he wants me to be me—and he never t

he wants me to be me—and he never tried to stop me from doing things that were important to me. He wanted to be part of my life but he didn’t want to run my life. That’s not how an abuser operates.”
“I know.” I remember.
The front bell rings, and Justine gets up. “I’ll see you Friday?”
I nod. “Thanks for the tickets.”
She goes out to check who’s here, and I pack up. My phone buzzes, and I suppress a pang of hope that it might be Caleb. It’s not—it’s a text from my mother. Planning for Christmas party. Will you be joining us?
I text back. Probably.
Will you be bringing anyone?
I text back. Probably not. My stomach tightens. I took Alex to my parents’ annual Christmas party last year. They loved him. My mother was hinting heavily that I needed a ring on my finger. He was exactly the kind of guy she wanted me to be with—a future lawyer, from a wealthy family like mine. Our dads even know each other professionally. I think one of them acquired some subsidiary of the other’s company. I can’t remember the details, but even before they discovered that fabulous connection, my dad treated Alex like the son he never had, taking him golfing before coming home and drinking brandy together before the party even started.
It took me three months to tell my mom that we’d broken up. I never told her why. It was too humiliating. My parents are already sort of horrified at my career choices, and I couldn’t bear to let them down once again. Unfortunately, the consequence is that my parents keep hassling me about whether Alex and I will get back together. Any moment, Mom is probably going to call me and start pushing the issue.
Sure enough, as I head out to my car, my phone rings, and I answer. “Mom, I’m not going to—”
“Romy, it’s Alex.”
My whole body turns cold, hard prickles of fear coursing over my skin. “How did you get this number?” I whisper.
He chuckles. “I have my ways. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you at Sammy’s. You didn’t call, so I had to track you down.”
The way he says it makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “I don’t want to talk to you. I’m not going to talk to you.” I stare down at the sidewalk. Near the toe of my shoe, there’s a swarm of ants picking at the body of a beetle, taking it apart.
“You owe it to me, Romy. You never gave me a chance after that fight we had. I tried to give you space, but after seeing you again, I realized what a mistake that was. I still have feelings for you, and I’m not going to ignore that.”
My heart is beating so hard that it shakes my voice as I say, “I don’t have feelings for you. Don’t call me again.”
“Bullshit,” says Alex. “You and I have unfinished business, and you can’t run from that. We had something good, Romy. You know we did. Why are you acting like you don’t remember?”
Black spots bloom in my vision, and I realize I’m gasping. Hot tears sting my eyes. My hands tremble as I press the END button on my phone, hanging up on him. He has my phone number. He has my phone number. I had to track you down, he said.
A high-pitched, strangled sound comes from me, and I jog to my car, looking up and down the street, half-expecting Alex to step out of one of the hedges or something. I get into my car and pull out my phone again, intending to call Jude, but then I remember what he said to me last night—you know how to pick ‘em. He’s tired of dealing with my crap, and I don’t want to push this on him, not while he’s trying to handle Catherine’s case and everything that comes with it. I can’t bother him. Which means I have to deal with this alone.
 Raw panic is surging through my veins, and it takes a few tries to start my car because my hands are shaking so badly that I drop my keys. I need to calm down. I need to get a grip on myself. I need to get control again.
Before I realize where I’m going, I’m parking in front of the co-op. It’s nearly six. Open painting time. This is what I need, the chance to settle myself. Besides … I don’t want to go home.
I’m scared to go home.
I take my toolbox out of my trunk and tromp up the stairs into the co-op. But when I peek into the classroom, there’s a class going on. Daisy is at the front of the room, talking about drawing still lifes with oil pastels.
Which is when I realize it’s Thursday, not Wednesday. No open painting time. I slide down a locker and end up on the floor. My toolbox clangs as it lands next to me. I put my forehead on my knees and breathe, but the air is forcing its way from my lungs in bursts, and my ears are ringing. Why can’t I calm down?
“Romy?” asks a distant voice.
I ignore it. I’m trying to keep my stomach from turning inside out.
Someone touches my hand. “Romy.” I raise my head. It’s Caleb. He grazes the side of my face with the backs of his fingers, his gray eyes filled with worry. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to … paint,” I say stupidly.
His brow furrows. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. I can’t pretend I am.
