After We Collided

by Anna Todd

  Day six I woke with swollen and bloodshot eyes. I couldn’t believe the way I’d broken down the previous night. The weight on my chest had magnified, and I could barely see straight. Why was I such a fuckup? Why did I continue to treat her like shit? She’s the first person who has ever been able to see me, inside of me, the real me, and I treated her like shit. I blamed her for everything, when in reality it was me. It was always me—even when I didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong, I was. I was rude to her when she tried to talk to me about things. I yelled at her when she called me out on my bullshit. And I lied to her repeatedly. She has forgiven me for everything, always. I could always count on that, and maybe that’s why I treated her the way I did, because I knew I could. I smashed my phone under my boot on day six. I went half the day without eating. My mum offered me oatmeal, but when I tried to force myself to eat it, it nearly came back up. I hadn’t showered since day three, and I was a fucking wreck. I tried to listen as my mum told me the few things she needed me to get from the store, but I couldn’t hear her. All I could think of was Tessa and her need to go to Conner’s at least five days a week.

  Tessa once told me I ruined her. Now, as I sit here trying to focus, trying to just catch my breath, I know that she was wrong. She ruined me. She got inside me and fucked me up. I had spent years building those walls—my entire life, really—and here she came in and tore them down, leaving me with nothing but rubble.

  “Did you hear me, Hardin? I made a small list in case you didn’t,” my mum said, handing me the frilly piece of stationery.

  “Yes.” My voice was barely audible.

  “Are you sure you’re okay to go?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m good.” I stood up and tucked the list into my dirty jeans.

  “I heard you last night, Hardin, if you want to—”

  “Don’t, Mum. Please don’t.” I nearly choked on my words. My mouth was so dry and my throat was aching.

  “Okay.” Her eyes were full of sadness as I walked out of the house to head to the store just down the road.

  The list only consisted of a few items, yet I couldn’t remember any of them without digging the damn paper out of my pocket. I managed to corral the few things: bread, jam, coffee beans, and some fruit. Looking at all the food in the store made my empty stomach turn. I took an apple for myself and began to force myself to eat it. It tasted like cardboard, and I could feel the small pieces hitting the pit of my stomach as I paid the elderly woman at the cash register.

  I walked outside and it began to snow. The snow made me think of her, too. Everything made me think of her. My head was aching with a headache that refused to go away. I rubbed my fingers over my temples with my free hand and crossed the street.

  “Hardin? Hardin Scott?” a voice called from the other side of the street. No. It couldn’t be.

  “Is that you?” she asked again.

  Natalie.

  This couldn’t be happening, I kept thinking as she walked toward me with her hands full of shopping bags.

  “Erm . . . hey,” was all I could say, my mind frantic, my palms already beginning to sweat.

  “I thought you moved?” she asked.

  Her eyes were bright, not lifeless like I remembered as she cried and begged for me to let her stay at my house when she had nowhere to go.

  “I did . . . I’m only visiting,” I told her, and she set her bags on the sidewalk.

  “Well, that’s good.” She smiled.

  How could she be smiling at me after what I had done to her?

  “Uh . . . yeah. How are you?” I forced myself to ask the girl whose life I ruined.

  “I’m good, really good,” she chirped and ran her hands over her swollen belly.

  Swollen belly? Oh God. No, wait . . . the time line didn’t add up. Holy shit, that scared me for a second.

  “You’re pregnant?” I asked, hoping that she was so I hadn’t just insulted her.

  “Yeah, six months along. And engaged!” She smiled again, holding her small hand up to show me a gold ring on her finger.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, it’s funny how things work out, isn’t it?” She tucked her brown hair behind her ear and looked into my eyes, which were circled with blue rings from lack of sleep.

  Her voice was so sweet that it made me feel a thousand times worse. I couldn’t stop picturing her face as she caught all of us watching her on the small screen. She’d screamed, literally screamed, and ran from the room. I didn’t follow her, of course. I just laughed at her, laughed at her humiliation and her pain.

