Chapter 2

I quit the debate club.

With only seven days left, I had to scramble to get all my paperwork ready for my trip abroad.

"Bonnie, are you really sure about this? You and Finley are the backbone of our club," The head of the club, Tim Moon, said.

Tim gazed at the resignation letter form I'd just given him, a look of regret on his face.

Before I could utter a word, Finley shoved open the door and hurried in, gripping my wrist tightly.

"Bonnie, what was that text about? Why didn't you show up at the celebration last night?" he snapped.

I yanked my hand back, already feeling a red mark blooming on my skin.

"Just what it says," I replied evenly, lowering my eyes.

"Let's break up, Finley," I said, keeping my voice calm.

He scoffed, like I'd just cracked the dumbest joke he'd ever heard.

"Seriously? Over that? Just because I didn't help you win? Bonnie, when did you turn into such a sore loser?" he shot back.

I looked him right in the eye, the faintest trace of a smile flickering on my lips.

He froze for a second, clearly remembering what happened the day before. His voice turned softer, though he still sounded a little awkward.

"That thing... I didn't tell Alison on purpose. I was drunk and just mentioned it without thinking. Who could've guessed she'd bring it up during the match?" he muttered.

"Drunk?" I echoed, my voice icy.

I looked up at him, my gaze cool and clear.

"So what about last night? You weren't drunk, were you? Didn't you stand there in front of everyone and lay out all my embarrassing childhood crap from when I was thirteen, every single detail, loud and clear?" I fired back.

The moment I said that, the onlookers fell into an awkward silence, their eyes darting away.

Finley's face darkened instantly.

He probably never expected that I, who always played nice and kept things bottled up, would expose him like this in front of everyone.

"Bonnie, enough! Are you seriously not going to let this go?" Finley said, his tone getting sharp, trying to put me in my place.

"It was just some dumb comment! Is that really worth breaking up over? Without me, who would even look at you? Who'd ever want you?" he sneered.

It was the typical Finley. That was always how he was.

To Finley, it was always my fault. I was the one who blew things out of proportion, the one who supposedly couldn't live without him.

Just then, a sweet, sing-song voice piped up.

"Bonnie, Finley, what's happening here? Are you guys fighting again?" Alison called out, her voice sugary-sweet and all innocence.

She glided over in a flirty spaghetti strap dress, her collarbones perfectly on display.

Without missing a beat, she cozied right up to Finley, nearly hanging off his arm like she'd always belonged there.

Finley was all fired up, clearly doing it to mess with me, flaunting how popular he was, like he wanted everyone to know.

He just let Alison cling to him, and his whole attitude shifted, his voice going soft as he said, "It's fine, Alison. Don't worry about it."

Alison tugged sweetly at his sleeve, her voice delicate and a little wounded.

"Finley, is Bonnie still upset with me because of what happened at yesterday's match? I swear, I didn't do it on purpose... I just wanted so badly for our team to win, to make everyone proud..." she said, almost pouting.

But I didn't say a word. And I didn't even give them another look.

"Tim, here's my resignation. Could you take care of the rest?" I said, keeping my voice even and formal.

With that, I walked right past them without looking back and headed straight for the door.

"Bonnie, stop right there!" Finley's voice snapped from behind, angry and demanding.

I didn't look back.

I never slowed my pace.

I walked straight out of that stifling room, leaving it all behind.

While I was packing, I came across an old photo tucked inside a book.

In the picture, I was in the school uniform, standing side by side with Finley on the playground, the sunset casting a warm glow over us.

Memories from the past came flooding back in an instant.

I recalled back in sophomore year, when some punk from the next class got wind of some nasty rumors.

He cornered me after school, leering at me with that disgusting grin, asking, "So, what's it like being touched by an old guy?" and even threatened to tell the whole school.

Finley came charging over like a pissed-off leopard, decked the guy in one punch, his eyes blazing red as he roared, "Touch her again, and I'll kill you!"

In the end, that punk was black and blue, swearing he'd keep his mouth shut for good.

Back then, Finley seemed so strong, like he could shield me from every storm the world could throw my way.

I looked down, brushing my fingers softly over his face in the photo.

It was wild how someone could change so quickly.

My phone buzzed with a new email from my advisor, reminding me to submit some additional paperwork.

I stuffed the photo album into the bottom of my suitcase, grabbed my documents, and headed downstairs.

Sure enough, Finley was waiting for me downstairs.

He was rocking a black hoodie and jeans, still looking as good as ever. Girls passing by couldn't help but stare.

When he saw me, he stubbed out his cigarette.

He walked over, reaching out like it was the most natural thing in the world to take my stuff.

"Where are you headed? The cafeteria? Let's go together," he said, trying to sound casual.

I sidestepped him, not even glancing his way, and kept moving forward.

He paused for a beat, his face falling in awkward surprise.

"Bonnie, what do you even want from me? Just stop making a scene, okay?" Finley blurted out, his irritation bleeding through.

I stopped in my tracks and finally met his gaze.

"I'm not making a scene," I said, keeping my voice steady.

"We're done, Finley. Please let go," I said, cold and unwavering.

"Over? Really?" Finley echoed, like I'd just cracked the best joke he'd ever heard.

He stared at me in disbelief, actually smiling at how ridiculous he thought I sounded.

"We're done? Since when could you ever live without me? You even turned down your chance to go abroad. Wasn't that just because you couldn't bear to leave? Without me, where would you go? Who else would ever want you?" Finley fired off, every word dripping with smug arrogance.

It was a suffocating barrage—his ego and desire to control pressing down on me with every question.

He seriously acted like I'd shrivel up and fall to pieces without him, like I'd be totally lost on my own.

I coolly pulled my hand away, unlocked a video from my feed, and shoved the phone right up in his face.

The background was a noisy bar, with suggestive, moody lighting.

Alison appeared on the screen, wearing a skimpy spaghetti strap dress, shooting a flirty smile straight at the camera.

A guy, sloshed and barely conscious, had his face buried in her neck, practically draped over her, hanging on like she was the only thing keeping him upright.

The caption underneath was, [He's super clingy.]

The comments section was blowing up, with everyone throwing out wild guesses about who the guy might be.

But only I could spot that faint brown mole on his earlobe right away.

Back when I used to curl up in his arms, I'd unconsciously run my fingers over that tiny mole, again and again.

Because of everything I'd been through, I always dreaded wearing anything too revealing and shied away from getting too close to anyone.

Even after all those years together, we never crossed the line. At most, it was just hugs and the occasional careful kiss.

I used to feel bad about it, always asking if he thought I was too stiff or boring.

Every time, he'd smile and tell me it was no big deal, that we could go slow, that he didn't care at all.

However, it wasn't like he didn't care.

It turned out that all that fire and longing just ended up with someone who knew how to let loose, someone who never held back.

"I..." Finley choked out, his throat tight, clearly scrambling for words.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and was totally lost for how to explain himself.

"I was drunk last night, seriously. She kept coming on to me. It's not what you think..." Finley stammered, sounding half desperate, half guilty.

"Save it," I said, pulling my phone back and cutting him off without letting him finish.

"Whether it's what I think or not really doesn't matter anymore," my voice icy and final.

I tore my hand out of his grip, and this time, it was effortless.

"Finley, we were over long ago," I said, steady and calm.

Without looking back at his stunned face, I turned and walked away.