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Like you're mine.

Like this is real.

I can't say any of those things.

Not now.

“You make me feel like this is something,” I finish.

“It is.”

“What is it then?”

His answer doesn't come quickly enough.

And maybe yesterday I could've survived that hesitation.

Today I can't.

“We never talked about it,” I whisper. “Not once. We never said we're together. We never said we're exclusive. We never said what happens when the thirty days end.”

“I don't want it to end.”

My breath catches.

Goddammit.

Why does he have to say that now?

“Then you should've told me the truth. You should have told me this started with a lie.”

“You’re a reporter. You knew I was protecting myself, but you’re also right, I should have told you.”

“Instead, you left me last night, wondering if I'd imagined all of it.”

“You didn't.”

“Now, I find out you brought me there under false pretenses.”

“Not everything between us was false.”

“I don’t know that. Neither do you.”

That comes out broken.

Because that's the worst part.

I do know.

I know something happened between us neither of us expected. But knowing that doesn't erase how it started...

Or how it ended.

* * *

“I woke up this morning to chaos,” I continue, “I was shocked and appalled and hurting for you, but you? You saw one disgusting article and immediately decide I betrayed you.”

“I shouldn't have.”