“Do you want to come up to my studio? If you want to paint

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Dia ingin saya untuk menjadi diriku — dan ia tidak pernah mencoba untuk menghentikan saya dari melakukan hal-hal yang penting bagi saya. Ia ingin menjadi bagian dari kehidupan saya tetapi ia tidak ingin menjalankan hidup saya. Itu adalah tidak bagaimana pelaku beroperasi.""Aku tahu." Aku ingin pergi.Cincin bel depan, dan Justine bangun. "Aku akan melihat kalian Jumat?"Aku mengangguk. "Terima kasih untuk tiket."Dia pergi keluar untuk memeriksa yang ada di sini, dan saya berkemas. Ramai telepon saya, dan saya menekan pang harapan bahwa mungkin Kaleb. Tidak — ini adalah teks dari ibuku. Berencana untuk pesta Natal. Akan Anda bergabung dengan kami?Aku kembali teks. Mungkin.Akan Anda membawa orang?Aku kembali teks. Mungkin tidak. Mengencangkan perut saya. Aku mengambil Alex untuk orangtuaku tahunan pesta Natal tahun lalu. Mereka mencintainya. Ibuku mengisyaratkan berat bahwa saya membutuhkan sebuah cincin di jari saya. Dia adalah persis seperti dia ingin aku menjadi dengan pria — masa depan pengacara, dari keluarga yang kaya seperti tambang. Ayah kami bahkan tahu satu sama lain secara profesional. Saya pikir salah satu dari mereka memperoleh beberapa anak perusahaan dari perusahaan lain. Saya tidak ingat rincian, tapi bahkan sebelum mereka menemukan bahwa koneksi yang hebat, ayah saya diperlakukan Alex seperti anak yang ia tidak pernah punya, membawanya Golf sebelum pulang dan minum brendi bersama-sama sebelum pesta bahkan mulai.Aku butuh tiga bulan untuk memberitahu ibuku bahwa kami putus. Saya tidak pernah mengatakan mengapa. Itu terlalu memalukan. Orang tua saya sudah semacam ngeri dengan pilihan karir saya, dan saya tidak tahan untuk mengecewakan mereka sekali lagi. Sayangnya, konsekuensi adalah bahwa orang tua saya terus mengganggu saya tentang apakah Alex dan saya akan kembali bersama-sama. Setiap saat, ibu mungkin akan menelepon saya dan mulai mendorong masalah.Tentu saja, saat aku kepala keluar mobil saya, telepon berdering, dan aku menjawab. "Mom, aku tidak akan —""Romy, itu adalah Alex."Seluruh tubuhku ternyata dingin, keras yang besar mengalir atas kulit saya ketakutan. "Bagaimana Apakah Anda mendapatkan nomor ini?" Saya berbisik.Ia terkekeh. "Aku punya cara saya. Aku belum berhenti memikirkan Anda sejak aku melihatmu di Sammy's. Anda tidak menelepon, jadi aku harus melacak Anda."Cara dia mengatakan itu membuat rambut di belakang leher saya meningkat. "Saya tidak ingin untuk berbicara dengan Anda. Aku tidak akan berbicara dengan Anda." Aku menatap ke bawah trotoar. Dekat toe Sepatu saya, ada segerombolan semut memilih di tubuh kumbang, mengambil terpisah."Anda berutang padaku, Romy. Anda tidak pernah memberi saya kesempatan setelah yang memerangi kami. Saya mencoba untuk memberikan Anda ruang, tapi setelah melihat Anda lagi, aku menyadari apa kesalahan itu. Aku masih memiliki perasaan bagi Anda, dan aku tidak akan mengabaikan itu."Jantung saya berdetak begitu keras bahwa itu menjabat suara saya seperti yang saya katakan, "saya tidak memiliki perasaan untuk Anda. Tidak menelepon saya lagi."“Bullshit,” says Alex. “You and I have unfinished business, and you can’t run from that. We had something good, Romy. You know we did. Why are you acting like you don’t remember?”Black spots bloom in my vision, and I realize I’m gasping. Hot tears sting my eyes. My hands tremble as I press the END button on my phone, hanging up on him. He has my phone number. He has my phone number. I had to track you down, he said.A high-pitched, strangled sound comes from me, and I jog to my car, looking up and down the street, half-expecting Alex to step out of one of the hedges or something. I get into my car and pull out my phone again, intending to call Jude, but then I remember what he said to me last night—you know how to pick ‘em. He’s tired of dealing with my crap, and I don’t want to push this on him, not while he’s trying to handle Catherine’s case and everything that comes with it. I can’t bother him. Which means I have to deal with this alone. Raw panic is surging through my veins, and it takes a few tries to start my car because my hands are shaking so badly that I drop my keys. I need to calm down. I need to get a grip on myself. I need to get control again.Before I realize where I’m going, I’m parking in front of the co-op. It’s nearly six. Open painting time. This is what I need, the chance to settle myself. Besides … I don’t want to go home.I’m scared to go home.I take my toolbox out of my trunk and tromp up the stairs into the co-op. But when I peek into the classroom, there’s a class going on. Daisy is at the front of the room, talking about drawing still lifes with oil pastels.Which is when I realize it’s Thursday, not Wednesday. No open painting time. I slide down a locker and end up on the floor. My toolbox clangs as it lands next to me. I put my forehead on my knees and breathe, but the air is forcing its way from my lungs in bursts, and my ears are ringing. Why can’t I calm down?“Romy?” asks a distant voice.I ignore it. I’m trying to keep my stomach from turning inside out.Someone touches my hand. “Romy.” I raise my head. It’s Caleb. He grazes the side of my face with the backs of his fingers, his gray eyes filled with worry. “What are you doing here?”“I needed to … paint,” I say stupidly.His brow furrows. “Are you okay?”I shake my head. I can’t pretend I am.“Do you want to come up to my studio? If you want to paint