This Girl: A Novel

say anything. She continues to cry so I give her a moment. Sometimes girls just need to cry. When the tears finally begin to subside, she straightens back up and takes my hands, but still doesn’t look me in the eyes.
    “Will . . .” She pauses. The way she says my name, the tone of her voice . . . it sends panic straight to my heart. She looks up at me but can’t hold her stare, so she turns away.
    “Vaughn?” I say hesitantly, hoping I’m misreading her. I place my hand on her chin and pull her gaze back in my direction. The fear in my voice is clear when I speak. “What are you doing, Vaughn?”
    She almost looks relieved that I seem to have caught on to her intentions. She shakes her head, “I’m sorry, Will. I’m so sorry. I just can’t do this anymore.”
    Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. This? She can’t do this anymore? When did we become a this? I don’t respond. What the hell do I say to that?
    She senses the shock in my demeanor, so she squeezes my hands and whispers it again. “I’m so sorry.”
    I pull away and stand up, turning away from her. I run my hands through my hair and take a deep breath. The anger building inside me is suddenly coupled by tears that I have no intention of letting her see.
    “I just didn’t expect any of this, Will. I’m too young to be a mom. I’m not ready for this kind of responsibility.”
    She’s really doing this. She’s really breaking up with me. Two weeks after my parents die and she’s breaking my heart all over again? Who does that? She’s not thinking straight. It’s just shock . . . that’s all. I turn around and face her, not caring that she can see how much this is affecting me.
    “I didn’t expect this either,” I say. “It’s okay, you’re just scared.” I sit back down on the bed beside her and pull her to me. “I’m not asking you to be his mom, Vaughn. I’m not asking you to be anything right now.” I squeeze her tighter and press my lips against her forehead; an action that immediately causes her to start crying again. “Don’t do this,” I whisper into her hair. “Don’t do this to me. Not right now.”
    She turns her head away from me. “If I don’t do this now, I’ll never be able to do it.”
    She stands up and tries to walk away, but I pull her back to me and wrap my arms around her waist, pressing my head against her stomach.
    “Please.”
    She runs her hands over my hair and down my neck, then bends forward and kisses the top of my head. “I feel awful, Will,” she whispers. “Awful. But I’m not about to live a life that I’m not ready for, just because I feel sorry for you.”
    I press my forehead against her shirt and close my eyes, soaking in her words.
    She feels sorry for me?
    I release my arms from around her and push against her stomach. She drops her hands and takes a step back. I stand up and walk to the bedroom door, holding it open, indicating she needs to leave. “The last thing I want is your pity,” I say, looking her in the eyes.
    “Will, don’t,” she pleads. “Please don’t be mad at me.” She’s looking up at me with tears in her eyes. When she cries, her eyes turn a glossy, deep shade of blue. I used to tell her they were the exact same color as the ocean. Looking into her eyes right now almost makes me despise the ocean.
    I turn away from her and grip both sides of the door, pressing my head against the wood. I close my eyes and try to hold it in. It feels like the pressure, the stress, the emotions that have been building up for the last two weeks—it feels like I’m about to explode.
    She gently places her hand on my shoulder in an attempt to console me. I shrug it off and turn around to face her again. “Two weeks, Vaughn!” I yell. I realize how loud I’m being, so I lower my voice and step closer to her. “They’ve been dead for two weeks! How could you possibly be thinking about yourself right now?”
    She walks past me through the doorway, toward the living room. I follow her as she grabs her purse from the couch and walks to the front door. She opens the door and turns to face me before she leaves. “You’ll thank me for this one day, Will. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but someday you’ll know I’m doing what’s best for us.”
    She turns to leave and I yell after her, “What’s best for you, Vaughn! You’re doing what’s best for you!”
    As soon as the door closes behind her I break down. I rush back to my bedroom and slam