“Okay. Then tell me this: why is Marissa allowed in your home and I’m not?”
I don’t expect the question. I have no lie prepared, nothing convincing enough to feed him without giving the actual answer. But I can’t very well give himthistruth either.
How would he react if he found out I have a whole wall dedicated to photos of him and pages of our past memories?
Probably not very well, I imagine.
At my lack of response, Elijah’s eyes narrow further.
“Nothing to say?” he prompts, and my eyes fall away from him to stare at the floor. I can’t take the anger in them. It hurts too much. “SoIcan’t come in because it’s your personal space, but Marissa can come in and wear your clothes and be half—you know what? Okay.”
I take a chance and peek up at him, but Elijah is no longer looking at me. He’s staring past me and into the night—and he looks heartbroken.
“Eli—”
“Go away, Rowan.” Elijah begins to shut the door, but I slam my palm against it, keeping it open with sheer strength.
“Wait! I promise you I’m not seeing her. Ipromise,” I insist.
Elijah sighs. “Okay. I believe you. But the fact of the matter is still that you either don’t trust me enough or like me enough to want me in your space, and that fucking sucks. I think our time together was fun, but short-lived, and I’m not emotionally intuitive enough to know when I’m being manipulated or not. So just go home. Please.”
When he moves to shut the door again, I don’t stop him.
As it slams shut, I do not move. I stare at the wood in front of me in absolute silence. I wouldn’t be able to hear anything else anyway, not over the sound of my heartbeat.
I can’t even be mad at Marissa—this would have come to a head eventually, one way or another. I fucked it all up. I should have taken that board down when he seemed bothered by his being barred originally. I’m a fucking idiot.
And now my whole body feels like it’s being crushed in on itself, and an anxiety I’ve never felt before is coursing through my veins.
That feeling I had the first time we had sex, the one that told me to never let him leave my bed for fear of him never returning? It’s resurfaced, but this time with a vengeance.
Because this time the outcome is certain.
Elijah is done with me—I have lost him just as I lost Benjamin.I am in a downward spiral, falling headfirst into the realization that I’m reliving the same tragedy.
Was it my fault then, too? Will I ever stop fucking this up?
What am I supposed to do now? These memories aren’t just going to leave me now that Elijah is done. I’ve carried them my entire life; I will carry them until I die.
And as long as I carry them, I don’t believe I will ever love anyone else.
I guess I am destined to suffer. Maybe that was my path all along. I was never meant to reconnect and reconcile with Elijah—I was meant to know the pain of never having him. Of losing him twice.
What a miserable fucking life this is.
Still standing in front of his door, the tears have started to fall.
I know that I should leave him be now that he’s asked me to, but what if I can’t? What if I’m unable to give up and walk away? Does that make me the bad guy? The villain of this story?
Maybe it does. I think that would be fine. I don’t mind being the villain if Elijah needs me to be—if that’s the only way I get to love him.
I will do anything short of harming him to keep him in my life.
There is something inside of me that is screaming—something that is telling me that if I step back, if I choose to give him space or be noble, Iwillregret it. I have to take what I want, I have to go for it.
Or die trying, I guess.
Chapter Eighteen
