He says nothing, but his blue eyes stay locked on mine, steady and completely unrepentant.

“Oh my God,” I say, taking a step back, feeling a little stunned despite the fact that the writing’s been on the wall since day one. “You have no intention of leaving this house.”

He looks away.

“Ever?” My voice cracks.

“Look, why don’t we go to the Cape? My dad has a house there, and—”

“Let me guess,” I interrupt. “It’s completely secluded.”

“It’s private,” he amends.

“I can’t live like this!” I explode. “I can’t spend my twenties holed up on the middle of nowhere.”

Paul stands, glowering down at me. “Since when? You knew exactly what you were getting into when you came here. Hell, it’s why you came here, isn’t it? To escape the world? To escape your guilt? And now that you’ve forgiven yourself and seen that your ex-boyfriend is just fine without you, you’re changing the rules?”

“Yes! That’s how it works, Paul. You deal with shit however you need to, and then you get over it. You move on.”

“I have moved on.” His arms fold over his chest.

“Bullshit.” I jab a finger at him. “I thought you’d healed, but really you’ve just added one more item to your recluse’s collection. Me.”

He doesn’t answer, and I let out a crazed little laugh. “You know, I was actually naive enough to think that I’d helped you. I let myself think that I’d successfully pulled you out of your little pit of despair. But it’s the other way around, isn’t it? You’ve merely pulled me into your vortex of fear and isolation.”

He reaches for my arms, but I pull back, and he rubs a hand across his eyes. “You have helped me, Olivia. Immensely. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to go face the world and deal with the pointing and the staring and the pity.”

“The only one doing any pitying is you. News flash, Paul: the rest of the world won’t care what you look like if you don’t care.”

“That’s naive.”

“Okay, so some people will look twice. Some might whisper. But none of that matters.”

“Says the girl with the perfect, gorgeous face.”

“Fine,” I say, throwing up my hands. “Go ahead and hold that against me. That’s a good one to hold in your back pocket to fuel your hate fire. Whenever you get close to living a normal life, you can just remind yourself that you have scars and nobody else understands. Is that the plan?”

“You don’t get it!” he shouts. “Don’t pretend like you understand!”

“I’m never going to understand what you’ve been through, Paul, or how you feel, but I do understand that the only person in control of it is you. And you’re choosing the wrong path.”

He sneers a little. “So what was your big plan, that we’d move to New York together and walk hand in hand down Fifth Avenue, looking at the Christmas lights?”

I suck in a little breath, because actually that is a daydream of mine. It doesn’t have to be Fifth Avenue, but yeah. Sue me. I picture walking hand in hand with the guy I love around my hometown. Showing him where I grew up, where I had my first kiss, taking him to my favorite cupcake shop.

But I’m an idiot. He won’t even go to the movie theater.

He takes a long breath, clearly trying to get hold of his temper. “I’d never hold you back, Olivia. You want to go into Portland with Kali? Go for it. You want to go to New York every other weekend? Do that. Go get your hair done, browse the bookstore, and see whatever movie you want.”

“Alone,” I clarify.

He shrugs. “Or with friends. Whatever.”

“But not with you.”

His jaw tenses and he looks at his shoes. “Not with me.”

“Ever?”

He meets my eyes then, and what I see breaks my heart.

“Got it,” I say, swallowing around the despair. “So those are my options. I can live in the light without you, or stay here in the dark with you.”

Paul opens his mouth as though to protest, but then realizes the truth of what I’m saying. He slowly nods.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the pain, trying not to hear the desperate way he whispers my name.

He reaches out again, but I step back, and I see the flash of hurt on his face before he carefully lets indifference settle over his features.

Yeah, do that, I mentally sneer. Go ahead and retreat. It’s like all of the progress we made never happened.

“How long have I been here?” I ask, as much to myself as to him.

He shrugs. “A little over three months.”

I nod, mentally counting how much time’s passed.

Long enough for fall to head toward winter.

Long enough for Paul to abandon his cane and his limp, and long enough for him to sit facing me in full daylight without trying to hide his scars from my view.

Long enough for me to realize that what happened with Michael and Ethan doesn’t make me a horrible person.

Long enough for me to fall hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Paul, even though it’s becoming painfully clear that the feeling isn’t mutual.

But most important to him . . .

“You’ve fulfilled your father’s requirements,” I say with a sad little smile. “I’ve stuck around three months.”

His face contorts in anger. “Don’t.”