With a grunt, I dumped the last box on top of the growing pile. Done. Seven boxes, stacked up against the wall, all sealed shut with duct-tape and labeled with the familiar Palo Alto address. They'd soon be shipped back to the house I'd lived at for most of my life, the house I'd never cared for as a kid and now never wanted to leave again. At least, there was something I'd learned from this whole situation: moving across the ocean was not for me. Despite that the US was far from the greatest country in the world, it would always be home.

I glanced at my watch, grandpa's watch. Eight pm. Charlotte could walk in any second, right through the door, and the first thing she'd see would be the boxes. All traces of a second person ever having been here were either erased or packed up — there was no sign of me, and it was simultaneously relieving as depressing. What had we been doing? And for what? Strikingly enough, the idea of having to face her, having to end whatever it was we had, didn't scare me at all. I was ready. This was what we both needed.

The image of Lena appeared in my mind, with that self-satisfied smirk on her face and a joint between her fingers as she leaned back in the cushions of the couch, exposing her long, slender neck. "See?" she said to me, in that mocking tone. "All that trouble for something crappy that failed anyway... You should've listened to me, Nate." And here I was, running towards another girl, trying to prove her wrong again — maybe I was a fool. Well, fool or not, I was taking this chance, like I'd always longed to do with Lena. First, I was going to get home and apologize, and then I'd see from there. If only June would've called me back by now. I'd been trying to reach her every ten minutes, always getting directed to her voicemail. Was she still at work, or was she punishing me for my behavior? Or both?

It didn't matter right now, because the lock clicked, meaning I was going to have to end my first attempt at a serious relationship, and that deserved all of my attention.

She was lost in thought when she came in. Her appearance was perfect, like always, although behind her make-up and jewelry, she was still just a girl, only twenty. Both of us had a lifetime left ahead of us. Tonight, this would hurt. In time, I hoped she'd forget about it; she'd remember me as the asshole who cheated, and then picked the other girl over her. A blip on the radar. A two-year blip.

She hung up her coat and stepped out of her shoes, black ones that added three inches to her height. Her step was upbeat, a sigh leaving her as she massaged her left shoulder. As soon as she spotted my packed-up belongings, the peaceful look on her face disappeared. She came to a halt. Eyes flickered from the boxes to me and back again.

I didn't say anything.

She didn't say anything as well.

A deep breath. Her mouth fell open, almost comically. Familiar red blotches were already creeping up her neck, becoming clearer each silent second.

She staggered to the armchair, like a drunk after closing time, and I had to fight the urge to support her. The way she let herself fall back, immediate and relented, was so unlike her I was starting to worry. Minutes stretched out between us, her biting her lip, staring off into the distance, until she looked up at me. "You're leaving me, are you?"

Just a statement. There was no emotion behind the words, and I wondered if she'd already seen this coming, or had gone into lawyer mode. Suddenly, I didn't know what to do with myself, so I stuck my hands in my jeans pockets. "Yeah. I am."

This time, something happened in her features, only for a split second, like everything tightened. It was gone before I could even take it in. She stroked her brow, controlled, then said: "I thought you were different."

I didn't know what to say to that. In what way had she thought I was different? What had she seen in me, that first time, that she'd decided to go for it? Was it because there was something in me that separated me from the usual people surrounding her, her stiff mother, her manipulative father, her disgusting cousin? I liked to think I was different from them. I'd dedicated half my life to not becoming like those people, or worse, like my own parents.

"I'm sorry."

She laughed, shortly, hollow, shaking her hair out of her face. "No, you're not. You wouldn't be abandoning me if you were."

I held back a sigh. This conversation was going to be harder than I'd thought when I'd been moving piles of shirts into the boxes. If I'd been like her father, I wouldn't even have been here anymore. I would've been up in the air, gulping back a glass of whiskey, not a care in the world. And I didn't want to be like him. I wasn't like him. I stepped around the coffee table, settling myself on the couch across from her. "Trust me, Charlotte. I'm sorry. Sorry for this not working out."

