It doesn’t even occur to me that I used the L-word just now.

“I don’t believe that’s true,” they say.

I put my hands on theirs, pulling them away from my face. “Doesn’t matter what you believe—it’s the truth.”

“That’s a matter of perspective.”

God, that sounds so cheesy, and so perfectly Wyatt Fowler.

“This was all an act,” I say. “It wasn’t supposed to be something more. Just the two of us faking our way through this.”

That’s all it was.

An act.

“I think …” The words don’t want to come out. “I think that I need you to leave.”

Wyatt bites on their bottom lip so hard that the skin beneath it turns white. I’m almost scared that they’ll bite right through, and they’ll start bleeding everywhere.

And then they nod.

My worst fear.

“Okay.”

Stop, I want to tell them. Fight back, argue with me, do something!

They don’t, though.

“I’ll let you pack,” I say. “And I’ll order you a new ticket and a ride to the airport.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want an apology,” they tell me.

Fair enough.

I slip away from Wyatt, leaving them standing there in the living room. I need to be alone, even if the only thing separating us is a flimsy door. And as I reach to close it, they open their mouth.

“You’re wrong.”

I pause, not saying a word.

“This was never an act for me.”

I let their words sink in, and I turn away so they won’t see me cry.

Then I close the door.

*  *  *

I give Wyatt time to pack by themself, and while I’d love nothing more than to crawl under the duvet and sleep until my flight in a few days, I have to do something.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t also sit in bed while I do it.

The earliest flight is tonight around eleven, which means that Wyatt won’t have to sleep here while they wait.

Good.

The sooner they get out of California, the better.

Just as I’m finalizing the purchase, I get a text from Lindsay.

LINDSAY: Hey

LINDSAY: Is everything okay?

I don’t reply to her. Instead, I screenshot all the information Wyatt will need, and I text it to them. Then I just lie there, in bed, wondering what the fuck I’ve done.

It’ll be for the best.

Wyatt will go home; they’ll go back to their parents; they’ll be angry with me, bitter. When we get back to school, they’ll never want to talk to me ever again. I’ll just have to survive those two months with them while we share the dorm room.

Though, who knows, maybe I can throw enough of a tantrum to get moved.