Them getting the soft version of him he swears he doesn't have.
I hate it. I hate it so much I almost hate him for it and it hasn't even happened.
But here's the worst part.
I can't stop it.
He's not mine. We're not together. We're not boyfriends. We're not anything we can say out loud without blowing our lives up.
So what am I supposed to say?
Hey, I'm leaving the continent, but can you promise to stay emotionally celibate forever just in case I can't get over you?
Like be serious.
I don't have the right to ask him for that. I don't have the right to be this jealous. I don't have the right to want him to be miserable without me.
But I do. Some ugly part of me wants him to hurt.
To miss me so much he can't evenlookat someone else.
Wants him to sit on that stupid couch, see someone pretty, and think,yeah, but they're not Rava.
And at the same time, I know I should want him happy. Even if I'm not there. Even if it kills me. So I'm stuck.
BetweenI hope he moves onandif he moves on, I'll never forgive him.
I don't know why I'm doing this to myself. We literally just had sex. But maybe that's the reason I'm dying inside.
I look at him, smiling, and he smiles back.
Please don't let me be just a chapter you skip over when you talk about your life, Gio.
Please don't let me be the boy you forget as soon as someone closer, easier, safer shows up.
Gio
We finish cleaning up ourselves, and then we step out of the bathroom. I collapse onto the bed with all the grace of a dying man. Absolutely wrecked.
And completely, fully, disgustingly fucking happy. My heart pounds like I ran ten miles. My thighs shake.
I think my soul is levitating somewhere above the ceiling fan. I glance over.
He's beside me all flushed. His hair is messy, strands falling over his forehead in the most obnoxiously perfect way possible.
I grin. "You have sex hair."
He turns his head, eyes half-lidded.
"You literally gave it to me."
"I know. And you're welcome."
He groans, throws a pillow at me, but he's smiling. Like really smiling. I catch it midair and throw it aside, rolling toward him.
"Hey," I murmur. "You don't regret doing this, right?" I stop.
He's looking at me. "Not even a bit."
