Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(79)

Way to rub salt in the wound, Mom. “I don’t want it. He stole it.”

“We don’t know that,” she starts, but I cut her off.

“Sure we do. He took it. I don’t want it.” How many times do I need to say it? “I want nothing from him. Absolutely nothing.”

“I’m not abandoning my husband in his time of need, Chelsea.” Her voice is like ice. “If you’re going to make me choose, be careful. You might not like my decision.”

She’s threatening me. Letting me know she’d choose him over me. I don’t understand her. I never really have. She’s always such a contradiction, her thoughts, her whims moving with the shift of the wind. Dad wronged her? Men are evil. Dad’s now wooing her with sweet words and endless promises? She needs to stand by her man no matter what.

I’m sick of it. Sick of the back-and-forth and depending on a man who doesn’t give a crap about us. It’s exhausting.

They both are.

“I won’t take the money.” I lean my head back and close my eyes, swallowing hard. “I don’t want you to see him.”

“Too late. I’ve seen him, many times. We talk on the phone daily. We write each other letters. He’ll be getting out of prison by the end of the year and we’ll be together again.” She sounds happy, so falsely pinning all her hope on this, and I want to smack her. Tell her he’ll disappoint her again. She’s forgetting all of that. Just believing his lies and his empty promises.

And when he disappoints her yet again and leaves her alone, what will she do? Turn to me?

“He told me that he’s tried to contact you,” she says, her voice full of disapproval. “And that you hang up on him every single time. You shouldn’t do that, Chelsea. He just wants to talk to you. You’re his daughter, his only child.”

They won’t have to worry about it any longer because I shut off the house phone, depending only on my cell. Couldn’t afford to keep the landline, which we had only because Kari’s parents insisted on it for safety reasons, whatever that means.

And cell phones normally can’t take collect calls.

“I refuse to allow him back into my life, Mom. I’m sorry.” I hang up on her before she can say another word and I stare at my phone screen, wondering if she’ll call back. Counting on her to call back. At least text.

But she doesn’t. That hurts more than I care to admit.

Leaning back in my chair, I stare at the ceiling, feeling … hopeless. The beginning of the semester I felt like I had everything. With two jobs and the perfect school schedule, finally out of the dorms and living with my best friend, I was on top of the world.

Then I meet Owen, and my world is flipped upside down. Everything’s changed. I can’t blame him for all of the changes, but he’s part of it. A big part of it.

I wish he were still a part of it.

Closing my eyes, I try to shut off my churning thoughts, my overactive imagination. I can’t go home. I can’t stay in this stupid apartment. I have nowhere. Nothing. No friends, no possibilities. Maybe I could rent a room. Sell what pitiful amount of furniture I have and move in with someone. That could work, and the rent would be way cheaper.

First thing tomorrow I’m looking for someone with a place to share. Tonight … tonight I’m too tired and too depressed.

My phone buzzes and I crack open my eyes. I hold it up so I can see who texted me. Probably Kari, crying the blues that she can’t go out on a Saturday night. Or that her parents treat her like she’s on her deathbed when she’s really only sick with stupid mono. Those had been her complaints last night when she texted me.

These messages aren’t from Kari, though. There’s an endless stream of them, one after another. One heartbreaking sentence at a time.

I miss you.

I think about you all the time.

I dream about you.

I lied to you and I’m sorry.

I was embarrassed.

Ashamed.

I want to earn your forgiveness but I don’t know how.

I hold my phone with trembling hands and tears forming in my eyes. I haven’t cried since that night I ran away from Owen. I told myself I was stronger than that. He couldn’t break me. I refused to let him.

But now, with the truth typed out for me to see, I cry. Quiet, continuous tears that slide down my cheeks, drop from my jaw onto my chest, dampening my shirt. I don’t care. The release feels good. It frees me from everything I’ve held so tight within me for weeks.

Sniffing, blinking past the tears, I text him back.

One pitiful sentence at a time, just like the ones he sent to me.

I miss you, too.

And I think about you all the time.

You come to me in my dreams and I don’t want to wake up.

You lied to me but I lied to you, too.

Because I was embarrassed.

And ashamed like you.

Maybe someday I can tell you about it.

I wait for his answer, my breathing short, my chest aching. What if he doesn’t reply? Maybe he’s drunk. Maybe he’s … oh God, maybe he’s high and he’s trying to con me into going back to him.

Maybe, just maybe, I want to be conned. I want to go back to him. I miss him so much. I need him.

Does he need me?

My phone buzzes and I look at the screen, my heart in my throat.