“Because I’m happy.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t keep hurting you.”
I kneel behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. “You didn’t. What’s hurting is how you’re shutting me out.”
He turns, and his eyes are glassy. “I’m sorry, Dee. I just… I can’t do this.”
My stomach sinks. “Can’t do what?”
He pulls away, walks to the closet, and grabs a pair of pajama pants.
I sit naked and stunned. “Colt!”
He turns, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. You’re just going to have to wait.”
“For what? You didn’t hurt me. Stop being ridiculous and justfuck me.”
He exhales, clearly torn.
So I lunge for him, kissing hard, wrapping my legs around him. But he groans and gently sets me back on the bed.
I’m reeling.
Hurt.
Rejected.
“Don’t you love me?”
“More than anything. That’swhyI’m doing this.”
And then… he leaves.
He fucking leaves!
“I am going to the guest room,” he says like it’s nothing. “I love you, Dee.” Then he walks out, and the silence he leaves behind is deafening.
I stare at the door.
Waiting.
Hoping.
But he doesn’t come back.
My breath hitches, then rushes in fast, shallow bursts.
I can’t believe he did that—got me worked up, then left.
Oh God! Maybe he just isn’t attracted to me anymore?
Maybe my scar, my surgery, myemptinessmake him see me differently.
The tears come fast before I hurl a pillow at the door, screaming out my frustration. Then I collapse, sobbing into the mattress, broken and hollow.
Are you really surprised, Dee?No. But I hate thinking this way.
This is Colt.
