Chapter 72 (1/2)

He sounds so sure of himself and sure of our relationship, and again I’m confused and can’t decide if I should be angry or if I should be happy about his words.

Marriage doesn’t hold the same value as it did only months ago. My parents were never married; I could barely believe it when I found out that they pretended to be to appease my mother and my grandparents. Trish and Ken were married, and that legal binding couldn’t save their sinking ship. What’s the point of being married, really? It almost never works anyway, and I’m beginning to see that it’s a ridiculous concept. It’s messed up, the way the idea is drilled into our heads that we should promise ourselves to another and depend on that person as our source of happiness.

Lucky for me, I’ve finally learned that I can’t depend on anyone else for my happiness. “I don’t think I even want to be married, ever.”

Hardin sucks in a harsh breath and his hand moves to my chin, “What? You don’t mean that.” His eyes search mine.

“Yes, I do mean that. What’s the point? It never works, and divorce isn’t cheap.” I shrug my shoulders and ignore the horrified expression covering Hardin’s face.

“What the hell are you saying? Since when are you so cynical?”

Cynical? I don’t believe that I’m cynical. I just need to be realistic and not keep holding out for a storybook ending that I will obviously never have. But it’s also not like I’m going to put up with his back-and-forth all the time.

“I don’t know, since I realized how hopelessly stupid I was. I don’t blame you for ending things with me. I was obsessed with having a life I could never have, and it had to drive you insane.”

Hardin tugs at his hair in that frustrated way he does. “Tessa, you’re talking crazy shit. You weren’t obsessed with anything. I was just an asshole.” He groans in frustration and kneels in front of me. “Fuck, now look what I’ve got you thinking! This is all backwards.”

I stand up, hating feeling guilty for saying the truth about how I feel. I’m so internally conflicted, and being in this small room with Hardin isn’t helping. Near him I can’t focus, and I can’t stick to my defenses when he’s looking at me like each of my words is a weapon against him—no matter how true that is, it still makes me feel sympathy for him when I don’t think I should.

I was always so quick to judge women who felt this way. While watching an overly dramatic relationship on-screen, I was quick to label the woman as “weak,” but it’s not that simple or that cut-and-dried.

There are so many things to take into consideration when labeling someone, and I’ll admit before I met Hardin, I did this far too often. Who am I to judge people based on their feelings? I never knew how strong those foolish emotions could be; I couldn’t comprehend the magnetic pull that could be felt. I never understood the way love overpowers common sense and passion overtakes logic, or how unnerving it is that no one else really knows how you feel—no one can judge me for being weak or stupid, no one can put me down for the way I feel.