“Yep, I get it. No worries. I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe?” I internally curse myself for sounding needy.
“Umm, yeah. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pauses at the threshold of the doorway before turning around and walking out.
I wait until I hear the front door shut, then I collapse onto my desk.
Fuck, I hate this.
I didn’t even realize I was this far gone for him.
Tonight was hot at first—it always is with him. Then it changed. And a man I never thought would make me feel used andashameddid.
And it makes me sad.
I thump my head on the desk a couple of times in an attempt to rid myself of these feelings. When I lift my head up, I get this weird lucidity.
I open up my Word document holding my newest book, and I write.
I write down every feeling, every hesitation, every want, and I don’t stop.
I don’t stop when my stomach growls in hunger.
I don’t stop when the clock on my desk says two a.m.
And I don’t stop when the morning sun rises.
Chapter 14
Oakley
I hate myself.
I did exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t do, and I took my messed-up headspace out on Willow. I’m so fucking ashamed of myself I can hardly look in the mirror. She didn’t deserve that, and even when she was patient and knew something was wrong, I pushed her away instead of leaning into her and talking. It’s not like I don’t know she would listen because I know for a fact she would be the best listener. But I’m stuck in my old ways and don’t know how to break free.
It feels like I need to resolve all my shit before I can talk to Willow about what’s in my head. I don’t want to poison her with my failures.
This is exactly why I didn’t get close to people, why I moved to small-town U.S.A. and forgot about the life I once lived.
Because I hurt people.
And hurting Willow is like stabbing myself in the eye with an ice pick. But I don’t fucking know how to fix it.
After I left her place, I walked home. I tried every trick in the book to sleep, but nothing was working.
I’ve been pacing my apartment ever since, and now it’s time to go work and I’m not in the fucking mood. I’m super tempted to call Brittany and ask her to cover for me, which I have never done before.
But I don’t because the distraction might do me good.
Hopping into a cold shower, I rinse up then quickly change before heading downstairs and starting work on the pastries I make daily.
The monotonous work only allows me more time to think.
About Willow.
About Tennison.
About how I’ve fucked up my life.
About how it’s nothing like I had imagined it would be.
