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I laugh, sounding desperate. “If you believe that, you’re just lying to yourself.”

“Fine, then I’ll lie to myself,” he says bluntly, and something shatters in his eyes. Now I see the same despair in them that I feel myself. “Because what we have is too real to throw away so easily.”

“Easily?” I say in disbelief, my eyes going wide. “Do you think this is easy for me?”

“No,” he replies quickly, his face contorted with frustration. Everything is spiraling out of control. Again. But when has it ever been any different for us? “That’s not what I meant. It’s just . . . I can’t change it, damn it. Livy is part of me, and I understand that it’s overwhelming for you, I really do. It’s overwhelming for me too. I’m so confused that I have no idea how it’s all going to work out. But it has to work out, because I want it to. I want to be there for Livy more than anything, but I also . . . I also want to be with you.”

The last word is a sigh. He moves a little closer to me and puts both hands around my face. I should back away immediately. Put some distance between us. But his thumb strokes my mouth, and my breath catches. “I want you, Ophelia.” He actually says it again. “Maybe it’s wrong, but I really don’t give a damn right now. We wanted to figure this out together, remember?”

Phoenix leans toward me. My eyelids flutter, and I want to look away. I want to escape his gaze, but I can’t bring myself not to look at him.

“Yes,” I whisper. As if I could ever forget. “But there’s nothing to figure out.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but it’s a sad smile. “Who’s lying to themself now?”

Me. Definitely me. But it’s better this way. My thoughts fade as his breath brushes my skin.

“You and I are so much more than nothing, Ophelia. Much more. You know that. Don’t give up on us,” he whispers. He’s so close to me now that I’d only have to move my head to kiss him.

I should push him away, tell him he has to leave. I should do the right thing, just this one damn time. But we’re obviously not made to do the right thing, because everything he just said was just as wrong. We’re both way too good at lying to ourselves.

I should push him away, but instead I tug at the neck of his hoodie and pull him closer to me.

Our lips collide. The kiss tastes like desperation and endings.

We breathe in at the same time, and I can feel him, his reluctance and his pain, because it’s mine too. I close my eyes just for a single moment, a tiny moment when the world stands still for us.

And in that moment, he’s mine and I’m his.

One moment before it’s over.

We are so much more than nothing.

Yes, we are. We’re just not allowed to be. It’s that simple. It should be that simple.

My eyes burn and overflow. I cry because none of this is fair. None of it. Our story didn’t even start properly, and now it’s over again, even though we both want the same thing. Or maybe precisely because of that. Or maybe because it just wasn’t meant to be. Otherwise, everything would have been different from the start, wouldn’t it?

Phoenix wipes the tears off my face, and our kiss tastes salty. He tries to pull away from me, look at me, but I can’t look at him now, otherwise I’ll break down and take back everything I said.

I don’t want to talk; I have nothing more to say. My head is empty; there’s only this desperate longing for his skin on mine. One last time.

My hands slip under his hoodie. Fortunately, he’s not wearing a jacket, and his skin is cooler than mine, but I know that’s not why he gets goose bumps and his abs tense up. No, it’s because of me.

He wraps both arms around my waist, so tightly I can hardly breathe. But why would I want to breathe when I could be kissing him? He lifts me up in one fluid motion and then sets me down on my dresser. It’s absurd the way history repeats itself.

Between us, it’s always quick and passionate and a little tempestuous—today more than just a little. A little too much.

Phoenix tugs at the waistband of my leggings, and I tilt my hips as he pulls the fabric off my legs in one smooth motion, along with my panties. The leggings land in a crumpled heap somewhere behind us on the floor, followed by his hoodie and the T-shirt he’s wearing underneath. My fingers dig into his shoulders; I need him closer, much closer. I can feel his heart beating right against my chest.

I lift my head, and when I look into his eyes, my heart breaks all over again. “Phoenix . . .” I say, but I can’t continue.

He shakes his head, his gaze tormented. “I know,” he murmurs, but I don’t even know what I meant myself, so he can’t know either. Neither of us has a clue. But none of that matters anymore, only him and me and this moment.

My hands fumble with the buttons of his pants; it takes too long but goes too fast. I hear the soft crackling of the condom wrapper, and then he’s inside me, and we both hold our breath, just for a fraction of a second, before we move at the same time.

Against each other, inside each other. His lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth. Teeth and nails. It’s all a little too hard and too fast—it hurts. But it has to hurt, because we’re hurting each other. Not our bodies, but our reckless hearts.

What are we doing?