Текст книги "The Temptation of Lila and Ethan"
Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter Nine
Ethan
I know it’s really not her thing, four-wheeling in a truck and doing outdoorsy stuff, but the fact that it isn’t might be good for her. Maybe doing something completely out of the ordinary will help her feel better and make it a little bit easier on her when I bring up my rules of living together, ones that are going to be hard to discuss but that need to be discussed, otherwise this is going to end up being disastrous.
“The desert?” She gapes at me, completely thrown off by where I’ve driven us. She gestures at the sandy hills out in front of us that are marked with tire tracks. “This is where you brought me? To the middle of the desert? Why do you keep bringing me to dirty places?”
“It’s not dirt. It’s sand.” I unclip my seat belt and turn down the music. “And I don’t know why you sound so surprised since I’ve brought you here before.”
She crosses her arms and taps her foot on the floor. “Yeah, but it’s weird that you keep doing it.”
I silence the engine. “Why?”
Her lips part. “Because it’s out in the middle of nowhere and there’s nothing to do here but talk.”
“There’s plenty to do here,” I insist. “And being out in the middle of nowhere is the best place to be.” The corners of my lips quirk. “Remember, we already talked about this. You, me, the mountains, and the quiet.”
Her plump lips tug upward. “Oh yes, you and your mountain-man obsession.”
“Don’t judge me,” I say. “Just because I like a little bit less of a materialistic life doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me.”
She unfolds her arms and leans over the console, propping herself up on her elbows, and the curves of her breast rise up out of the top of her shirt. “I never said there was something wrong with you. I just don’t get why you would bring me out here to distract my mind.”
I blink my eyes and tear my gaze from her tits. “Because it’s the perfect place.”
Her lips curl to a smirk. “Are you enjoying the view?” She presses on her chest a little harder and I know her tits are popping out even more, but I don’t look down, even though I know it’s going to be a fucking amazing view, one I’ve almost seen and still want to. There’s no use denying it.
I maintain my gaze and gesture out at the desert. “Of course, what’s not to love about the view?”
She frowns and then turns forward in her seat, fidgeting a little. “So show me what’s so fascinating about the desert.”
I climb out of the truck and stroll around the front of it, knowing she’s confused as hell. When I open her door, sure enough, she has a perplexed expression.
“What are you doing?” she asks, staring me down with her arms crossed.
I wave my hands at her, motioning her to scoot over. “Showing you a good time,” I say. She rolls her tongue in her mouth and scans me over, looking like she wants to rip off my clothes, and I realize I’m giving her the wrong idea. “Scoot over into the driver’s seat, Lila,” I clarify cautiously, reminding myself that now is not the time to try anything with her. She’s too vulnerable at the moment and I already decided I wasn’t going to go down that road.
Her cheeks redden with embarrassment as she swings her leg over the console and sits down behind the wheel. As she’s pulling her other leg over, I notice that she has a scar looping around the bottom of her ankle.
“How’d you get that scar?” I ask, hopping in and shutting the door. “I’ve never noticed it before.”
She places her hands on the top of the steering wheel, sighing. “It’s just from something really stupid I did a long time ago.” She lowers the steering wheel and scoots the seat forward, even though I haven’t told her she’s driving anywhere yet.
“Are you going somewhere?” I joke, strapping my seat belt on.
She frowns, blowing out a breath and wisps of her blonde hair flutter around in front of her face. “Isn’t that why you asked me to scoot over?”
I nod, deciding to let the teasing go. “Yeah, put your seat belt on, though.”
Sighing again, she reaches around and grabs the seat belt. “I don’t see why you’re having me drive,” she states, clicking the seat belt.
“Because it’s therapeutic.”
She glances at me from the corner of her eye. “Like your drums?”
“Were they not therapeutic?” I question. “Because it seemed to me like you relaxed.”
She looks me over from head to toe and for some dumb reason I find myself squirming like a fucking moron. “Ethan, why are you doing this?”
My eyebrows knit. “What? Letting you drive my truck?”
She shakes her head. “No, helping me. I know… we’ve talked and hung out enough that I know it’s going to drive you crazy having me live with you. I know you like your alone time.”
“Yeah… I do, but I’m guess I’m making an exception for you.”
“But why? I mean, all I’ve done for the last few days is be a bitch to you and I know you lived with Micha and everything, but living with a girl is way different.”
