I hear Alek moving in the other room. Ever since our fight, he gives me space without pushing back. He respects my boundaries completely, which might be the hardest thing for me to handle.
I don’t deserve him.
I turn onto my side and close my eyes, but my mind doesn’t settle. I picture the crushed look on his face every time I push him away emotionally. Later, he’ll be horny and so will I. I’ll suck his cock. Let him lick me until I come over and over. We’ll fuck for hours.
Tomorrow, we’ll be back here in this strange void.
I’m not being fair. I’d give anything to know how to hold on to Alek without breaking him. It’s the part of falling in love no one tells you about. The moment when you realize wanting someone doesn’t mean you’re ready to build your entire life around them.
When I sit up again, the headache has dulled and the room feels steady.
I don’t have answers, but I’ve made a decision.
I need to stand on my own again without leaning on him for everything, including sex. Learn how I can give as much as I receive. Both truths sit side by side, uncomfortable and real.
I open the door back to the living room where he’s exactly where I left him, not pushing me past my comfort zone and also not pulling away.
We’re at a crossroads.
I won’t walk away from him.
Never.
It’s up to me to heal enough for both of us.
thirteen
Five Days Later
God,Imissher.
The day starts the same way it has all week. Coffee first. I make it strong because she says it helps clear her head, even if I don’t fully buy into it.
She drinks half, leaves the rest, wanders into the living room and pulls her phone out even though she’s supposed to limit screen time. I don’t say anything.
It’s been a tense five days since Hope stonewalled me. She and I have barely spoken, let alone addressed our conversation.
We’re not fighting, no.
Instead, we tiptoe around each other with pleasant smiles and polite words.
The effortless chats and laughter are gone. There’s been no physical affection. No stolen kisses.
No sex.
All the good stuff has been replaced by a strained cordiality, and it’s wearing me thin.
Though I try not to show it, I’m a mess.
I open my laptop on the table. Emails are stacking up, deadlines inch closer, and I respond to what I have to while keeping part of my attention on Hope. Tracking her movements without making it obvious.
Perhaps I should go back to the office and work.
Instead I catch myself staring at her as she opens cabinets, grabs a glass of water, and sits down in the spot she’s claimed on the couch. She taps away at her phone, grinning as she gets a response.
I look away when she glances up, not fast enough to pretend I wasn’t doing it.
For fuck’s sake, I might as well admit it. My brain’s stuck on a worry loop. She’s actively moving on with her life.
