I don't turn around.
"I didn't mean to—" He stops. Starts again. "You asked. I answered. That's all."
That's all.
Like he didn't just tear open his chest and show me everything inside. Like he didn't just hand me a weapon I never asked for.
"I'll be in the bedroom," he says. "You won't have to see me."
His footsteps move away. Each one slower than the last. I can hear the pain in his breathing. The way he's holding himself together through sheer will.
I should let him go.
I should let him walk away and close the door and give me the space I desperately need.
But my body turns before my brain catches up.
I watch him cross the living room. His shoulders are tense. His left hand presses against his wounded side. He moves like every step costs him something he can't afford to lose.
He reaches the hallway.
Let him go.
He pauses at the bedroom door. Doesn't look back.
Let him go, Marina.
He steps inside. The door closes with a soft click.
And I'm alone.
My knees give out.
I sink onto the couch. The cushion is still warm from where he sat.
I press my palms to my face and try to breathe.
I fell in love with you in that moment.
No.
Something unlocked. Something I didn't even know was locked.
No.
I've been yours ever since.
I want to scream. I want to throw something. I want to march into that bedroom and tell him he's wrong. He's delusional. He doesn't love me. He can't love me. We barely know each other.
But that's a lie.
He knows everything about me.
And I?—
I press my fists against my eyes until I see stars.
I haven't stopped thinking about him.