  “I’m really sorry,” I blurted. It was strange, weird, and necessary. I expected her to call me names, to tell me how fucked up of a person I am, to punch me, even.

  What I didn’t expect was for her to wrap her arms around me and tell me she forgave me.

  “How can you forgive me? I was so fucked up. I ruined your life,” I said; my eyes were burning.

  “No, you didn’t. Well, you did at first, but in a way, it all worked out in the end,” she said, and I nearly vomited on her green sweater.

  “What?”

  “After you . . . well, you know . . . I had nowhere to go, so I found a church, a new church since mine exiled me, and that’s where I met Elijah.” Her face instantly lit up at the mention of his name.

  “And now here we are nearly three years later, engaged and expecting. Everything happens for a reason, I guess? Sounds cheesy, huh?” She giggled.

  The sound reminded me that she was always such a sweet girl. I just hadn’t given a shit; her kindness made it easier to prey on her.

  “I suppose it does, but I’m really glad you found someone. I’ve been thinking about you lately . . . you know . . . what I did, and I felt like shit about it. I know you’re happy now, but that doesn’t excuse what I did to you. It wasn’t until Tessa that I—” I cut myself off.

  A little smile tweaked her lips. “Tessa?”

  I nearly passed out from the pain. “She’s, um . . . well . . . she’s . . .” I stutter.

  “She’s what? Your wife?” Natalie’s words cut straight to the core as her eyes searched my fingers for a band.

  “No, she was . . . she was my girlfriend.”

  “Oh. So you date now?” she half teased; she could sense my pain, I was sure.

  “No . . . well, only her.”

  “I see. And now she’s not your girlfriend anymore?”

  “Nope.” I brought my fingers to my lip ring.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope things work out for you, the way they have for me,” she said.

  “Thank you. Congratulations on the engagement and . . . baby,” I said uncomfortably.

  “Thank you! We expect to marry this summer.”

  “So soon?”

  “Well, we’ve been engaged for two years.” She laughed.

  “Wow.”

  “It was fast, soon after we met,” Natalie explained.

  I felt like an asshole as soon as the words left my mouth, but I asked: “Aren’t you too young?”

  But she just smiled. “I’m nearly twenty-one, and it doesn’t make sense to wait. I’ve been fortunate enough to find the person I want to spend my life with at a young age—why waste any more time when he’s right in front of me asking that I do just that. I’m honored that he wants to make me his wife; there’s no greater expression of love than that.” As she explained, I could hear Tessa’s voice saying the words instead.

  “I guess you’re right,” I told her and she smiled.

  “Oh, there he is! I have to go—I’m freezing and pregnant, not a good combination.” She laughed before picking her bags up off the sidewalk and greeting a man in a sweater vest and khakis. His smile when seeing his pregnant fiancée was so bright that I swore it lit up that dreary day in England.

  Day seven was long. Every day has been long. I kept thinking of Natalie and her forgiveness; it couldn’t have come at a better time. Sure, I looked like hell and she knew it, but she was happy
and in love. Pregnant, at that. I didn’t ruin her life the way I thought I had.

  And I thank God for that.

  I spent the whole day in bed. I couldn’t even bring myself to open the damned blinds. My mum and Mike were out all day, so I was left alone to sulk in my misery. Each day got worse. I constantly thought about what she was doing, who she was with. Was she crying? Was she lonely? Had she returned to our apartment to find me? Why hadn’t she called me again?

  This isn’t the pain I had read about in novels. This pain isn’t just in my mind, this pain isn’t physical. This is a soul-aching pain, something that is ripping me apart from the inside out, and I don’t think I can survive it. No one could.

  This must be how Tessa feels when I hurt her. I can’t imagine her fragile body withstanding this type of pain, but clearly she’s stronger than she appears. She has to be to put up with me. Her mum once told me that if I really cared about her I would leave her alone; I would hurt her anyway, she said.

