Painful Memories
I found Rowan leaning against a pillar in the hallway outside the hospital, his head tilted back as if he was trying to keep the ceiling from caving in. His tie was loose, his hair slightly disheveled.
“Rowan,” I called, my voice harsher than I intended.
He turned, his expression guarded. “Remi.”
I stormed up to him, my fists clenched at my sides. “What the hell was that?”
“What was what?” he asked, his tone calm, almost indifferent.
“That!” I gestured wildly toward the direction his family had gone. “The shouting match with your father. The way you just walked out. Those are your family members, Rowan. Do you even care how much that hurt them?”
His jaw tightened, and he straightened, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Of course, I care,” he said, his voice clipped. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let them control me or hurt you because of me.”
I shook my head, stepping closer. “You might not care about their control, but don’t pretend this doesn’t cut you. I saw your face in there. It matters to you, and you know it.”
His eyes darkened, his posture stiffening. “And what if it does? What’s your point, Remi?”
“My point?” My voice cracked, and I threw up my hands. “My point is that you’re tearing yourself apart just to prove something to them! And for what? So you can walk around pretending you’re unaffected?”
“I’m not pretending anything,” he snapped.
“Yes, you are!” I shouted, my voice echoing in the quiet hallway. “You care, Rowan. You care so much that it’s eating you alive, and instead of dealing with it, you lash out. You hurt them, and you hurt yourself in the process.”
“Why does it matter to you?” he asked, his voice lowering.
“Because!” I paused, the word hanging in the air. My chest heaved as I struggled to find the right words. “Because seeing you like this—seeing you hurt—it…”
“It what?” he pressed, his voice softer now.
I swallowed, my throat tightening. “It bothers me, okay? But you make it impossible to feel anything for you because you—”
“Because I what?” he interrupted, stepping closer.
“Because you make me hate you!” I blurted, my voice trembling.
He froze, his eyes narrowing. “Hate me?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice cracking again. “I hate you, Rowan. I hate the way you walk into my life like you belong there. I hate the way you push and push, even when I tell you to stop. I hate the way you act like nothing’s your fault when it’s all your fault!”
He flinched, but he quickly masked it, his expression hardening. “Why?” he asked, his voice steady but quieter now. “Why do you hate me so much, Remi?”
I scoffed, shaking my head as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t stand there and act like you don’t know,” I snapped, my voice rising again. “You’ve ruined so much for me, Rowan. You tore me apart, and now you have the audacity to act like you don’t know why I hate you?”
He frowned, his gaze searching mine. “I don’t remember.”
I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and sharp. “Of course, you don’t. That’s convenient, isn’t it? You don’t remember, so everything just resets for you. But not for me, Rowan. I have to live with it every single day.”
He reached for me, his voice softer now. “Remi—”
“Don’t,” I said, stepping back. My voice cracked as I repeated, “Don’t.”
He dropped his hand, his shoulders slumping slightly. “What can I do? What do you want from me?”
I shook my head, the tears spilling over now. “Nothing. I don’t want anything from you. I just want you to stay away from me.”
His brows drew together, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “Why?”
“Because every time I see you, it hurts,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I can’t—”
I stopped myself, shaking my head again. “Forget it.”
“Remi,” he said, his voice almost pleading now.
But I couldn’t do this anymore. I turned on my heel and walked away, my footsteps heavy and unsteady as I left him standing there.
I barely made it to my car before the tears started to fall. My hands fumbled with the keys, my vision blurred as I slid into the driver’s seat. The moment the door shut, the floodgates opened.
My chest heaved as I sobbed, the sound echoing in the small space. I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, gripping it tightly as the emotions I’d been holding back crashed over me like a tidal wave.
Why? Why did he have to come back into my life and unravel everything?
The tears came harder, my body trembling as I let out all the pain I’d been bottling up for so long. I cried for everything—my broken past, the pieces of myself I’d lost because of him, and the confusing feelings I couldn’t even begin to sort through now.
“I hate you,” I whispered through the sobs, though I wasn’t sure if I meant it. The Rowan I’d known back then was someone I could hate easily. But this Rowan? This version of him that seemed so different, so... human? That was harder.
And that made it worse.
I didn’t know how long I sat there, crying into the quiet darkness of my car. Minutes, maybe hours—it didn’t matter. All I knew was that I needed to let it out, to purge the ache in my chest that had been building ever since he walked back into my life.
But even as the tears slowed, the pain remained. Heavy. Unrelenting.
I wiped at my face with shaking hands, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. I couldn’t keep doing this to myself. I couldn’t let him keep affecting me like this.
And yet, even as I sat there, broken and raw, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered the truth I didn’t want to ad
mit.
I didn’t just hate Rowan Vaughn.
I hated that part of me didn’t hate him at all.
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