Chapter 21 - Hunter

A fter eight months of being together, it's just—over.

It's like nothing ever happened, and he doesn't seem to care. As if he's not gripping my heart tightly in his fist and choking it. I know it's my fault, that I shouldn't have pushed him away that day under the bleachers a few weeks ago, but this is too much. Ollie is scaring me. Not only has he never treated me this way, but he also doesn't seem to care much that we're over.

Not that he has said those words. It's implied though, considering I haven't been going to his bed and he hasn't attempted to come to mine. All he cares about now is getting high. It's sad, really, considering these last eight months…I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. In fact, I'd give my life for eight more months. Although I have a feeling that's not going to happen.

Every day, he locks himself in his room as soon as he gets home. He has always done that, so Mom and Dad haven't questioned it. The only difference is that he used to do homework when he got home; now, instead, he just gets high.

I open the door to Ollie's room, holding the spoon at my side, faltering when he looks up from a sitting position on his bed. He has a pill between his thumb and forefinger, staring at it like it has the answers to all his questions. It sends a shiver down my spine, and my stomach flips. We make eye contact, and he drops his hand, fisting the pill.

"Ollie," I breathe. "We need to talk."

"No." He shakes his head. "Don't say it like that."

I walk toward him, closing the space between us, and drop to my knees between his legs. His hand comes to the back of my head, and he strokes my hair. Part of the problem is that I'm weak for him. I've been weak for him for so long that I haven't had the guts to give him an ultimatum. However, this is it. It's time. So I hug his waist and bury my face into his stomach, inhaling his vanilla cupcake scent.

"What's wrong, baby?" Ollie asks, and my stomach flips again. He rarely calls me baby, and it always brings me the same reaction.

"I'm sorry, Ollie."

I love you, Ollie.

"For what?" He frowns, still not letting go of the pill in his fist. "You're scaring me."

"I've had enough." I sit back on my haunches and stare into his blue eyes. They widen, and realization crashes through him, making him shake his head furiously. "I can't do this anymore. I can't watch you throw your life away."

"You haven't even been with me for the past few weeks," Ollie replies coldly. "I don't mean anything to you. You just threw me away after the bleachers, and?—"

My stomach swoops. "Is that really what you think?"

"Yes." He nods once, finally dropping the pill on the bed.

I cup his face and his lower lip trembles. "I can't watch you get high every day anymore." Ollie stiffens. "It's been weeks, Ollie. I can't keep doing this."

"Hunter—"

"It's me or the Oxy," I say sternly and search his eyes. They flare with anger, and I nod. "Pick. Now."

"This is ridiculous." He brushes a hand through his hair. "You can't be serious."

"I'm serious," I whisper. "Choose."

"I can't." He shakes his head and purses his lips. "Please don't make me. I?—"

"Do you love me?" I ask him, even as my voice breaks.

"You know I do." He strokes my cheek with his thumb. "You know I love you more than anything."

"So choose me," I beg him. "Please, choose me ."

There's a moment of silence, of hesitation, and I nod. He appears regretful, and I just know he's not choosing me. Only I'm not one to wait around to have my heart broken. So I get up and head for the door.

"I can't watch you throw your life away." I say, rubbing a hand down my face. "I'm not going to stick around to watch you kill yourself."

"Wait." Ollie gasps. "Please don't make me, Hunt. Don't do this."

"You've already made your choice."

And then I walk out the door and slam it, speed walking through the bathroom and to my room, where I lock the door and lie face-down in my bed. My tears soak my pillow as sobs take over. But I can't stop; I can't bring myself to turn off the pain. It's impossible. I love him too much, and he didn't even choose me.

He didn't choose me.