  She was right. I should have left her alone then. I should have left her alone from that first day she walked into that dorm room. I promised myself that I would rather die than hurt her again . . . this is what this is. This is dying, this is worse than dying. It hurts worse. It has to.

  I spent day eight drinking, the entire day. I couldn’t stop. With each drink I prayed that her face would leave my mind, but it wouldn’t. It couldn’t.

  You have to get your shit together, Hardin. You have to. I have to. I really do.

  “Hardin . . .” Tessa’s voice sends chills down my spine.

  “Babe . . .” she says.

  When I look up at her, she’s sitting on my mum’s couch with a smile on her face and a book in her lap.

  “Come here, please,” she whines as the door opens and a group of men step inside. No.

  “There she is,” says the short man who torments my dreams each night.

  “Hardin?” Tessa begins to cry.

  “Get away from her,” I warn them as they close in on her. They don’t seem to hear me.

  Her nightgown is ripped off as she’s thrown to the floor. Wrinkled and dirt-stained hands travel up her thighs as she whimpers my name.

  “Please . . . Hardin, help me.” She looks to me, but I’m frozen.

  I am immobile and unable to help her. I am forced to watch as they beat her and violate her until she’s lying on the floor silent and bloodied.

  My mum didn’t wake me, no one did. I had to finish it, all of it, and when I woke up my reality was worse than any nightmare.

  DAY NINE is today.

  “Did you hear about Christian Vance moving to Seattle?” my mum asks me as I push the cereal around the bowl in front of me.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s exciting, isn’t it? A new branch in Seattle.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “He’s having a dinner party on Sunday. He thought you’d be there.”

  “How do you know?” I ask her.

  “He told me, we talk from time to time.” She looks away and refills her coffee mug.

  “What for?”

  “Because we can—now eat your cereal.” She scolds me like a child, but I don’t have the energy to come up with a snappy remark.

  “I don’t want to go,” I tell her and force the spoon to my mouth.

  “You may not see him again for a while.”

  “So? I barely see him now anyway.”

  She looks as if she has something else to say, but she keeps quiet.

  “Have you got any aspirin?” I ask, and she nods before disappearing to retrieve some.

  I don’t want to go to a stupid fucking dinner party celebrating Christian and Kimberly leaving for Seattle. I’m tired of everyone always talking about Seattle, and I know Tessa will be there. The pain at the idea of seeing her tackles me and nearly knocks me out of the chair. I have to stay away from her, I owe it to her. If I can stay here for a few more days, weeks even, we can both move on. She’ll find someone like Natalie’s fiancé, someone much better for her than me.

  “I still think you should go,” my mum says again as I swallow the aspirin, knowing they won’t help.

  “I can’t go, Mum . . . even if I wanted to. I would have to leave first thing in the morning and I’m not ready to leave.”

  “You mean you aren’t ready to face what you left,” she says.

  I can’t hold it in any longer. I bury my face in my hands as I let the pain take over, I let it drown me. I welcome it, and hope it kills me.

  “Hardin . . .” My mum’s voice is quiet and comforting as she hugs me and I shake in her arms.

  chapter eighty-one

  TESSA

  The moment Karen leaves to take Landon to the airport, I instantly feel it. I feel the loneliness creeping in, but I have to ignore it. I have to. I’m fine by myself. I walk downstairs to the kitchen after my stomach’s refusal to stop growling reminds me how hungry I am.

  Ken is leaning against the kitchen counter, tearing back the foil wrapper on a light blue frosted cupcake. “Hey, Tessa.” He smiles, taking a small bite. “Grab one.”

  My grandmother used to tell me that cupcakes are food for the soul. If I need anything, it’s something for my soul.

  “Thank you.” I smile before licking a stripe across the top.

  “Don’t thank me, thank Karen.”

