Excerpts From Books I'll Never Write

Your Fault

Nick sat in the backseat of a taxi, trying hard to fix what he had broken, but it was too late. I think he realized that.

"Promise me one thing." I didn't answer, so he continued. 

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself." Again, I said nothing.

"Please, Kelsey, I said I was sorry. I was wrong, it was wrong. It felt wrong. I was thinking about you the whole time, I was just so mad--" he stopped trying to explain when I started laughing. It confused him, but it horrified him more. 

"Why in this whole wide world," I whispered. It was an accusation. "Would I promise you anything after what you did?"

He looked hurt. Good.

"Kelsey, you need to take care of yourself regardless of what I've done." He was leaning out of the window now. The driver was becoming impatient. 

I smiled, but it wasn't because I was happy. I smiled because I knew that he wouldn't be able to handle being responsible for my death. How pitiful.