A bitter grimace. She straightened herself, chin up, chest out, hands in her lap. "It was working out," she said, and her gaze flickered to the boxes against the wall, "until you suddenly decided it wasn't."

For the second time in two days, I couldn't believe her reaction. "I cheated on you. And you call that working out?"

She breathed in deeply, touching the base of her neck. Her eyes weren't looking at me; they were directed at the coffee table, burning a hole in the surface. "Why do you keep on repeating that? It happens. You kissed another girl, and that's that. Plenty of couples have gotten through worse than that. It was simply a kiss."

"It wasn't."

Her head shot up. "You lied to me?"

"No. Yes. Maybe." I rested my elbows on my legs, my hand flying to my hair, gripping the short strands. I had to force myself to look at her, to shove aside the memory of June in my embrace. This was not the moment to relive that night. "There were... multiple kisses."

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, even though I noticed the muscles in her shoulders stiffened. "One kiss, two kisses, what does it matter?"

A wave of pity came over me, and it wasn't because of what I did to her. That first date, when she'd sat across from me, reeling off her standard summary of her life, she'd seemed so put together, so normal, while all along, she'd been as messed up as me, maybe even more. No wonder when you'd grown up in an environment like this, where men cheated and got away with it, and practically commanded every aspect of your entire day. "It does matter," I said, "because that girl... she's not just a girl to me."

That stunned her into silence. Her face fell, and she started to play with the rings on her fingers, turning them around, and around, and around. "What do you mean?"

I meant that she was June and I loved her, but that seemed like a cold-hearted thing to say. I sighed and rubbed my jaw, something I immediately stopped because it hurt like a motherfucker. Oh yeah. Got punched. It was probably yellow or blue by now. Funny I kept forgetting about it.

"Nathan, what do you mean? And what happened to your jaw?"

"I got punched."

"Punched?"

"This asshole tried to steal my wallet."

"Oh, no. Did you go to the police?"

Her concern was genuine, her eyes softened all of a sudden. She reached out to me, tentatively, changing her mind at the last second. She pursed her lips. "I suppose that doesn't matter either, does it?"

I shook my head. "No. Not for you."

A silence fell between us. She had a crease in her forehead, as if she was contemplating something. All the while, the golden bands kept being turned around. "You're evading my question," she said then.

"What question?"

An exasperated sigh. She sent me a look, the one that said she was done with me, which I usually received when I put my feet on the table or placed my shoes on top of hers. Her frown was deepening, generally not a good sign. "The girl," she said. "Who is she? And what is she to you? You must not have seen her in a year. What is she to you, that you're ready to pack your bags and go back, only because of a few kisses?"

If she really wanted to know, she had the right to an answer. It was only fair. In any case, if it were to work out, she might find out anyway. "It's June." Something in me bounced as I spoke her name out loud, something light, even though I didn't expect an enthusiastic reaction.

Rapid blinking. An open mouth, a shake of her head. She let out a disbelieving laugh, a short one. "June? Are you kidding?" She sighed deeply, almost desperately. "Oh, please tell me you're kidding."

"I'm not."

If she'd still had any incentive to save our relationship, it was completely out of the window now. She kept shaking her head, pushing her hair out of her face, as incredulous sighs and gasps flew through the room. "June? But she... June?" I didn't respond. It was going to take some time to sink in. "June? You kissed June? More than once?"

I opened my mouth — before I could say yes, though, she'd stood up, sticking her hand in my direction as a clear stop sign.

"I don't want to know," she said, her voice breathy. She'd turned away from me, her shoulders shaking. "Gosh, Nathan, I didn't want to know! June? Out of all people, it had to be June?"

By now, it was clear to me she didn't want her questions answered.