“Are you insulting your gender?” I tease.
She shrugs, picking at her fingernails. “Not insulting. I’m just stating the obvious. We do things, you know. Like want to talk and watch sappy movies and leave our bras and panties hanging in the bathroom because we can’t machine dry them.”
I fidget uncomfortably, trying to figure out what to say. “Well, you and I talk a lot anyway and I don’t mind sappy movies every once in a while, as long they’re poetic, and the bra and panties…” I dither with a waver of my head. “I mean, why the hell would that bother me?”
Her cheeks flush a little and I wonder what she’s thinking about. “But you never said why you’re doing it?”
“Because… I like you, Lila. You’re a good friend and you need help.” Friend. I need to remember that.
She mulls over what I said, which was nothing but the truth. “Poetic, sappy movies, huh? Do those even exist?”
“I guess you’ll have to figure that out.” I grin. “Otherwise, I guess no movies.”
She sucks her lip between her teeth, her blue eyes brighter than I’ve seen them in the last few days, which makes my heart speed up a little. “I might just have to live without them, then.” She faces forward in the seat and the fading sunlight glows against her face, her skin soft, her lips full, and she doesn’t have any makeup on, which is rare for her. And honestly, I prefer her without it because right now she looks fucking gorgeous in the realest way possible. “So what am I supposed to be doing here exactly?” She motions at the sandy land in front of us.
The sound of her voice tears me from my thoughts of her and I focus on the windshield. “You’re going to drive.”
“Drive?” She seems hesitant. “Like back to the apartment?”
“Eventually.” I extend my arm over the console and push the four-wheel-drive button. The truck grinds and then locks in. As I lean away, my arm grazes her chest and it takes a lot of energy not to lean over and touch her more. “But first I want you to drive around here.”
She blinks at me, stunned. “Are you joking?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” I stare at her with a serious expression.
She shakes her head with reluctance, looking horrified. “No, and I’m wondering if you lost your mind or something. Maybe when you hit that hard bump in the road on the way up here and you hit your head on the window, which is going to be a mild injury compared to what could happen if you let me drive.”
“Don’t worry about crashing it,” I reassure her and relax back in the seat. “You’ll be fine.”
Her jaw drops as she grips the wheel. “Are you being serious right now? You have driven with me before.”
“I remember.” I laugh under my breath, thinking about how terrified I was as she recklessly weaved in and out of traffic. “I seriously thought I was going to fucking die.”
She lightly punches me on the arm and I wince, but laugh. “Oh, now the asshole is going to make a grand appearance.”
Stifling my laughter, I rub the spot where she hit me. “I’m just stating the obvious.” I reach over and turn the keys, then lean back in the seat. “Now come on and drive. As long as you stay on the straightaway and keep the acceleration up, we’ll be fine.”
“And what if I don’t go fast enough?”
“Then we’ll get stuck.”
She looks worried, and even though I’m not letting on, so am I. There are so many things that could go wrong right now, but it’s fun and adrenaline pumping and that’s what she needs. Good, reckless fun, without the pills, because right now, she’ll be able to feel the exhilaration of it and I’m not sure how long it’s been since she’s felt anything at all besides need.
Her shoulders rise and fall as she attempts to release the stress, and then finally she shoves the shifter into drive and presses on the gas. I try to stay calm, but when the truck lurches forward, I tense and grip the handle above my head.
“Easy,” I say, grinding my teeth. “Just go slow.”
She huffs in frustration and then lets off the gas a little. The truck gradually inches forward, the engine lagging a little. She starts to smile as she maneuvers the truck up the sandy slope, but then her face plummets as the tires protest against the lack of traction and the truck rolls back.
“Push on the gas harder,” I instruct, waving at her to go forward.
“But you just said not to give it a lot of gas,” she says, placing her hand on the shifter.
“Except when we’re going uphill.”
She frowns and then floors the gas way too much and we lurch forward. I slam my head on the headrest and hear something on her side hit something hard. When I glance up, she has the heel of her hand pressed to her forehead.
“Is your head okay?” I ask as I rub my own.
She nods. “Yeah, I think so.”
I cringe as the engine cuts in and out. “Lila, go, before we get stuck.”
She throws her hands up exasperatedly. “I don’t know why you’re having me do this.”
“For fun,” I explain. “You need to have some fun in your life.”
