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“Don’t,” he bit out. “Just... don’t make this worse.”
“Nolan...” I pleaded as he opened the door, heading for the elevator. I followed him like a lamb to the slaughter.
The elevator dinged and we both tried to go in at once, colliding with one another. I motioned for him to go in first, and he huffed in annoyance. When the elevator closed, Nolan stood there with his arms crossed, refusing to look at me.
“Would you just look at me?” I hissed breathlessly.
“I can’t,” he said as the elevator opened on his floor. “I’ll be fine. Just, let me go.”
His words were like ice, and I knew he wouldn’t be. Whoever had burned this man before me, left some deep wounds; that I was sure of.
My insides ached to soothe him, soothe whatever fear or bullshit he was feeding himself. I needed him to understand that he deserved more.
We deserved more.
I couldn’t let him go. So, I ran out of the elevator until I got to his apartment, breathing heavily as he stood in front of his door, keys in hand.
“Nolan, just listen to me, damn it!” I barked, not caring about the volume of my voice. He turned to me with glassy eyes.
“It’s not that I don’t want to, I do, I just—”
“What? It’s not you, it’s me? Really, Dawson?” Nolan bit out, his tongue flicking out over his lips as he narrowed his wet gaze at me. He was trying to be tough, but I could see the reality of his emotional state clear as day.
My rejection had hurt him.
I’d fucked up.
I stepped closer, reaching out to touch him because I too, was a glutton for punishment. I expected him to push me away but instead, his shoulders loosened, his eyes gazing up at me with sadness and inebriation.
“It’s not you...” I said, the words somehow so clear in my mind, but so difficult to say. So I chose another route. I pulled him close, kissing him once more.
Nolan sunk into my kiss like I was the air he needed to breathe, making my heart race. He broke away, his eyes full of tears.
I pulled him into my arms, wrapping them around him like he was a damn life preserver and I was drowning.
Because in a way, I was. We both were.
Drowning in our own personal hell, in denial.
Nolan’s hand settled on my hip as he brushed his face against my shirt.
“Why won’t you let me be the good guy for once?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
I pulled away, looking at his face, at the pain in his expression.
Pain I caused.
Fuck, how do I make this right?
Nolan turned away from me for a moment, his dark lashes standing out against his pale skin, the sheen of his black frames catching the light from above in the hallway.
He turned back to me, his voice pained.
“Because that’s my job, Dawson. To be the good guy. You’re supposed to the bad guy,” he chortled.
“What do you mean?” I asked, feeling my own heart break at his words.
Was that how he saw me?
