Page 131 of The Design of Goodbye
“That’s because I am.” He set down a bag of groceries he’d been holding and then braced himself against the kitchen table. He lifted his left foot slightly off the ground and turned away, but not fast enough for me to miss his grimace.
“Are you—”
“I haven’t eaten anything all day,” he said, taking out some ramen from his bag, “so I really need to eat something.”
He took a few steps toward the stove, and I gasped. “You’re limping.”
“I’m okay.”
He had a warped sense of what okay was because he couldn’t put weight on his left foot without pain.
After he’d filled a pot with water and put it on the stove, I’d gained enough courage to ask, “What happened?”
“Twisted my ankle.”
My heart pounded. “How?”
“I tripped.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
I crossed my arms. “Your dad did it.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” I asked.
Back facing me, he stirred the tepid water with a fork. “Does he need a reason?”
“But he had one last night,” I guessed.
He went rigid. I wished I could see his expression.
“He found out I skipped finals,” he explained. “The ankle and extra hours at Gary’s were apparently my punishment.”
He’d skipped finals because ofme. Which meant he’d been hurt because ofme. I felt sick with guilt.
“Liam?” His name came out as a shaky breath of air because I was terrified—notforthe words I was about to say but that they wouldn’t be enough. “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t need to see his expression to know what an impact those two words had on him. His actions said it all: a sharp inhale, shoulders relaxing, fork falling from his grip and clattering onto the stove.
“It’s my fault you’re hurt,” I said, voice catching. “Ihurtyou.”
He turned around, his entire face softening when he saw me trying to hold it together. The hollow-eyed expression was gone and replaced with an understanding I didn’tunderstand.
“Madison,” he whispered, “you didn’t hurt me. At least, not physically.”
Physically or emotionally, right now, neither of those distinctions mattered because I’d. Hurt. Him.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry for how I treated you. I’m sorry for forcing you to tell me what happened to your mom.” My voice shook. Ihatedit. Why was I always so weak? I’d come here to apologize. Not make him watch me fall apart. “I keep hurting you. I don’t mean to.”
He stood there in silent contemplation. I couldn’t take it. I wanted him to yell at me. Hurt me like I’d hurt him. Give me exactly what I deserved.
I couldn’t believe what I’d put him through. What I’d done. After everything he’d been through. Everything he’dwitnessed.
“I can’t believe I made you cry.” He flushed. I glanced around the kitchen, trying to blink away my tears. One slid down my cheek anyway. I sniffed and wiped my nose. “I need to explain what happened. Why I...”