I must have said the magic words or something because she places her hands on top of the steering wheel and hits the gas way too hard again, the truck jerking forward. This time I’m ready and I grip the door handle, keeping myself in place. She whines in discouragement, but continues driving. The longer she does it, the more relaxed she gets and so do I, even when she hits the ramping hills and some of the bumps in the road. As she drives over a particularly large bump and the truck rumbles, bounces, and shakes, she starts to laugh.
When the truck gets on flat land again, she laughs harder and the truck starts to slow down. Ultimately, she stops it completely near the edge of the rocky road and rests her head on the steering wheel. Her shoulders shake as she sputters laugh after laugh. I remain quiet for as long as I possibly can, until I can’t take it anymore.
“Care to share what’s so funny?” I ask, flipping the visor down.
She shakes her head from side to side without looking up at me. “It’s nothing.”
“Come on, share. It’s driving me crazy.”
“Well, if I tell you, then you’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“If you don’t, I’m going to think that anyway,” I joke, but I’m being sort of serious.
She sighs, disheartened, and raises her head up. Tears stain her blue eyes and I have a hard time telling if they’re from the laughter or if she was crying while her head was down. She dabs the corners of her eyes with her fingertips and blinks the tears back.
“It’s just that… this is the most fun that I’ve had in a long time.” She shakes her head like she’s disappointed with herself. “Which is just silly.”
“It’s not silly,” I say, resisting the urge to wipe her tears away. “I think it’s fun, and trust me, I’m not silly at all.” I flash a grin at her.
She gazes at me intently. “No, you kind of are, but in a good way.”
I’m not sure how to respond to her since it seems like she’s being genuine, but genuine about my being silly. “Lila, there’s actually a reason why I brought you out here.”
She pushes the truck into park and presses down on the parking break before rotating in the seat to face me. “I figured as much.”
“I just want to know what your plans are,” I say, staring at the sky. The sun is setting and the lights of the city in the far distance illuminate the skyline.
“Plans for what?” She sounds confused.
I focus my attention on her. “Just with stuff.”
“You’re already getting sick of me, aren’t you? Look, Ethan, I can totally move out. I have a few friends I can stay with until I find somewhere else.”
“And how are you going to pay for this other place?” I ask. “And who are these other friends you’ll be staying with? Guy friends?” Why the hell did I just ask that?
“Hey, I have other friends.” She presses her hand to her chest, offended. “You’re just my favorite.” She’s not joking when she says that, and for some reason it makes me happy and also makes me mentally roll my eyes at myself.
“That doesn’t answer how you can pay for your own place,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt.
She tips her chin down and twists the platinum ring on her finger. “I have no idea.”
I reach over and fix my finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at me. “Hey, you’re totally taking me wrong here anyway. All I want to talk about is our plans for moving forward.”
“Our plans?” she asks, assessing me with skepticism.
“Yeah, you and I and the place we now both call home,” I explain, removing my finger from her chin.
“Oh, you want me to start paying rent.” She frees a trapped breath.
“Yes and no… I know you’re going to probably need a little more time to heal and what not, but I think we should probably discuss how this is going to work a little further down the road.” I flip the handle of the door, hating to say it but knowing it has to be said. “Like maybe when you’re feeling better, you could get a job and start helping out.” I’m trying to be subtle, but it’s hard. “I just think that maybe if you were doing just a little bit more stuff, like working and finding some kind of hobby, things might be a little easier.”
“I know that,” she says quietly, her brow puckering as she stares at the scars on her wrist. I asked her once where they came from and she said it was from something really stupid she did, which makes me wonder if she got them when she got the ankle one. “But I have no idea where to start.”
“I’ll help you,” I assure her, reaching over and giving her knee a gentle squeeze. “I’m not going to let you go at this alone. And when you’re ready, we can talk more… about anything that you want to. I’m an excellent listener.”
“I know you are.” She stares at me for an eternity, searching my eyes, like she doesn’t quite believe I’m real. When she finally opens her mouth, I have no idea what she’s going to say. “Thank you.” She unlocks her seat belt and leans over, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
I’m stunned. Despite all the touching we’ve done, this feels different. More intimate and personal and I realize that despite the fact that we’ve touched each other in places most friends don’t, we’ve never actually kissed each other, a real passionate, lips-devouring kiss. And I want to kiss her so much it takes a lot of inner strength to keep my hands to myself. My instincts shout for me to jump out of the truck and run through the desert back to the apartment, far, far away from her. But the need to help her keeps me in the seat. I need to help her, like I didn’t help London. This is my second chance to get things right and I want to make things right with Lila and with us. It’s an overpowering, binding, magnetic feeling, one I’m unsure what to do with other than keep going.
