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I just don’t know what.
40
DREW
He’s not listening. He’s not leaving. He’s not doing anything to make my headache go away or make my heart stop crumbling to ash. If there were a way to push everything I was feeling into his head and heart for two seconds—just so he could know what his being here arguing in circles is doing to me, I would—because I need it to stop. Just the sight of him hurts. Is it too much to ask of him to read the fucking room? I am not okay.
Yeah, sure, he called me “doorman”—I am the doorman—so—fair. It wasn’t a big deal. It was a scuff up that led into all these deep-seated issues that shouldn’t even be close to coming up a few weeks into a relationship that started as purely physical.
I don’t know what happened to me. I’m not sure where along the way I lost my head and fell for this spoiled snob—who also happens to be a man. But ever since I watched the protective way he took care of Elodie last night, I’ve been in a downward spiral, and I realize, too, I saw this coming.
That’s why I told him I was leaving town in the first place. Whatever spell he put on me that convinced me to stay and give this whole thing between us a try, well—I guess the magic has worn off. Unfortunately, what I feel for him hasn’t.
It’s only deepened and made the reality of not being able to be with him harder and harder to imagine.
“Where will you go?” he whispers. “Home?”
I nod. We’ve been down this road before.
“Can I still see you?”
“No,” I say.
“Rent is due in three days.”
I nod again.
“What about your job? Don’t you have to give notice or something?”
“Why?” I ask. “It’s not like I’m coming back.”
“Drew, this is hurting me,” he whispers.
I want to tell him to join the club. But I don’t want to commiserate. I think we all know Olivier Arnaud will be just fine without me. It’s me I need to take care of right now. And I can’t afford to do it in this city. “It’s not your fault. Pretty sure it would’ve ended up like this no matter what.”
“That’s not fair, Drew.”
“We’re too different. We’re not even gay.”
Olivier whips off his coat, a sure sign that he’s not going anywhere, and I don’t know whether to be pissed off or relieved. Underneath, he’s wearing a slim fitting black Henley over skinny gray jeans. Every line of his body is perfectly accentuated, and the slight flush of his pale skin is so beautiful to me, I want to fall to my knees and weep. But I do not want him to see me cry. There’s no need for him to become intimately familiar with my damage.
“Do you have any idea what it feels like to hear that from you after what happened between us last night? Like you were going through a phase, and now you’re over it.”
“Do you know what it’s like to want someone you can’t ever really be with?”
“Yes!” he shouts. “Why the fuck do you think I’m here? I am telling you I want you. I choose you.”
“You just said you can’t trust me,” I don’t hesitate to remind him.
“You said the same fucking thing to me! I said I have every reason not to trust you, but I never said I didn’t want to be with you. If you leave now, you’re cutting me off at the knees. You’re not even giving me a chance to make things right. If the ultimate goal is to be together, then it’s up to both of us to figure that out. Together. I’m willing to do that, but you’re telling me in three days or less you’ll be gone unless I take a stand that has consequences you can’t even imagine.”
The suppressed urge to let myself be in love with him releases itself in a strong, body-wracking shudder. My stomach rolls, and the water I just drank threatens to come right back up.
My feelings for him are surreal. Loving Olivier hurts in a way I don’t think loving someone is supposed to, but I don’t know how to make it feel better. I don’t even know if I should try. Maybe it needs to stay painful. Maybe I need this ache in my chest to feed from—one more bitter resentment to power me through doing what I know I have to do.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “I’m not worth it, Olivier.”
“I don’t think you’re in any position to make that decision for me—or yourself for that matter.”
