by Anna Todd
Memories begin to creep into my mind as we pull into the parking lot. Hardin on his knees in the snow. Zed’s explanation of the bet. I quickly unlock my car, jumping inside to get away from the cold air. When I get into my car, I cringe at my reflection in the rearview. My eyes are still bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. Bags have swollen up under them, completing the horror-movie look. I will definitely need more makeup than I thought.
Going to Walmart, the only nearby store open at this hour, I buy everything I need to mask my feelings. But I don’t have the strength or the energy to make a real effort on my appearance, so I’m not sure I look much better.
Case in point: I arrive at Vance, and Kimberly gasps when she sees me. I try to muster a smile for her, but she jumps up from her desk.
“Tessa, dear, are you okay?” she asks frantically.
“Do I look that bad?” I shrug weakly.
“No, of course not,” she lies. “You just look . . .”
“Exhausted. Because I am. Finals took a lot out of me,” I tell her.
She nods and smiles warmly, but I can feel her eyes on my back the entire walk down the hall to my office. After that, my day drags on, no end in sight, it seems, until late morning, when Mr. Vance knocks at my door.
“Good afternoon, Tessa,” he says with a smile.
“Good afternoon,” I manage.
“I just wanted to touch base with you and let you know how impressed I am with your work so far.” He chuckles. “You’re doing a better and more detailed job than many of my actual employees.”
“Thank you, that means a lot to me,” I say, and immediately the voice in my head reminds me that I only have this internship because of Hardin.
“That being the case, I would like to invite you to the Seattle conference this coming weekend. Often these things are pretty boring, but it’s all about digital publishing, the ‘wave of the future’ and all that. You’ll meet a lot of people, learn some things. I’m opening a second branch in Seattle in a few months, and I need to meet a few people myself.” He laughs. “So what do you say? All expenses would be paid and we’ll leave Friday afternoon; Hardin is more than welcome to come along. Not to the conference but to Seattle,” he explains with a knowing smile.
If only he really knew what was going on.
“Of course I would love to go. I really appreciate your invitation!” I tell him, unable to contain my enthusiasm and the immediate relief that, finally, something decent is happening to me.
“Great! I’ll have Kimberly give you all the details, and explain how to expense things . . .” He rambles on, but I wander off while he does.
The idea of going to the conference soothes my ache slightly. I will be farther away from Hardin, but on the other hand, Seattle now reminds me of when Hardin wanted to take me there. He has tainted every aspect of my life, including the entire state of Washington. I feel my office getting smaller, the air in the room getting thicker.
“Are you feeling okay?” Mr. Vance asks, his brow lowers in concern.
“Uh, yeah, I just . . . I haven’t eaten today and I didn’t sleep much last night,” I tell him.
“Go ahead and go home, then, you can finish what you’re doing at home,” he says.
“It’s okay—”
“No, go on home. There are no ambulances in publishing. We’ll manage without you,” he assures me with a wave, then strolls off.
I gather my things, check my appearance in the bathroom mirror—yup, still pretty horrible—and am about to step into the elevator when Kimberly calls my name.
“Going home?” she asks and I nod. “Well, Hardin’s in a bad mood, so beware.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Because he just cussed me out for not transferring him to you.” She smiles. “Not even the tenth time he called. I figured if you wanted to talk to him, you would have on your cell.”
“Thank you,” I say, silently grateful she’s as observant as she is. Hearing Hardin’s voice on the line would have made the aching hole in me grow that much more quickly.
I manage to make it to my car before breaking down again. The pain only seems to get worse when there are no distractions, when I’m left alone with my thoughts and memories. And, of course, when I see the fifteen missed calls from Hardin on my phone and a notice that I have ten new messages, which I won’t read.
After pulling myself together enough to drive, I do what I’ve been dreading to do: call my mother.
She answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Mom,” I sob. The word feels odd coming out of my mouth, but I need the comfort of my mom right now.
“What did he do?”
That this has been everyone’s reaction shows me just how obvious the danger of Hardin was to everyone, and how oblivious I’ve been.
“I . . . he . . .” I can’t form a sentence. “Can I come home, just for today?” I ask her.
“Of course, Tessa. I’ll see you in two hours,” she says and hangs up.
Better than I thought, but not as warm as I had hoped for. I wish she were more like Karen, loving and accepting of any flaw. I wish she could just soften up, just long enough for me to feel the solace of having a mother, a loving and comforting one.
Pulling onto the highway, I shut my phone off before I do something stupid, like read any of those messages from Hardin.
chapter three
TESSA
The drive to my childhood home is familiar and easy, requiring little thought on my part. I force myself to let out every scream—literally, as in screaming as loud as I possibly can and until my throat is sore—before I arrive in my hometown. I find this is actually much harder to do than I thought it would be, especially since I don’t feel like yelling. I feel like crying and disappearing. I would give anything to rewind my life to my first day of college; I would have taken my mother’s advice and changed rooms. My mother had worried about Steph being a bad influence; if only we’d realized it would be the rude, curly-haired boy that would be the problem. That he would take everything in me and spin it around, tearing me into tiny pieces before blowing on the pile and scattering me across the sky and beneath his friends’ heels.