When she leans back in the driver’s seat, the look on her face is unreadable. “What do we do now?”
I shrug and then my mouth turns upward. “How about we go home and watch a sappy, poetic movie?”
“Home?” She says it like it’s unreal, like homes don’t exist. “Yeah, let’s go home.” She opens the door and jumps out into the sand, then turns around and aims a finger at me. “But you’re driving. I’m so flipping scared I’m going to wreck your truck.” She blows me a kiss and then slams the door, acting just like the Lila I met a year ago, only she’s not because the Lila I met never really existed. She was a mirage created by pills.
Strangely enough, I’m not the same person when I met her because what I’m doing right now—what I’m feeling at this exact moment—is something I never thought I’d do or feel. Dependency—the thing I hate. I’ve seen it in action, through drugs and through relationships, like my mom’s dependency for my dad, but I’m letting her be dependent on me, and in a weird way, I’m kind of relying on her to let me help her and trusting her to get better.
Even though she’s been a pain in the ass for the last few days, the thought of Lila moving out, living with another friend, annoys me. I kind of want her to live with me and that leaves me confused because it means that for the first time since London, I want someone to be in my life. I want Lila, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.
Chapter Ten
Lila
I’ve been living with Ethan for two weeks and I’ve been pill free for two days, not even taking my half pills anymore. It’s a strange feeling, one I’m still adjusting to and learning how to handle. I’d never realized how altered things would get when I was popping pills. Even the heat of the sun feels a little more blistering. Plus, I haven’t slept with anyone. I think it’s a record for me. Even when I dated guys, like my fleeting relationship with Parker a year ago, the relationship was based solely on sex that I barely felt, barely remembered. This has been my life since the first time I had sex. Even then, I had no idea what I was getting into, and when I finally did, it was too late. The things that happened forever changed who I was and how I saw things. I’ve pretty much never looked at guys the same way since, except for Ethan. He’s a genuinely nice guy, which is rare, and makes our situation complex. Ethan and I have always had an interesting relationship, one that’s pushed the boundaries of friendship yet hasn’t quite crossed it. Now that we spend so much time together we barely touch each other, despite the fact that we’re constantly defying friendship boundaries. Like when he walked into the bathroom while I was taking a shower this morning.
“What the hell are you doing?” I’d yelled when I heard the door open and shut.
“Relax, I’m just getting my toothbrush,” he’d replied and then I heard him rummaging around in the medicine cabinet.
“If you don’t get out of here, I’m going to pull back the curtain and flash you.” I said, feeling squirmy about the fact that the curtain was very thin and nearly clear, almost see-through.
The water turned on and then he busted up laughing. “Okay, best punishment ever.”
My stomach fluttered with butterflies as I smoothed back my wet hair and cracked the curtain back, peering out at him. “You know just as well as I do that you do not want to see me naked.” I’m not even sure why I said it—whether I’m challenging him to admit something I hope exists or if I really do believe he doesn’t want me that way.
He was wearing a pair of plaid drawstring pajama bottoms and no shirt. He had a toothbrush in hand and he was leaning over the sink, staring at the curtain. “Do you not know me at all?” He cocked an eyebrow as he stuck his toothbrush, coated with toothpaste, into his mouth. “I love seeing naked women.” His voice sounded funny and he waggled his eyebrows, completely cool and casual.
I narrowed my eyes, wondering just how much he could see of me through the curtain, and wondering if I cared. “Yeah, but you made the friend line between us for a reason.” I was being blunt and I didn’t know why. I blamed it on withdrawals because I was learning quickly that they could make me insane and turn me into a crazy, emotional mess. “And you…” I almost bring up that night when we touched each other, but I’m scared.
His eyebrows knitted and he leaned over the sink, spitting out a mouth full of toothpaste. “No, we both agreed on that line, I thought.” He rinsed off his brush and returned it into the holder near the sink. Then he turned around, leaned against the counter, and crossed his arms. “Am I wrong about that? Do you… do you… What do you want?”
Why is he asking me this? What does it mean? Why am I asking myself so many questions?
