Abi regretted opening up the way she had as soon as the words left her mouth. She knew, she knew she shouldn’t have said a damn thing about that night or her own painful memories. It was clear that he wanted to draw his own conclusions about his behaviour instead of listening to her, opening up the wounds he wanted her to open. Her shoulders sagged and she stepped back until she was sitting on the edge of the couch, the weight of pain and regret on her shoulders. God how she had loved – did love – him and how much this was killing her now. Why had she told him?
She knew her patterns when it came to relationships; keep people at arm’s length and make them fall in love with you, then sabotage it before they could stick a knife in your back. Why had she thought this time would be any different, just because he made her feel something she never had before? Changing herself was impossible.
“That’s not how I see you, Hem,” she said quietly and sadly, resigned to the fact that there was no coming back from it now that her body was raw and bleeding once more. “That’s how I see myself. I didn’t care about you hurting me because… because I did trust you. I’m just not sure I can trust me.” She didn’t really have an answer that would make him happy. Abi couldn’t think of anything that’d make him happy anymore. “Look at what’s happening right now, look at us,” she turned and gazed up at him with watery blue eyes, feeling insignificant and small. “I’m trying to make you leave me because that’s easier to deal with than pulling myself apart for you.”
Thinking back to that night, she ran her hand across her wrist, "A little, yeah, not… not like it used to hurt but that doesn’t matter. You didn’t force me, Hemingway, even I can see that. I just don’t want to go… go down that path again, you know?” she was freely crying now, her face haunted. “Maybe it’s just too late to turn back.”