I have only been two hours away from home this whole time, but with everything that’s happened, it feels so much farther. I haven’t been home since I started school. If I hadn’t broken up with Noah, I would have been back many times. I force my eyes to stay focused on the road as I pass his house.
I pull into our driveway and practically jump out of my car. But when I get to the door, I’m not sure if I should knock. It feels strange to do so, but I don’t feel comfortable just walking inside either. How can so much have changed since I left for college?
I decide to just walk inside, and I find my mother standing by the brown leather couch in full makeup, a dress, and heels. Everything looks the same: clean and perfectly organized. The only difference is that it seems smaller, maybe because of my time at Ken’s house. Well, my mother’s house is definitely small and unappealing from the outside, but the inside is decorated nicely, and my mother always did her best to mask the chaos of her marriage with attractive paint and flowers and attention to cleanliness. A decorating strategy she continued after my dad left, because I guess it had become habit by that point. The house is warm and the familiar smell of cinnamon fills my nostrils. My mother has always obsessed over wax burners and has one in every room. I take my shoes off at the door, knowing that she won’t want snow on her polished hardwood floors.
“Would you like some coffee, Theresa?” she asks before hugging me.
I get my coffee addiction from my mother, and this connection brings a small smile to my lips. “Yes, please.”
I follow her into the kitchen and sit at the small table, unsure how to begin the conversation.
“So are you going to tell me what happened?” she asks bluntly.
I take a deep breath and a sip of my coffee before answering. “Hardin and I broke up.”
Her expression is neutral. “Why?”
“Well, he didn’t turn out to be who I thought he was,” I say. I wrap my hands around the scalding-hot cup of coffee in an attempt to distract myself from the pain and prepare myself for my mother’s response.
“And who did you think he was?”
“Someone who loved me.” I’m not sure who I thought Hardin was other than that, on his own, as a person.
“And now you don’t think he does?”
“No, I know he doesn’t.”
“What makes you so sure?” she asks coolly.
“Because I trusted him and he betrayed me, in a terrible way.” I know I’m leaving out the details, but I still feel the strange need to protect Hardin from my mother’s judgment. I scold myself for being so stupid, for even considering him, when he clearly wouldn’t do the same for me.
“Don’t you think you should have thought about this possibility before deciding to live with him?”
“Yes, I know. Go ahead and tell me how stupid I am, tell me that you told me so,” I say.
“I did tell you, I warned you about guys like him. Men like him and your father are best to stay away from. I’m just glad it’s over with before it really even began. People make mistakes, Tessa.” She takes a drink from her mug, leaving a pink lipstick ring. “I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”
“Who?”
“Noah, of course.”
How does she not get this? I just need to talk to her, to have her comfort me—not push me to be with Noah again. I stand up, looking at her, then around the room. Is she serious? She can’t be. “Just because things didn’t work out with Hardin doesn’t mean I’m going to date Noah again!” I snap.
“Why doesn’t it? Tessa, you should be grateful that he’s willing to give you another chance.”
“What? Why can’t you just stop? I don’t need to be with anyone right now, especially not Noah.” I want to rip my hair out. Or hers.
“What do you mean, especially not Noah? How can you say that about him? He’s been nothing but great to you since you were kids.”
I sigh and sit back down. “I know, Mother, I care about Noah so much. Just not in that way.”
“You don’t even know what you’re talking about.” She stands up and pours her coffee down the drain. “It’s not always about love, Theresa; it’s about stability and security.”
“I’m only eighteen,” I tell her. I don’t want to think that I’d be with someone without loving them just for the stability. I want to be my own stability and security. I want someone to love, and someone to love me.
“Almost nineteen. And if you aren’t careful now, no one will want you. Now go fix your makeup, because Noah will be here any minute,” she announces and walks out of the kitchen.
I should have known better than to come here for comfort. I would have been better off sleeping in my car all day.
AS PROMISED, NOAH ARRIVES five minutes later, not that I’ve bothered to fix my appearance. Seeing him walk into the small kitchen makes me feel even lower than I have so far, which I didn’t think was possible.
He smiles his warm perfect smile. “Hey.”
“Hey, Noah,” I respond.
He walks closer and I stand up to hug him. He feels warm, and his sweatshirt smells so good, just like I remember. “Your mom called me,” he says.
“I know.” I try to smile. “I’m sorry that she keeps bringing you into this. I don’t know what her problem is.”
“I do. She wants you to be happy,” he says, defending her.
“Noah . . .” I warn.
“She just doesn’t know what really makes you happy. She wants it to be me, even though it’s not.” He gives a little shrug.
“I’m sorry.”
“Tess, stop apologizing. I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he assures me and hugs me again.
“I’m not,” I admit.
“I can tell. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know . . . are you sure that’s okay?” I can’t bear to hurt him again by talking about the guy I left him for.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says and pours himself a glass of water before sitting across from me at the table.