Water ran down my eyes and face as I discreetly gazed at his body. He’s so beautiful in a way I’m not used to. A rough beauty, one that has substance, the kind that’s real, not masked by tans, perfectly sculpted bodies, and fancy suits and ties. He’s art, pure and simple—wispy hair that always falls into place right over his dark, smoldering eyes, creating the perfect shadowy look and those tattoos… dear God, the tattoos. He is the kind of art you really have to look at to get what it means—to understand what he’s thinking.
I suddenly realized just how out of character I was. I was noticing him more than I normally do and I could feel it through every inch of my body, the pulsating urge to fling the shower curtain back and beg him to take me now. Beg him to. I never do that with sex. Usually guys just take it from me and I shut my feelings off. But I was contemplating going there with him, asking him for the first time, and being sober. It was making me wonder if I really knew who I was. All these years, the person I’d become was based on pills and this crazy need to feel loved.
We stared at each other for a while, and then Ethan cleared his throat and stood up straight, heading to the door. “If you want, we can pack up the rest of your clothes and go down to that consignment store and see if you can get anything for them.” His voice sounded a little off pitch, but his expression was unfaltering.
I nodded, trying to stand motionless through the steam and the heat coiling up my inner thighs. “Sounds good.”
He smiled, and then winked, his gaze skimming to the curtain hiding my body, and then he walked out, shutting the door behind him. I released the curtain, moving back below the showerhead, allowing the water to wash the heat and want off my body and down the drain, telling myself I’d get over it—get over Ethan. But for some reason, the idea seemed unlikely and very out of reach.
“So how much do you think I can get for all of this?” I ask Ethan as he loads up the back of the truck with boxes of my clothes. My beautiful clothes I never want to let go of, but I know I need to in order to buy things like, say, food. I thought it would feel horrible to do this, and it kind of does, but there’s also simplicity in it, like I’m getting a do-over, which I know isn’t real, but at the moment everything feels real. Like the heat and the way my clothes stick to my damp skin. How my hair is in a messy ponytail, tugging at the nape of my neck. My hair has never been this messy and my cuticles never this dry. But I’m in simplicity land, where BMWs and designer purses and platinum rings don’t exist and I’m trying to figure out what kind of person I am and where I fit in all this. Can I handle being poor? Taking care of myself? Who do I want to be? Who is Lila Summers?
Ethan heaves the last box into the bed of the truck and then slams the tailgate shut. “How the fuck would I know?” He wipes the sweat from his brow with his arm. He has on a green T-shirt and a pair of black shorts secured by a studded belt, along with an array of leather bands on his wrists. He’s sweaty and kind of cranky, but beneath the sunlight he’s freaking hot and I’m fixated on him.
“What?” he asks, noting my staring.
I press my lips together, shaking my head. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s something. Otherwise you wouldn’t have a goofy grin on your face.”
I self-consciously rub my hand over my mouth like I can erase my smile or something. “I don’t have a goofy smile.”
His lips curve up into a playful grin, and for a moment his grumpy mood vanishes. “Yeah, you’re right. Now will you tell me why you have that beautiful smile on your face?”
“It’s nothing.” I shrug, trying not to let my smile broaden at the fact that he called it beautiful. “I was just lost in how nice you look today,” I say, telling him the truth in the most casual way that I can.
He glances down at his sweaty T-shirt, then peers up at me warily. “You think I look good?”
“Sure.” I shrug again, not really wanting to delve into the details of the fact that I think he’s ridiculously hot looking and I want him to touch me. This feeling has become a growing desire over the last week. Living with him has seemed to sprout it like a flowering blooming on a tree. It’s annoying and I wish it would go away because apparently without the pills I am one sex-starved person. Plus, Ethan has gotten a glimpse into what lies beneath my makeup, jewelry, and designer clothes—he’s seen the real me at the ugliest times. I fear that having sex with him would be different, carrying more depth, at least for me, and I’d become emotionally involved. And then what would happen when our relationship ended? I’d probably pretty much be where I was at after Sean, the first and last guy I cared for and who used me and discarded me like trash.
He slants his head to the side, assessing me with a quizzical expression on his face. “Really?”
“Yeah. Why are you acting so weird?” I shield my face with my hand as the gleaming sunlight reflects off the metal roof of the apartment building.
