He Thought I Was Being Good, I Was Just Getting Ready to leave Chapter 18

He Thought I Was Being Good, I Was Just Getting Ready to leave Chapter 18

I pushed Harrison’s hands away. Inside, I felt nothing.

I watched him hurt. I watched him cry. And I didn’t feel a single thing anymore.

Right then, I knew I was finally, truly free of all of it.

“I don’t remember,” I said slowly, “promising you anything. Love? Marriage? Loyalty? I never promised you any of that, Harrison.”

“We broke up two years ago. We haven’t been together since.”

Pain washed over his face. He held onto me like I was the only thing keeping him standing. But he couldn’t argue.

Does it hurt? Good. Even this pain isn’t one tenth of what I felt back then.

I saw Vanessa while I was overseas.

She’d taken the money and left right after graduation. Now she was a senior executive at some company.

We had coffee. She thought about the old days and said, “You know, Harrison always looked at us like we were objects. Like possessions.”

“But when he looked at you, it was different. There must have been moments when you could feel it, you were special to him.”

Before she left, she patted my shoulder. “Still. I’m glad you got past those moments.”

I already knew. Harrison was my disaster. He was so rotten, but he still had this hold on me.

The whole way through, I was constantly fighting against those moments.

Harrison looked like a man with no way out, desperate, trying everything.

“Pretend last night was just a one-night stand. Forget it happened. Forget that guy. I’ll pretend I never saw anything.”

“A one-night stand?” I laughed bitterly. “You know me better than that. I’m

the famous good girl, remember? I don’t do one-night stands. I really like him.”

I liked his face. I liked his young, strong body. Isn’t that enough?

His voice cracked. “You can pretend.”

I lifted my chin. “Do you think I’m you?”

Harrison’s grip loosened, like he no longer had the strength to hold on. But he still wouldn’t let go.

I knew it then. All those years of his cheating, his carelessness, they’d become the bluntest knife. And now it was carving into the deepest parts of him.

I stepped back, one small step, the last bit of distance between us.

“You’re not holding onto me. You’re holding onto control. Habit. Not me.”

The wind brushed through my hair. My voice was soft, but every word was final.

“Don’t come looking for me again, Harrison.”