“I’m not… I can’t.”
“I’m patient,” I say, “but I need something from you. I need whatever pieces you’re holding onto.”
“I know.”
“You don’t.”
“I do, baby,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“Whatever,” I mumble, trying to roll him off of me and turn away, but he doesn’t let me. “Let me go.”
“No.” Christian picks himself up and lies on his side, pulling me into him with my back against his chest. “Please, I’m sorry, just don’t make me leave.”
I sigh, frustrated, but I can’t help but sink into him with his arms around me. Tears sting my eyes. I spent many nights crying because of how much I wanted this—neededthis.
When he left, I felt empty too. The apartment was empty, the bed was empty. It was too quiet to keep me sane. Every day, I could feel the lack of his body around mine. It was hard to sleep, to find comfort on a mattress where he was meant to be holding me as we fell asleep.
My skin was burning to be touched by him and now he’s here, holding me, and I feel… I don’t know. Him leaving broke me and even though I put myself back together—the pieces I could manage to pick up on my own—he’s picking up the rest just by being here.
“Christian, I don’t know what to do,” I confess quietly, wiping my cheek. “Tell me what to do.”
His arms tighten, pulling me even closer somehow, and I latch onto him with my hands around his arms. It takes seconds for his hand to find me, twining our fingers, and for him to nestle his head into my neck.
“With me?”
“With all of it,” I rasp, my voice cracking a bit.
“I don’t know,” he whispers against my neck. “If you want me to go, and really just…leave…then I’ll go. I won’t stay here if it’s going to hurt you. If it isn’t going to make you happy or if you can’t love me anymore, I’ll go. But only if you look at me and tell me that’s what you want.”
I shake my head and turn my body around to face him, my knees knocking against his. I wait for his eyes to find mine, and let the fragile silence linger. “I don’t want that.”
Christian blinks slowly, relief glossing over his eyes.
“I just don’t know what I’m meant to do now. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel toward you.”
“I imagine you hate me a little bit,” he says, tortured.
“I don’t,” I croak. “I could never hate you even if I tried. And believe me,I tried. I kept hoping one day I’d wake up and hate you and regret you so that way I could stop loving you and it would stop hurting.”
“Do you still want to hate me?”
“No.” His thumb comes to my cheek, wiping my tears before he holds my hip. “I don’t want to hate you.”
“Lana, I don’t know how to tell you things that happened,” Christian says. “I don’t know how to talk about it without hating myself for the things I’ve done. Or without hurting you.”
I open my mouth to speak but he continues.
“The thing I regret the most in this life is leaving you,” he whispers. “I love you so much, Lana. Please just be patient with me.”
“You’re asking a lot of me,” I say. “It’s?—”
“Unfair,” he says. “I know. I’m asking for a lot and not giving you enough.”
I don’t even know if he’s right or wrong. I don’t know anything today. It was good of me to take the day off so I can wallow in my thoughts, pull answers out of my head.
“You need patience,” I say. “But so do I.”
He frowns slightly. “I know.”
