“Well, I wish I could believe you,” Hannah said.
I gripped my skull and felt the thick nausea that comes with anxiety. Oh, yes, this was familiar. I lied to Hannah and she caught me in the act. I should have known better, but I never learned, and I wondered at myself as I waited for Hannah to say more. Why did I always do the worst things? Why did I always arrange my life so that it was on the brink of collapse?
The answer came to me as if it had only been waiting for the question.
Because happiness is useless to me. Because I need agony and heat in my life.
I swallowed. My saliva was bitter.
“I thought the book would bring you back to me,” I said. “Say something.”
“The book? What do you mean?”
“Night Owl. I posted it…” I rose and began to pace, cutting back and forth across the room. Surely Hannah would understand that everything I had done, I did to bring her closer to me. “I posted it on that site. The Mystic Tavern. And Melanie, she just … found it and published it. Do you understand? I had no idea, but I wanted—”
“Then how … do you know her?” Anger rippled through Hannah’s voice. She sounded raw, on the brink of screaming or tears. “And why the fuck did you put the book online?”
“I didn’t know her. I found her on the forum. Doesn’t matter. I called her…” I waved my hand. God, nothing was coming out right. None of this really mattered. The only thing that mattered was that … “I did it for us,” I hissed. “The book. I wanted everyone to know about us. I thought if you understood how it felt, when the whole world can see the most private parts of your life, that you’d finally get how it is for me, Hannah … and that you’d leave all that behind.”
Hannah said nothing.
I stopped pacing and listened to the fast, heavy beat of my heart.
“Hannah?”
She giggled. I smiled uneasily, one corner of my mouth quirking up.
“You see?” I said. “I missed you so much. When I got out here, I realized I couldn’t—”
“You really are insane,” she whispered.
I realized I couldn’t live without you.
“What?” I steadied myself against the wall.
“Yeah. You’re fucking crazy. You … you put Night Owl online … and let some stranger publish it … to make my life hell? To make me so uncomfortable that I … would abandon my life and come live in the fucking woods with you like a fucking crazy person?” Hannah’s voice rose hysterically. “Fuck you, Matt Sky. Fuck you!”
“No. No, Hannah. Listen—” I shook my head.
“You listen.” Hannah’s quavering voice grew clear and diamond hard. “This is over.”
“What? I—”
“This. Is. Over. We. Are. Over.”
Above the sound of my booming heart, I missed the click of Hannah ending our call. I kept talking, my voice insistent and panicked. Angry. Then pleading. “It is not over! What do you mean, over? You don’t get to say that. I love you. You don’t understand…”
I panted in the silence. Jesus—she couldn’t be serious.
“Hannah? Hannah?”
I looked at my phone. She was gone.
My thumb hovered over the Send button, and then I lowered my cell. I knew this game. I would call; the call would go to voice mail. I would leave messages; she would delete them.
We’d been here before, and because of my lies.
Happiness is useless to me.
I focused on controlling my breathing, in and out, slowing my heart rate.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and flattened my hands against the wall.
I pressed my forehead to the wall, too, and stood entirely still.
And then I wound my arm back and slammed my fist into the wall—once, twice, harder each time—until I heard a low crack and felt the pain.
Chapter 35
HANNAH
I turned off my TracFone. I turned off my iPhone, too.
I unplugged the condo landline, shut down my laptop, and sat on the couch.
The couch Matt bought.