Back to December

Twenty-Seven

"Ten minutes till midnight," James yells. They lowered the volume of the music slightly so everyone could hear him, "everyone over 21, come get your champagne."

I sit at the edge of my bed, running my fingers through my hair. I just want this night to be over. I want Wyatt to go back to Los Angeles and to forget that this week even happened. I want to go back to the city and pack up my stuff, it wouldn't be easy, but it'd be worth it. I'll be sacrificing my dreams and my career, sure, but I won't be alone. That was the one shining positive that was keeping me sane. My family. The people who've been able to make me forget for a moment that Wyatt was even in the room.

Someone knocks on my door, causing me to look up at it, "I'll be down in a minute." I yell, not bothering to move from my spot. Whoever it is knocks again, not believing my answer. It's probably Lizzie or Harper, ready to drag me back downstairs. I sigh, standing up, "Seriously, I just needed a- "

I open the door, going to shut it as soon as I see who's behind the door. Wyatt holds his foot out, blocking it from closing entirely. He holds two glasses of champagne in his hands, extending one out to me, "Lizzie told me you weren't feeling well, so I brought you yours."

"I'm good, thanks," I press my lips together, pushing the door slightly.

"I think we should talk," Without permission, Wyatt walks past me into my room. He places both of the glasses on my night table.

"Well, I don't," I remark, gesturing towards the door. Midnight was creeping closer, and I don't feel like starting my year off in another argument with Wyatt.

"Fine," Wyatt sits on my bed, proving to me he wasn't planning on leaving any time soon, "I'll talk. You listen."

"Wyatt," I sigh, not moving from the door. I still held it open slightly, hoping he gets the gist to leave sometime soon. I can't do this right now, "I really don't want to hear it. I don't want some half-assed apology from you... Just go be with London. It's almost midnight."

"Why do you keep doing this?" Wyatt asks, shaking his head at me, "I just wanna talk to you, Marley, and you keep pushing me away."

"I'm the one pushing you away?" I scoff. The more Wyatt sits here, the closer my breaking point gets. How dare he accuse me of pushing him away. How dare he act like this is my fault. "I'm not the one who stopped speaking to the other for five years. I am not the one who chose fame over their best friend. So don't sit there and act like this is all my fault because it isn't."

"It's not your fault," Wyatt cried, raising his voice slightly. He's frustrated, beginning to tug at his curls that had been gelled down slightly, "It's mine. And I've been replaying our conversation on repeat for the past two days, trying to figure out a way to make everything better. I should have sent her away, told her that I didn't care if she was good for my image. I guess I was scared... Scared to tell my management off and lose everything. The thing is, I've thought a lot these past few days about who I wanna be, and I finally know my answer."

I let go of the door handle, my hands falling to my sides. I don't say a word. My heart is racing rapidly. Part of me wants to kick him out now. I don't want to be hurt again. I don't want to be his second choice.

"Marley, if you asked me the same question you asked me the other night, I wouldn't hesitate," He continues, his eyes are full of desperation and fear. Scared I might not believe him, "I'm done playing the part of the guy they wanted me to be for years. I don't want to be him anymore. I like the guy I am when I'm with you." He stands up, his voice low as he says. "I just want to be with you."

I don't say anything, mostly because I don't know what to say. He said everything I wanted him to say the other night. It seems too good to be true. Like at any minute, London's going to come up here, and he's going to chicken out. I want to be with Wyatt. I've known that for days now. If he'd proven me wrong the other night, we'd be together right now. The thought of being hurt again weighed at my heart. He hurt me one too many times now. I'm scared to open my heart up, only to have it broken again.