Page 48 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

“Oh, right.” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “But sleeping with me was, wasn’t it? That was your business.”

It’s a low blow. I know it the second the words leave my mouth. And I see it reflected in her eyes, in the way they darken for an instant.

“Don’t get confused. That was a mistake.”

The words cut through me like a knife, and it hurts far more than I’m willing to admit right now.

“Well, it didn’t seem like one when you were moaning my name,” I murmur, my voice low and dangerously close to her ear.

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” she replies without looking away.

“Then what was it for you?” I ask, unable to stop the flood of words pouring out of me. “Because for me, it wasn’t just sex, Lidia. It was so much more. It was like coming back to us, like coming home after all this time.”

Her breathing quickens visibly. Mine does too, as if we’re still in sync even in the middle of a fight.

“That’s your problem,” she says in a tone that tries to sound firm. “You think the doors will always stay open for whenever you decide to come back.”

“And yours,” I reply without hesitation, “is that you’re incapable of accepting that what’s happening between us is exactly what you’ve been waiting for all this time.”

We stare at each other defiantly, wounded, standing too close together. The space between us feels charged with electricity.

“You have no right to question my life,” she adds, her voice lower but just as firm. “Or to jump to conclusions about Alex or about what I do or don’t do.”

“Well, I will if it has anything to do with what’s happening between us,” I insist.

“This,” she repeats, emphasizing every syllable, “doesn’t exist anymore. It’s over.”

The sentence falls between us like the slam of a door. And yet… I don’t believe it. Not after what I felt the other night. Not after the way we devoured each other without limits or conditions.

“You’re lying,” I say quietly, almost a whisper.

“No.”

“Yes.”

I take another step. There’s almost no space left between our bodies.

“Because if it didn’t mean anything… you would’ve run away the second I told you to come into my bungalow.”

Her gaze wavers for a second. Just one. But it’s enough for me to notice.

“It was a mistake,” she insists, trying to sound convincing.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” I repeat, closer now, firmer, my heart pounding in my ears. “It was everything we’ve always been whenever we’re together.”

The air between us turns electric, tense, almost impossible to breathe. The evening breeze no longer cools anything; it only feeds the fire growing inside me.

“Stop doing this,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move an inch.

“I don’t want to.”

“I do.”

“Then walk away right now.”