She stomped around the chair, arms crossed over her chest. The red blotches in her neck were of a fiery color, as if she'd caught some mysterious illness, and more of her started to tremble. "Ugh, couldn't you just lie to me? For once, couldn't you just make up something?" Her voice was rising, higher and louder, and her eyes blazed ice towards me, feet wide apart, chest rising and falling fast. "It isn't like you haven't lied to me before. That New Year's party at George's, when you took that mysterious call... I knew you lied to me. And those nights when you were gone and pretended like you'd never left the following morning... You can lie, Nathan. Not very well, but you can lie. And I would've appreciated it if you'd lied to me now." She ended the sentence in a shriek, stamping her foot.

Seemed like she was going into one of her famous fits of rage. She hadn't had many of those since we moved here. Why would she? In this country, under the wings of her father, everything went the way she'd planned it to go.

Everything, but me.

I absolutely deserved this one.

Her forehead gleamed. Large circles of sweat dampened the fabric of her dress near her armpits, and her lips were flatter than a sheet of paper. "June?" she screamed again, sweeping her arms through the air. "June? Really, Nathan... What does she have that I don't? What do you want me to do? Don't do my hair? Stop wearing make-up? Only clip my nails when it's long overdue?—" A gasp, and she pointed at me, breathing fast. "Is that — how you got — that scratch?" Self-consciously, I looked down. I couldn't see it, of course — but I knew it was there, and I remembered how it came to be, and I was sure I wouldn't mind getting a few more of those if it meant kissing her again. My silence was as good as an admission to my now definitely ex-girlfriend, who let out a frustrated cry. "She — is — a — teenager!" Every word was accompanied by her slamming her fists into the top of the armchair. "She is handicapped, for heaven's sake! And you want to kiss her? You want to be with her? She can't even use tampons. She can't open buttons. She can't eat anything quietly or without throwing half of it to the floor. Everyone stares at her. Is that attractive to you? What, all this time, were you hoping I'd get hit by a car and end up in a wheelchair?"

Even though this was her anger talking, a flash of pain ran through me — that she'd talk about June like that, dared to call her handicapped, like her disability was something shameful or to be pitied. Of course she was hurt, and of course she was going to compare herself to her, but did she have to take it to this level? I rubbed my sweaty hands on my jeans, wishing I had lied after all — why the hell did she ask questions she didn't want an answer to? What was the point of that?

There was movement in the corner of my eye, and the next second, she flung herself at me. I shrunk, thinking she was going to attack me — she wasn't, though. She grabbed the pillow behind me, marched a few steps towards the wall, and hurled it at the boxes. It bounced back without even moving them an inch, ending up defeated on the floor. "I always knew she was in love with you," she continued, in a slightly more normal tone. "The moment you brought me home and I saw the look on her face, I knew she was in love with you. How could she not be, with the way you treat her? And to think I pitied her, to think I—" Another shriek, but all I could register was my heart, skipping a few beats. In love with me. Was that true? Could it be? Wouldn't I have noticed if she was? "And there was always a part of me who wondered if you... Ugh, I should've listened to my instincts! With all the presents and that look you give her... But I dismissed it, I thought, surely not, he's merely fond of her, she's as good as his little sister... You couldn't truly prefer her over me, could you? And then you came here with me, and I thought I wouldn't have to worry about it ever again."

With that, she picked up the pillow from the ground, settled herself on the armchair, hugged it to her chest, and started to cry. Her mascara blurred, the black running down her cheeks. Despite the situation, I had the urge to comfort her — seemed better to stay where I was, though.

Turned out even she suspected something. Maybe it was hard not to, when I'd given June gran's ring.

"I'm sorry," I said again, because I was. I never meant to hurt her like this.

She sniffled, burying her chin into the pillow. "Why did you make me waste two years of my life?"

"I don't see it as wasted."

She looked up, curious, almost hopeful. "You don't?"

"No. I learned a lot from this. And I did really care about you. Still do."

