I hear her let out a deep sigh before driving off. Standing on the rickety porch steps for a moment, I watch as the tail lights disappear into the night. As I make my way inside the house, my legs feel like lead, my body aches, and the day’s exhaustion presses down on me like a weight.
Collapsing onto the couch, I let out a shaky breath. The night plays over in my mind like a bad movie—the festival, Alex’s breath against my ear, how his fingers felt inside of me. The void I felt when he pulled them out, denying what my body craved.
A few minutes pass before a sharp knock at the door startles me. I groan and consider ignoring it. Another more insistent knock comes and, with an exasperated sigh, I push myself up and trudge to the door, yanking it open.
Alex is standing there, his face tense, like he is waiting for my reaction.
“What are you doing here?” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest. My body betrays me once again, reacting to his presence with an annoying flutter in my chest, different from the kind I had earlier.
“I came to check on you,” he says, softer than I expect it. “You didn’t look good when you left.”
“Gee, I wonder why?” I scoff.
“You didn’t like that I didn’t let you come, huh?” he asks with that stupid mischievous grin appearing again and I want to smack him. Or alternatively, I could edgehimand see if he likes it? I like that plan better.
I roll my eyes instead.
“You really thought I was going to make you come in a fucking park?” he continues on. Crossing the door frame, he takes one step towards me. “I don’t want anyone but me even having the chance of seeing you like that. You deserve somewhere more proper, don’t chu think?”
Another step.
“Don’t,” I whisper, but it is weak, unsure.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps moving closer, his presence overwhelming. I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“I can’t,” his voice is low and rough. “I’ve tried to stay away from you since you’ve been back, but I can’t. You drive me crazy, Em. Every time I see you, I?—”
“Shut up,” I interrupt, choking back memories and feelings trying to resurface. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to mess with my life and then act like you actually care.”
“Idocare,” he says, fierce and in control. “I have always made it very obvious that I care about you. How do you not see that?”
God, I hate him. I hate the way he looks at me like I’m something precious. I hate how my body reacts, how my pulse raceswhen he is near. I hate that some part of me still wants him to close the distance between us.
“Just go.” I whisper, trying to regain some control, but it comes out weak like a plea.
“Em…” He reaches out, his hand hovering near my cheek, and I freeze, torn between wanting him to touch me again and wanting to push him away.
My heart is pounding. I don’t know what to do or what to say. All I know is that I hate him for making me feel this way, and I hate myself even more for wanting him despite it all. My emotions are a fucking chaotic mess.
“Please.” I whisper again, but I don’t even know what I am asking for anymore. I don’t know if I want him to leave or touch me, or to just feel his warm touch against my skin again.
His fingers gently make contact with my cheek and glide to the back of my neck, tangling slightly in my hair. I feel like I’m going to explode from the tension building up inside of me. The anger, confusion, attraction… it’s all too much.
He leans in closer to my face, his breath warm against my skin, and I think he’s going to kiss me. But I pull away, stepping back to create distance between us. For a moment, he doesn’t move, his eyes searching mine for some kind of sign as to what it is I actually want. But even I don’t know the answer to that.
Finally, he exhales, long and heavy. “Alright,” he murmurs. “I’ll go.” A look of resignation crosses his face.
I don’t turn away until I hear the door close behind him. The second he’s gone, my legs give out and I sink to the floor, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
I want to scream. I want to punch something. I want to forget the way his eyes searched mine, the way he sounded defeated, the way I think Iwantedhim to kiss me.
13
ALEX
The second I open my eyes I feel like I got hit by a freight train. My head is pounding, my back aches and my mouth tastes like regret and the cheap whiskey I drank myself to sleep with. Groaning, I roughly rub my face and drag myself out of bed, stumbling towards the kitchen in desperate need of caffeine. Or maybe another drink?
My feet shuffle against the worn wooden floors. I decide caffeine might be the better option and smack the coffee machine to life. It grumbles like it resents me for existing, and honestly, same. I lean against the counter, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I wait for that first, life-saving sip. Mornings are for people who have their shit together. I’m not one of those people. Especially not after last night.