He doesn’t say anything, opening his arms and stepping forward. “Are you really, really sure you think I look good right now? So good that you want to touch me?” He does this weird thrusting thing with his hips that causes all my attention to center on his manly area.
I roll my eyes even though I shiver on the inside. “You’re so weird sometimes.”
“Weird, huh?” He comes at me, giving me little to no warning.
I try to gracefully sidestep out of his way, but I step on my own toe instead and trip over my ankles. I stumble to the side and he catches me in his arms, laughing under his breath as he intentionally rubs his sweaty body against mine.
“Oh my God!” I squeal, wiggling, attempting to get away. “You’re all wet and gross.”
“You’re the one who said I look good.” He lifts my feet off the ground and I stay straight as a board, trying to maintain distance from his sweaty body. He rounds the back of his truck, heading for the passenger side and somehow he gets the door open without letting go of me.
“What are you doing?” I yell, trying to sound like I’m turned off by his sweaty touch, but the pleasure of the moment is evident in my voice.
He drops me down on the seat and then grabs the seat belt. He leans close as he moves the strap over my shoulder to buckle me in.
“You still think I look good?” he asks with a dark look in his eyes, his face so close I can see the faint freckles on his nose.
I nod slowly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yes, but I also think you smell.”
“I smell like a man,” he says, grinning at himself. He leans in, getting his chest closer to my face so I can get a whiff of his man scent.
“Blah!” I scrunch my nose, turning my face to the side, even though the smell of him isn’t that bad. He actually smells like cologne and sweat and heat. Very nice. Very manly. I discretely breathe him in, letting the scent of him saturate my lungs. He must notice the rise and fall of my chest, because he leans back and looks me in the eyes, sheer perplexity burning in his pupils.
“So apparently you like the smell of sweat.” He tries to joke but his voice cracks and I wonder why. Ethan never gets nervous. I’ve seen him hit on women many, many times, and he always gets them to come home with him.
I don’t say anything and I’m not sure why. I just keep staring into his eyes and it feels different—I feel different, giddy, alive, and not numb for once. That switch that always flips off stays on. I’m not sure if I like the feeling—the vulnerable, misplaced emotions swarming inside my chest—or not.
Without even realizing it, I hitch my legs around his waist. The need to feel someone close to me, connect with me, touch me, is conquering anything else within me. I haven’t been touched in a while and it feels good—better than good.
Ethan’s breath hitches in his throat and it startles me. He’s nervous. I’m nervous. I feel this strange shift between us, the heat between us intensifying, and I get excited, my nerves bubbling up inside me. Suddenly I’m a completely different person. I’m not broken. Lost. Numb. Confused. I’m a girl enjoying a moment with a guy I really, really like.
I close my eyes as he leans in. He’s going to kiss me. I can tell. And I mean really kiss me this time instead of almost kissing me. I’ve been waiting for this more than I realized and despite all my concerns about my new feelings, ones that I’m sure existed before this moment but I was too medicated to feel anything, I want him so much it consumes every part of my body. I can feel all the warm, hot, overpowering sensations, and I breathe in his delicious scent, taste the anticipation. Kiss me. Please God, kiss me. Don’t back away.
I moan from the heat of his breath and trace my hands up his back as I arch into him. I wait for it. Wait for the kiss, feeling his cheek touch mine. He rests it there, pressing our skin together, and I know that next he’ll touch his lips to mine. I wait as he moans my name under his breath. And I wait. Seconds later his cheek leaves mine. Break me. Throw me away. You don’t want me. Of course you don’t. No one does.
Even though I don’t want to, I open my eyes, feeling angry and humiliated when I realize he’s watching me. This is a first for me. Usually, when I get to this point with a guy, they’re staring at my breasts, ready to rip my clothes off, like I’m an object they’re ready to devour.
“We should get going.” That’s all he says.
I’m struck dumb. Speechless. And feeling more unloved and undesirable than I ever have. “Yeah, I guess.” I force a tight smile as I sit up, the inside of my body shaking with anger and disappointment. Tears actually start to sting at my eyes, something that’s never happened to me before. I’m not sure how to handle it as I struggle to suck them back, twisting the ring on my finger as I remembering everything I used to be.
“Are you sure?” He steps back from the door, farther away from me, and the sunlight hits his face. He looks sad and in pain, almost as if he’s trying not to cry, just like me, and very un-Ethan like.
