He’s quiet for a long moment. “You realize that I’m responsible for a lot more than two deaths over the last two years, right?”
“I know.” I fight back the tears. And this is part of the problem. He’s always had a tough time dealing with the fall-out from his actions, and I knew it, and focused instead on my own worries. What does that say about me? Certainly, that I wasn’t as supportive to him as he’d been to me. It’d been all about me back then, and I hate that. Here on out, no matter what, that’s not who I want to be anymore. “I know. It’s just . . .” My hands are folded so tight that I fear I might lose circulation. “I wasn’t ready for that yet. I knew someday it’d be the case, but . . . I wasn’t ready. I was really resentful that I was forced to skip right over all those stages that everyone else gets to go through, the ones that help Magicals ease into their crafts. It felt like the moment I joined the Council, I was thrown into the fire.” I sigh. “I know it was the same for you, too. And others. It’s not like I was the only one. And I’m not trying to devalue your crafts, but more often than not, it seemed like I was asked to get out there and destroy things rather than create, and it was a heavy burden to bear.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me about how you were feeling about everything?” He’s so sad. “I would have helped you, Chloe.”
“I know.” I’m crying, and it pisses me off, because I want to stay strong. “I know that now. I wish I had. But at the time, it felt like everything was spiraling out of control, and before I knew it, I was lost and didn’t know how to get out of the maze I’d wandered into.”
One of his palms presses in between his eyes.
“And . . . the Connections . . .” My voice falls apart, and I’m shaking all over. “It’s really hard to have two Connections, Jonah. I know you have two, too, but—it’s overwhelming at times.” I wipe my nose. “Sometimes, I wondered if everything I did damaged one or both of you. Like, whether me even breathing, existing—hurt you. And I hated myself for it. What good was I to anyone if I couldn’t even love myself? I couldn’t—I didn’t know what to do. In the end, it seemed like the only solution was for me to leave. I hoped . . .”
I finally look away. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to not just ugly cry, especially since he’s looking at me like I’ve just killed a whole bag full of adorable kittens and puppies right in front of him. “I thought that maybe if I were out of the equation, you two wouldn’t be so angry at one another anymore. So I left. I wanted to give you guys a chance at a normal life. I just thought—” Okay. I give in. I’m totally ugly crying now. “I know you probably don’t believe me, but I thought I was doing the best thing for you. For Kellan. And, if I’m being honest, for me, too.”
Both palms press against his eyes now.
“I was nineteen, Jonah, and all I could see ahead of me was a lifetime of guilt and stress. I know you two felt those things, too. How was that fair?” I wipe my cheeks. And then I take a deep breath. My heart hammers harder than ever. Because I finally tell him what I should have told him a long time ago.
I tell him I cheated on him with his brother, and it happened more than once.
Jonah’s quiet for a long time. He leans back against the couch and stares up at the ceiling, his hand clenching in and out, and a million scenarios play out in my mind over what he’s finally going to say to me. How it can go so many different ways—in anger, in fury, hysteria, anguish, or sadness. All will further serve to break my heart, because he never deserved what I’ve done to him, never once.
I desperately want to get a tissue, but I’m too scared to leave my chair. Because what if he leaves while I’m gone, even for a minute? So I wipe my nose and cheeks with my sleeve and sniffle and continue to ugly cry as silently as I can. I wait, even though it kills me to do so. I’ve made him wait over six months. I’m willing to wait for him for as long as it takes.
He’s worth it.
Just when I start worrying I’m going to flood the apartment with my tears, he says, still staring at the ceiling, “I already knew you cheated.”
I stop crying long enough to gurgle out, “What?”
He laughs quietly, but there is no humor in his pain. “I’ve known for a long time.”