Yet here I am.
And why the fuck do I still want her when she’s made it abundantly clear she wants nothing to do with me?
There are millions of women in the world.
I could have any one of them.
Yet the only one I want is the one who keeps pushing me away.
The sensible thing would be to let this go.
Leave her to her life and be done with it.
Except I can’t.
I’m too set on her now, and I don’t see myself free of her hold any time soon.
If ever.
Her jaw tenses at my touch.
“It was a lapse in judgement,” she says, the words forced and brittle.
The thing is, I know she doesn’t believe a word of it.
But she says it anyway, and that angers me more than it should.
When the fuck did I become like this?
So attached, unable to let go.
I don’t recognise myself.
Still, I can’t seem to do a fucking thing about it.
“You don’t believe that,” I say. “And neither do I.”
She looks at me, but says nothing.
I close the distance between us and lift her chin until her eyes meet mine.
I can’t bloody believe the words about to leave my mouth.
“We’ll keep it quiet. If that’s what you need. No one has to know.”
The suggestion leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Because it’s wrong.
I know it’s wrong.
But if this is the only way to have her, I’ll fucking take it.
I don’t want to hide her.
What I want is the exact opposite.
I wanteverything.
