“Lana, please!” He pounds on the door again. “Lana, I’m not leaving.”
“Good!” I pound on the door from the other side, my fists hurting from the force I use. “Then I’m calling the police!”
Christian doesn’t punch the door again, instead it’s a quiet thud that I imagine is his forehead against my yellow painted door. My hands flatten against my door, and my forehead thuds against it too.
“I’m not leaving,” I hear him say again.
I hiccup on tears that want to break out of me. I swallow before I say, “I don’t believe you.”
“Trust me,” Christian says, “please.”
“I can’t. I don’t,” I croak.
I wish I did and I wish I could, but I haven’t forgotten what happened last time I trusted him and it’s been four years. If I let him do it to me again, the stitches will rip and the wound will bleed me dry.
My heart can’t afford another disappearance—another person to grieve. Especially grieving the same person twice, I don’t have that in me.
I sniff quietly and my hand trembles as it slides down my door. It wraps around the handle, my thumb presses the button, and I pull the door open. I am met with red, silver lines eyes and his hair is all disheveled the way I like it, and his hands are gripping the door frame.
“Tell me—” My voice cracks. “Tell me why you’re here.”
“Lana…”
“Tell me,” I croak. “And I’ll think about it.”
“I’m here because I miss you,” he says, his voice also breaking. “I’m here because I hate my parents for taking me away from you. I’m here because I need you more than I need anything else.”
It’s a low blow, I know, but I whisper, “But not more than you need alc?—”
“Yes,” he says, and takes a step, the toes of his sneakers just on the line between the house and the porch. “More than that.”
“Christian, you can’t just say nice, romantic things and expect me to just let you back in. That isn’t enough. You’ve been here for a week?—”
“I know, baby?—”
“I need more than that from you,” I tell him. “I needsomething.”
“I love you.”
“Not that,” I murmur.Yes that.
“I love you and I’ve never stopped loving you, and I want to keep loving you. I want you to let me love you so much that I die from it.”
I shake my head, taking an arrow in my heart. “Christian. Those are just…really nice words.”
Words I’ve missed hearing. Words I’ve dreamed about hearing. Words I’ve replayed in my mind. And words that feellike a stitch through a long and deep wound—but a stitch nonetheless.
I gave up a long time ago on the idea that I would hear him tell me he loves me again.
“Just…patience,” Christian breathes. “I need patience. I’m not…I’m working on?—”
“Christian—”
“I want to touch you,” he growls low. “Can I just…hold you?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” On my part, at least.
Christian nods and his entire body slumps, like he might just sink into himself and disappear, but I don’t want that. He disappeared once and, whether I liked it or not, parts of myself disappeared with him.