  “I will.” This cupcake tastes incredible. Maybe it’s because I’ve barely eaten in the last nine days, or maybe it’s because cupcakes truly are good for the soul. Regardless of the reason, I finish it in less than two minutes.

  After the glow of the treat washes away, I can feel that the pain is still present, steady as my heartbeat. But it’s no longer overwhelming me, no longer pulling me under.

  Ken surprises me by saying, “It’ll get easier, and you’ll find someone who is capable of loving another person besides themselves.”

  My stomach churns from his sudden subject change. I don’t want to backtrack, I want to move forward.

  “I treated Hardin’s mum terribly. I know I did. I would leave for days at a time, I would lie, I would drink until I couldn’t see straight. If it weren’t for Christian, I don’t know how Trish and Hardin would ever have made it through . . .”

  With his words, I remember my anger toward Ken when I heard about the origin of Hardin’s nightmares. I remember wanting to slap him right across his face for ever letting anything hurt his son in that way, so when he says this, it stirs my stored anger. I ball my fists.

  “I will never be able to take any of that back, no matter how hard I wish that I could. I wasn’t good for her and I knew it. She was too good for me and I knew that, too. So did everyone else. Now she has Mike, who I know will treat her the way she deserves to be treated. There’s a Mike for you, too, I know it,” he says, looking at me in a fatherly way. “My son hopefully will be lucky enough to find his Karen later in life when he grows up and stops fighting everything and everyone along the way.”

  At the mention of Hardin with “his Karen,” I swallow and look away. I don’t want to imagine Hardin with anyone else. It’s way too soon. I do wish that for him, though; I would never wish for him to be alone for the rest of his life. I just hope he finds someone who he loves as much as Ken loves Karen so that he can have a second chance to love someone more than he loved me.

  “I hope he does, too,” I finally say.

  “I’m sorry that he hasn’t contacted you,” Ken says quietly.

  “It’s okay . . . I stopped expecting it a few days ago.”

  “Anyway,” he says with a sigh, “I better get upstairs to my office. I have some phone calls to make.”

  I’m glad he’s excusing himself before we get any deeper into the conversation. I don’t want to talk about Hardin anymore.

  WHEN I PULL UP in front of Zed’s apartment building, he’s waiting outside with a cigarette behind his ear.

  “You smoke?” I ask and crinkle my nose.

  He seems puzzled as
he climbs into my small car. “Oh, yeah. Well, sometimes. And you saw me smoke that night at the frat house, remember?” He pulls the cigarette from behind his ear and smiles. “I found this one in my room.”

  I laugh a little. “Yeah, after the beer pong and Hardin yelling at us that night, I guess the smoking thing slipped my mind.” I give him a smile but then realize something. “But wait, so not only do you plan to smoke, you plan to smoke an old cigarette?”

  “I guess so. You don’t like cigarettes?”

  “No, not at all. But hey, if you want to smoke, you can. Well, not in my car, obviously,” I say.

  His fingers move to the door, and he presses one of the small buttons. When the window is half down, he tosses the cigarette out the window.

  “Then I won’t smoke.” He smiles and rolls it back up.

  As much as I despise the habit, I have to admit there was something about the way he looked with his hair styled nearly straight up, his dark sunglasses, and his leather jacket that made that cigarette look stylish.

  chapter eighty-two

  HARDIN

  Here you go,” my mum says when she walks into my old bedroom.

  She hands me a small porcelain cup on a saucer, and I sit up from the bed. “What is it?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

  “Warm milk and honey,” she says as I take a sip. “Remember when you were little and I used to make it when you were sick?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’ll forgive you, Hardin,” she tells me, and I close my eyes.

  I finally moved on from sobbing to dry-heaving to numbness. That’s all it is, is numb. “I don’t think so . . .”

  “She will, I saw the way she looked at you. She’s forgiven you for much worse, remember?” She brushes the matted hair away from my forehead, and I don’t flinch away for once.