“Okay . . .” I say and tell him basically everything. I leave out the sex details, since those are private.
Well, they aren’t. But to me they are. I still can’t believe that Hardin told his friends everything that we did . . . that’s the worst part. Even worse than showing the sheets is the fact that after telling me that he loved me, and making love, he could apparently turn around and make a mockery of what had happened between us in front of everyone.
“I knew he was going to hurt you, I just had no idea how bad,” Noah says. I can tell how angry he is; it’s strange to see this emotion on his face, given how calm and collected he normally is. “You’re too good for him Tessa; he’s scum.”
“I can’t believe how stupid I was—I gave up everything for him. But the worst feeling in the world is loving someone who doesn’t love you.”
Noah grabs his glass and twists it in his hands. “Tell me about it,” he says softly.
I want to smack myself for saying what I just said, saying it to him. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I can apologize.
“It’s okay,” he says and reaches out to rub his thumb over my hand.
God, I wish I did love Noah. I would be much happier with him, and he would never do something like Hardin did to me.
Noah catches me up on everything I’ve missed since I left, which isn’t much. He’s going to go San Francisco for college instead of WCU, which I find I’m grateful for. At least one good thing came out of my hurting him: it gave him the push he needed to get out of Washington. He tells me about what he’s researched on California, and by the time he leaves, the sun has fallen, and I realize that my mom has stayed in her room during his whole visit.
Stepping out to the backyard, I wander to the greenhouse where I spent most of my childhood. As I stare through my reflection in the glass and into the little structure, I see that all its plants and flowers are dead, and it’s generally a mess, which feels fitting at the moment.
I have so many things to do, to figure out. I need to find somewhere to live and find a way to get all of my stuff from Hardin’s apartment. I was seriously considering just leaving everything there, but I can’t. I have no clothes except the ones I’ve been keeping there and, most importantly, I need my textbooks.
Reaching into my pocket, I turn my phone on, and within seconds my inbox is full and the voicemail symbol appears. I ignore the voicemails and quickly scan the messages, only looking at the sender. All except one are from Hardin.
Kimberly wrote me: Christian said to tell you to stay home tomorrow, everyone will be leaving at noon anyway since the first floor needs to be repainted, so stay home. Let me know if you need anything. xx.
Having the day off tomorrow is a huge relief. I love my internship, but I’m beginning to think I should transfer out of WCU, maybe even leave Washington. The campus isn’t big enough for me to be able to avoid Hardin and all of his friends, and I don’t want the constant reminder of what I had with Hardin. Well, what I thought I had.
By the time I go back inside the house, my hands and face are numb from the cold. My mother is sitting in a chair reading a magazine.
“Can I stay tonight?” I ask her.
She looks at me briefly. “Yes. And tomorrow we’ll figure out how to get you back into the dorms,” she says and goes back to her magazine.
Figuring I’ll get no more from my mother tonight, I go up to my old room, which is exactly the way that I left it. She hasn’t changed a thing. I don’t bother removing my makeup before bed. It’s hard, but I force myself to sleep, dreaming of when my life was much better. Before I met Hardin.
My phone rings in the middle of the night, waking me. But I ignore it, briefly wondering if Hardin’s able to sleep at all.
THE NEXT MORNING
all my mother says to me before leaving for work is that she’ll call the school and force them to let me back into the dorms, in a different building far from my old one. I leave, intending to head to campus, but then decide to go to the apartment, taking the exit to the road that leads there and driving quickly to keep from changing my mind.
At the complex, I scan the parking lot for Hardin’s car, twice. Once I’m sure he isn’t around, I park and hurry across the snowy lot to the door. By the time I get to the lobby, the bottoms of my jeans are soaked and I’m freezing. I try to think of anything except Hardin, but it’s impossible.
Hardin must have really hated me to go to this extreme to ruin my life and then to move me into an apartment far from anyone I know. He must be pretty proud of himself right now for causing me this much pain.
As I fumble with my keys before unlocking the door to our place a tidal wave of panic crashes over me, nearly knocking me the ground.
When will it stop? Or at least decrease?
I go straight to the bedroom and grab my bags from the closet, roughly shoving all my clothes in them without care. My eyes flicker to the bedside table, where a small frame stands, displaying the picture of Hardin and me smiling together before Ken’s wedding.
Too bad it was all fake. Leaning across the bed, I grab it and throw it against the concrete floor. It shatters into pieces and I jump over the bed, grab the photo, and rip it into as many pieces as I can, not realizing that I’m sobbing until I choke on my own breath.
I grab my books, piling them into an empty box, and, instinctively, Hardin’s copy of Wuthering Heights; he won’t miss it, and, honestly, I’m owed it, after what he’s taken from me.
My throat is sore, so I go into the kitchen and grab a glass of water. I sit down at the table and allow myself a few minutes to pretend that none of this has happened. To pretend that instead of my having to face the future days alone, Hardin will be home from class shortly, and will smile at me and tell me he loves me, that he missed me all day. That he will lift me onto the counter and kiss me with longing and love—