Not Your Typical Love Story

Chapter Thirteen

I didn't want to be dramatic, but I was wholly considering the option of throwing myself in front of a moving car.

I'd even started watching the cars coming in, mentally ticking off when I'd have my best chance.

I had serious issues.

"Bianca?"

Chase's voice registers in the back of my mind, but it's easily ignored as I continued peeking over his shoulder, on my toes in order to scope out the situation.

I can see his gaze in my peripheral vision, head twisted in what is undoubtedly a painful position and gaze burning holes in my cheek. I'm sure that his neck must hurt from how he angled it, and I was making it difficult for him to do it any other way, but it was a mercy he hadn't stepped out of my way and told me I was being crazy.

He snapped his fingers in my face when I didn't respond, but I swatted them away when they covered my view.

Fighting my grip, he spins his body around to face me, which was made a little awkward by the way I'd been gripping his shirt.

"What in the world are you doing?"

What should've been slightly more awkward was the close proximity between us, with my chest practically up against his. His hand was already gripping my forearm, since my hands had preoccupied themselves with clinging to some other part of his shirt, as if I needed him as an anchor. And his eyes were so heavily focused on me, filled with such an obvious mixture of worry and confusion.

But if it was awkward, I didn't think much of it, and neither did he.

We stood there for a moment, me staring up at him hesitantly, hazel orbs meeting brilliant blue ones. And suddenly, we were young again, so young that the concept of intimacy hadn't existed for us yet and it didn't matter the way we stood or how we interacted. It was just me and Chase and he was worried and wanted to see if I was okay, checking in on me, watching over me, like the old times.

And part of me wanted to tell him everything, the way I wouldn't have hesitated to do when we were in childhood. I wanted to tell him everything, wanted to explain that even I couldn't understand why I'd lied about what I'd said to him, about everything I've gone through while he was gone—while he left me.

And just like that, my decision was easy.

There was no denying that I'd missed Chase terribly over the years, the way I'd longed for my best friends, those gaps that could never really be filled. The heartache that could never truly be cured.

Abandonment wasn't something you could get over with a bucket of icecream a night spent with Ellie watching a whole shit ton of movies until we passed out.

No, that pain went so far past that, and it hurt like a bitch because it seemed to keep happening. I was never a good enough a reason for someone to stay. For someone to look at me and decide that they would always be there for me through thick and thin.

Because men leave, that's what they do. And I'd be a fool to expect otherwise

And what good would it do me? If I spilled my guts to Chase? When he was simply going to up and leave later, just as easily as he had before?