“Thank you for telling me,” she says softly. “I know that was hard.”
“As long as you’re not running, it was worth it,” I reply.
“Bonnie, I don’t know how to walk away from you,” she says. “The last few weeks…”
Her voice trails, and I close my eyes as her forehead sinks against mine. “I know.”
Standing there, I breathe her in. I breathe in the smell of the hillside flowers, the sunset taking daylight away from us.
“What did you have to tell me?” I ask, curious.
Her smile falters entirely, her energy tensing. I don’t know what it was, but she’s nervous, and I wish I could make her see that it’s okay.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, touching her cheek.
Gemma leans down, kisses my jaw, then hands me my helmet. “I’ll tell you another night,” she says. “Let’s get you home.”
CHAPTER FORTY
BONNIE
“I’ll schedule a movingvan for tomorrow afternoon,” she says, hands in her pockets as she pauses on the threshold. “This is a good thing, Bonnie.”
I sigh, peering around the space. “I know. This place holds so much…”
It’s seen me break, recover, fall, stumble, regroup, and stand at the door too many times with my keys in my hand.
“Do you need me to stay tonight?” she asks.
I should.
However, there’s something I need to take care of, and Gemma can’t be here when I do it.
And while I’m terrified of the walls closing in, of the spiral I’m sitting on the edge of, I need to do this. I need to talk to my stalker, to somehow completely cut her off, not to mention there’s a nagging in the back of my head telling me to prove my fears wrong. I can handle this on my own. People don’t have to continue checking in on me. I should be able to get it together by myself, claw out of this pit, and continue taking steps toward my goals without someone offering me a rope.
“I’m okay,” I say, leaning against the door frame. “I promise. I’m just going to be packing. Watching television… I promise I’m okay. I could use some alone time.”
Gemma’s jaw tenses as if she doesn’t entirely believe me, though she doesn’t push it.
“Okay,” she says.
I smile at her. “You don’t like it.”
“No,” she says. “Every part of me wants to insist you let me stay, and I camp out on the couch.”
“I’m okay,” I insist. “Go home.”
“If you need me…”
I lean up on my toes and kiss her softly, ceasing any ramblings left on her lips. She sighs into me and presses her hand to my cheek, and as the sparks set off in my head, we part.
Gemma strokes my face with her thumb once more. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Text me if you need me. Please. I’m not far away.”
“Okay.”
I should have asked her to stay.
I thought I could handle the walls. That I’d be able to distract myself enough with packing, television, and music enough that I wouldn’t feel like I was losing control.