I only realized it was true when I said it. I did learn a lot from her. What I liked about relationships, what I didn't like, what I didn't want. Though it went on longer than necessary, I didn't regret it.

"But you don't love me."

"Do you? Love me?"

She bit her lip, staring into nothing. She looked really tired all of a sudden, her hair tousled and dull, eyes drooping, all color vanished from her face apart from the red blotches in her neck. "I don't really know. I thought I did. How can you really know, though?"

"I think you just do."

She focused on me, scanning me again, maybe for the last time ever. "And you do. With her." I wasn't sure if this was one of those situations in which she asked but didn't want to know, so I kept my mouth shut tightly. She produced an annoyed sound. "You can answer me. I promise I won't throw any pillows again."

I smiled slightly, some unnoticed tension leaving my body. Seemed like the worst was over. "I do. Yeah. Took me some time, but yeah... I do."

A deep breath. She fingered her earring, swallowed, clearly trying to remain calm. "That must be nice." She stopped, inspecting the whole of me again, somewhat suspiciously. "You're supposed to be a man."

I couldn't help it. That was such a random thing to say I laughed, looking down at my jeans, although the sole memory of June leaving a trail of kisses on my stomach would've been enough to remind me. "Yeah, last time I checked, I still was."

Even in this state, she managed to blush. "I meant... You're talking about your feelings." The last word was whispered, like it was some sort of taboo, and it weirded me out.

"We do have those too. It's not limited to women."

For the first time since she'd crossed the threshold of the apartment, something of a smile entered her face. It made her look a bit freaky, with her hair tousled, and the two black lines running down to her chin. "I know. But even my girl friends... We never go that deep. I always tell them I love you with all of me, and I never even knew if that was true."

Thank god. I'd suspected that, of course — to hear it confirmed by herself was a relief, though. The thought of breaking someone's heart who viewed me as the real thing was infinitely worse than the thought of breaking a heart that didn't care about me all that much. The guilt was still there, however, it was less pressing as before. "Maybe you should try being honest once. They might surprise you."

She tilted her head. "We've never talked like this, have we?" It wasn't a question. "My dad always taught me, ever since I was a young girl, that some things are better left unsaid."

"Yeah, well, your dad is a dick."

Wide eyes. "Nathan!"

"It's true. He manipulates people and cheats on your mother. I don't see how that makes him anything else than a dick."

To my surprise, she started laughing, full-blown, almost hysterical. It was probably more out of exhaustion than amusement.

"I wasn't kidding."

"I'm aware of that." The laughter died down, replaced by her sucking in her cheeks. "Perhaps you have a point. I didn't want to go to the West Coast, you know. I wanted to go to Boston. Much better climate. I think my father was afraid I'd like it too much."

"Did you even want to be a lawyer?"

She blinked, as if no one had ever asked her that before. "I don't know. I never considered being anything else."

"Maybe you should."

"Yes, maybe I should. I'm not a very good lawyer anyhow. If I were, I would've never dismissed June this easily. You gave her a wedding ring, after all."

At the mention of June, something danced in my stomach, and I had a hard time keeping in a large grin. "You could still go to Boston."

"I don't think my father would like it."

"Then that's his problem."

Silence. This was my cue to get up. I felt light, like everything that'd been weighing me down this past year had fallen off me. It was done. It was over, for good. And it'd gone slightly better than expected after all. Without waiting for her to say anything, I walked to the hallway to put on my coat. She followed me, arms crossed over her chest, something troubled swimming in her eyes.

It was suddenly difficult to look at her, so I pretended to inspect the boxes. "They'll be picked up tomorrow morning."

"I've never said goodbye before."

I hadn't either. Not to someone alive, anyway. This was easier, knowing she'd still be somewhere, and that she might try to find out what she wanted to do with her life. That she'd be okay without me. I dug up my keys, unhooking the ones from the apartment and handing them over to her. "I'll make sure I get myself from the rental agreement and stuff. You don't have to do anything."

