"I said get out."
Her voice cracks on the last word, and that's what kills me.Not the anger.The hurt.
I grab my shirt, my jacket.I don't look at her.I can't look at her.
"I'm sorry," I manage.The words are useless.Pathetic.
"Just go."
I go.
Down the stairs and out into the rain, which is coming down in sheets now.I stand there for a second, letting it soak through me, feeling sick and hollow and furious with myself.
What the fuck did I just do?
I walk back toward O’Hara's, where my bike's waiting.The streets are empty now, everyone smart enough to be inside, out of the weather.My boots splash through puddles, and I can't stop replaying it: the way she looked at me, the way her body went rigid, the way her voice broke when she told me to leave.
I fucked up.
Fucked up bad.
Emma's ghost has been haunting me for three years, and I thought I'd learned to live with it.Thought I'd buried it deep enough that it couldn't hurt anyone else.
I was wrong.
By the time I reach my bike, I'm soaked through and shaking, from cold or shame, I don't know.Probably both.I swing my leg over the seat, kick her to life, and just sit there for a minute, engine rumbling beneath me.
I can still feel Enya's hands on my skin.Can still taste her on my lips.
Can still see the look on her face when I said someone else's name.
"Fuck," I mutter into the rain.
Then I twist the throttle and disappear into the night, carrying my ghosts with me like I always do.
And always will.
2
ENYA
The door slams behind him and I sit there, frozen, sheets clutched to my chest like they can protect me from what just happened.
Emma.
He called me Emma.
My hands are shaking.The whole room feels like it's tilting, spinning, and I can't get enough air.My lungs are tight, squeezing, and there's this ringing in my ears that won't stop.
I knew better.
I fucking knew better.
Don't let them close.Don't let them in.Don't give them anything they can use to hurt you.
And what did I do?I brought him home.Let him touch me.Let myself want him.God, I wanted him so badly it scared me.That rough voice, those careful hands, the way he looked at me like he was seeing something worth seeing...
Lies.All of it.
