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"Sometime in the future."
"When in the future?"
"A year, maybe."
That's an eternity.
She turns ba
ck to me, her eyes clear and bright. "I love you, Luke, and I want to be with you. But I didn't do this relationship thing well before. I made Ryan my whole world. I relied on him so much, I didn't think I could survive without him. I can't do that again."
"I won't let you."
She runs her hand through my hair. "I'm still here. Just not all the time."
"But I want you all the time."
Her hands are on the back of my head. She pulls me closer, until we're almost kissing. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Not unless I fuck it up."
"Not unless you fuck it up," she says. She laughs, and she kisses me again. Her hands dig into my hair.
I try to shut all this out, to feel nothing but her lips and her body under mine. Alyssa is with me now. I have her now. She's intelligent, articulate, thoughtful, and she's mine.
She's perfect, and she's mine.
But it's not enough. I need more of her, all of her, all the parts she wants to keep hidden.
CHAPTER TWO
I know it's fast. It's only been a few months. It's not that I doubt her when she tells me it's not personal. Ryan was an asshole--he's still an asshole--and I have no doubt being with him fucked with her head.
It's not like I was in the world's greatest relationship before.
But I want her so much. How am I supposed to wait until she's ready? That might be months or years.
I can't keep waking up without her. I can't keep rolling over on my king-sized bed, the emptiness of it mocking me as I flop onto my face.
Being with Alyssa is like nothing else. Before her, my life was lacking something. It had been lacking something for years.
It started when my mom died.
I was seventeen, barely seventeen. A stupid kid, really. A stupid kid with no clue of how good I had it.
It was late one night or maybe early one morning--that in-between time. She and my father had been fighting for hours. Mostly him treating her like shit, assuming her opinion had no value. He'd never admit it, but he assumed everyone else's opinion had no value. I remember hearing my name thrown around, and slamming my bedroom door shut so I could plausibly deny they were fighting over me. Again. I'd done something stupid to piss off my father--I lived for doing stupid things to piss off my father--but Mom was sticking up for me. She always did.
I was in my bedroom, the black sky bouncing off my white walls, my room a stupid shade of gray. I could only hear them, but I knew exactly what it looked like. I knew the look on my mom's face, the sheer frustration, the contortion of her forehead as she choked back tears. She never would have stayed with him if it weren't for me. She would have left him years before. This never would have happened if it weren't for me...
He screamed. She fought back the way she always did, trying so, so hard to stay calm and not show any of the emotion he'd mistake for weakness. Finally, she had enough. I heard the front door slam, her car turn on, the tires screeching as she rushed out of our godforsaken neighborhood.
It was foggy that morning. That night. Whatever it was. But it was always foggy. She should have been used to it. She would have been okay if she hadn't been crying. If she hadn't been upset.
The police were at the door a few hours later. The sun was just peeking through the horizon, illuminating the vibrant green lawns, the pure azure ocean. The whole damn sky was filled with color.
I knew what had happened from the look of pity on their faces. The words were murky. "I'm sorry, son, but your mother was in an accident. She didn't make it."
And all the color drained from my world. Everything was dull and dim. Their words were a jumbled mess in my ears. I couldn't stand there, but I couldn't leave with them on the porch. So I waited until they went inside to talk to my father, and then I ran.
