But Devin?
Devin I could love.Might already love.And that's the most dangerous thing of all.
So I walk.Away from the clubhouse.Away from him.Away from the possibility of something that feels too good to be real.
I don't let myself cry until I'm on the bus headed home.
7
TANK
I'm awake when she leaves.
I’ve been awake for the last ten minutes, lying still with my arm draped over her waist, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing.Trying to memorize the weight of her against me, the warmth of her skin, the way she fits perfectly in the space between my chest and the mattress.
Trying to hold on to it before it slips away.
Because I know it's going to slip away.I can feel it in the tension creeping back into her body as dawn light filters through the blinds.I can hear it in the subtle change in her breathing; no longer the deep, even rhythm of sleep but something shallower.Conscious.
Awake and thinking.
And when Enya thinks too much, she runs.
So I lie still.Keep my breathing steady.Pretend I'm asleep even though every muscle in my body is coiled tight, waiting.
She moves carefully, slowly, easing out from under my arm like she's afraid of waking me.I feel the mattress shift as she sits up, hear the quiet rustle of fabric as she searches for her clothes in the gray morning light.
Everything in me wants to reach for her.Pull her back.Ask her to stay.Tell her last night meant something, means something, and we should at least talk about it before she disappears.
But I don't.
Because grabbing her, pushing her, demanding anything right now would only prove I'm exactly what she's afraid of: another man who takes without asking.Another man who doesn't respect boundaries.
So I keep my eyes closed and my breathing even and I let her go.
Even though it's killing me.
I hear her pull on her jeans; the soft sound of her shirt sliding over her head; her quiet exhale that sounds like relief or regret or maybe both.
Her footsteps move toward the door.Pause.
My heart pounds so hard I'm surprised she can't hear it.
"Enya?"The word slips out before I can stop it.Rough with sleep and something else.Something desperate.
Silence stretches.I open my eyes and see her silhouette against the door, hand frozen on the handle.
"Don't go," I say quietly."Please.We can talk.We can?—"
"I can't."Her voice cracks, and Christ, that sound guts me."I'm sorry.I just...I can't."
Then she's gone, the door closing softly behind her, footsteps fading down the corridor.
Gone.
I lie there for a minute, staring at the ceiling, feeling the absence of her like a physical wound.
"Enya," I whisper to the empty room.
