I swore off love after Gia—closed my heart off and refused to let anyone in. But Bella found a way to peel back just enough of my armor and planted herself inside. And before I realized how she even did it, she’d taken root and no amount of digging could ever get her out.
And apparently, so had I.
Because that’s the real reason she wanted to pushmeaway. She didn’t want her own past to repeat itself, just as I didn’t want mine to. She didn’t want me to suffer the consequences of lovingme, and I didn’t want her to become a weapon my enemies can use.
And in our mutual cowardice, we settled on the easy option—to push each other away and make each other believe that we hated instead of loved.
But it didn’t fucking work.
We held each other and came apart together. Grief and relief and self-loathing all at once. I felt her tears hit my chest and I thought that if I can just keep going, then it’ll be enough to warn her to stay away from me.
I hate you. I hate you. I love you.
“Fuck!” I push off the sink, turn, slam my palm against the tile hard enough that pain blooms up my wrist.
I shouldn’t have walked away from her when she told me to leave. I should’ve swept her into my arms, kissed away her tears, apologized to her for what I’ve done, and told her the truth.
And now I'm standing in this steam-filled bathroom hating myself with the same ferocity I used to reserve for my enemies, because the act that was supposed to sever us fused us tighter in all the broken places.
I can't stop loving her even if I tried, even if I wanted to. And now I’m afraid that it’s too late.
I have to go back out, I think. I have to go to her and apologize.
If I apologize, maybe we can undo what we’ve just done. Maybe we can find our way back to that moment in the hunting lodge with the warmth of the fire on our skin and the sound of the storm outside.
I walk out of the bathroom, and cross the distance of my empty bedroom until my hand rests on the handle of the door.
But as I do, something cold slithers into my chest, and it tells me that I already know what I’ll find on the other end when I open it.
Silence. Emptiness. An absence so deep that you can feel it in your bones.
"Bella?"
My voice is quiet as it reverberates through the space. Nothing. I try again.
“Bella.”
Still nothing.
The stillness is maddening, and for a brief moment, my penthouse feels like a tomb. I take a step forward. My mind is still convinced that if I just go to my office, I’ll find her there by my desk. Maybe the hate has gone out of her eyes, and she’ll be willing to listen to me apologize. Maybe I can still fix this. Maybe we can still fix this. Maybe it’s not too late.
That’s when my toes touch something small and light. I look down and that’s when hope finally dies.
There, sitting on the hardwood floor just outside of my bedroom door is the glue thumbprint.
My chest tightens.
She was here. She wasright here. She stood right on the other side of that door, inches away from me while I was bent over my sink hating myself. She had slipped the thumbprint on, and maybe even reached out, thinking that she should open it.
But she fucking didn’t.
Can I blame her?
I kneel down and pick up the thin piece of glue with fingers that don't feel like they’re mine anymore. I swear I can still feel her warmth on it. For a moment, I consider crushing it and grinding it into nothing the way I've ground down every other soft thing that's threatened me.
But I don’t.
I can't. Because it’s hers, and it’s the last thing that I have that’s hers.
