. You’re missing out on your own life, one that could be filled with happiness instead of resentment. Or do you just resent those of us who are happy?”

The path is blurry, the tears clouding my vision as I stalk to the door, but I find my way, yanking my arm away from his when he tries to take hold.

He lets me go.

His tortured, “Violet, Jesus,” might have given me pause any other day of the week, but today? This? What I’m feeling right now is too raw and real to give me pause.