“I get it,” I cut in, as it started to dawn on me. Slowly.
“Also, can you get that gun out of my face?” Adam added, glancing at my weapon still pointed at him.
“Oh,” I mumbled, lowering my gun. “Sorry.”
“Can you just…?” he said, shaking the flowers with a grimace of distaste.
“Right,” I muttered, looking around. “I’m not sure I have a vase.”
I was so shocked that I could barely remember where my kitchen was. I headed there and opened a few cabinets before stumbling upon a salad bowl.
“This should do it,” I murmured, filling the bowl with water. “Probably.”
When Adam handed me the bouquet, I took it, flinching when our fingers grazed.
“Thank you,” I muttered, avoiding his gaze and placing the flowers into the bowl. “Is that all?”
I didn’t want to be rude or cruel, but I also didn’t want to get hurt again. When my doorbell rang for the umpteenth time, I rolled my eyes.
“It’s probably the damn burgers. Excuse me for a moment.”
After I returned to the room, I found Adam standing by the window and gazing into the distance. It was perverse how well he fit into my apartment.
“Um…” I muttered, rubbing my forehead because my head started to hurt. “Where were we?”
“You were about to throw me out of your apartment,” Adam deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I would like to apologize first.”
He was wearing the shirt I gave him. Damn him. Blue looked good on him. Everything looked good on him. I would probably look good on him, too.No. Jesus.
“Apology accepted,” I said, lowering my gaze. “You can leave now.”
“I didn’t mean what I said,” Adam said firmly. “Not a single word. I wanted to hurt you.”
I smiled bitterly. “Mission accomplished.”
Adam bit his lip, glancing toward the window as if it were an emergency exit.
“I don’t like people,” he said finally, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t trust people. That’s why I’m alone. That’s why I don’t associate with anyone. That’s why I behave like an asshole. I never had a friend. I never had a girlfriend. I never went on a date. I never had a meaningful conversation with anyone. Noone heard me cry except for my dog Rusty, who is dead, and Verna, whom I’m paying to talk to me. My parents didn’t care about me. My classmates bullied me. My foster parents abused me. My colleagues hate me, and my superiors don’t respect me. I get it’s because I am the way I am. I know it’s because I am thoroughly unlikable. I’m not saying it so you can pity me. I’m saying it because I think you’re the only person who sees me, and I respect that. I… I like that.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. I could feel his eyes on me, but I couldn’t make myself look at him.
“I know I hurt you, Jordan, and I’m sorry. But trust me, you can hurt me a million times more. Just being here hurts me. I don’t want to be here or feel this way, but I can’t stay away either. I tried, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I can’t stop thinking about you.
Yeah, that sentence right there made no sense, so I had to ask for clarification.
“Right,” I murmured, my mind in a whirl. “Is that... like some kind of metaphor?”
“It’s the fucking truth, Jordan.”
“The truth,” I blurted. “Right. Um... I’m sorry if my next question sounds insensitive, but… are you perhaps drunk?”
Adam smiled sheepishly, bringing his index finger and thumb together.
Cute. So fucking cute.
“Do you forgive me?” he said, looking nervous.