She nodded. "Good."

I nodded as well. "Well... goodbye then." I would've loved to run out of there at that moment, not knowing what to with myself. Shake her hand? Kiss her on the cheek? Hug her? All options felt wrong, so I just stayed where I was.

"Goodbye."

I turned around, ready to go through that door and breath in the fresh air, when: "Nathan," she said, and I looked back. "Thank you. For showing me there's another way."

"Likewise."

She didn't understand, but I wasn't about to stick around to explain. Saying goodbye once was more than enough. Without another word, I threw my backpack over my shoulder, stepped outside, and headed for the stairs. When the elderly lady from the top floor sent me an amused grin, I realized I was nearly skipping — quickly, I tried to walk normally again.

That hadn't been as bad as it could've been. I'd broken up with her — after two years, I was allowed to kiss anyone I wanted again. And there was only one girl I wanted.

Outside the building, I pulled out my phone, hoping she'd finally pick up, so I could tell her I was single and didn't necessarily need to remain that way, and that if her parents didn't approve, I wouldn't mind waiting a year. I could wait an eternity. Again, I was greeted by her voicemail message. Still at work, or ignoring me? Couldn't blame her if she was. After hearing her say her name six times over, I decided to give up — I could try a seventh time in ten minutes. I was half-way through putting my phone back in my pocket, when it hit me.

What if she didn't feel the same, and that was why she wasn't picking up now?

Wouldn't surprise me. I'd left her twice, after all. I was older than her. I was a mess. Yeah, she kissed me, though she'd told me only hours before she was curious to experience what that was like.

But she'd smiled. She'd smiled, with those little lights, and she'd tried to call me. And Charlotte had said she was in love with me. Charlotte knew these things. She'd been right about taking June shopping. Plus, she had no reason to lie to me about this.

She hadn't been right about June and that dickhead of a football player, though.

"Thinking you made a mistake?"

I jerked my head. Only a few inches away, Edward was grinning at me, his hands casually interwoven behind his back. His breath smelled like seafood, maybe shrimp or something, and I recoiled, putting some distance between us. If there was anyone I could've gone without seeing once more, it was him. At least I could take some solace in the fact I'd never had to endure his disgusting comments again. "What are you doing here?"

He flashed me a wide smile. "You broke up with my cousin. Poor Charlotte's feeling lonely now. Naturally, she called me. I happen to be adept at providing entertainment."

Asshole. I raised my finger at him, hit with a surge of protectiveness. She was vulnerable, and because of me now more than ever. "If you do anything to her... I swear I'll make sure you never see anything but a prison cell again."

He cackled. "Tsk, such accusations... This isn't Alabama, mate. We don't do that sort of thing around here. But don't worry, if that's what you're into, you know I don't judge people's preferences." Another cackle and he went inside, throwing me one last maddening look. "I do hope we meet again," he said, before letting the door fall shut.

"Well, I fucking don't!"

I could envision him laughing his head off, and my pulse began to race — until I realized it wasn't my problem anymore. He wasn't my problem anymore. I was free of him. Free of Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford.

Free of London. Soon.

This was going to be my second-to-last night in this city. I'd sleep at Albert's house for the remainder of my stay, would try to tie up loose ends at the firm in as short a period as possible, and then go home for good. Finally.

I took a deep breath, setting off for the Tube. Despite everything I'd done, all the pain I caused, a small part of me couldn't help being proud — I made a decision, at last, and this time, I was sure it was the right one.

Soft rain began to fall from the dark, clouded sky, and my mind wandered to June again. Not even the weather could wipe the grin off my face as I pictured her in my shirt, my conscience completely clear. Those smooth legs, and that ass wiggling from left to right... I could almost feel her underneath my fingertips. Almost.

After taking three wrong turns, I decided to think about work instead.

I was never going to reach Albert's place otherwise.