Page 21 of Before I Lost You

“What if I want them back?” I ask him with a grin, walking toward him and closing the distance between us. I grip the back of his head and tangle my fingers in his hair, yanking his head back until our lips are brushing.

Kenneth gasps. “Then you’ll have to return to get them.”

I hum. “I think I will.”

I release him abruptly, and he stumbles back a step, looking slightly disoriented. Pulling my shorts on quickly, I turn to my shoes and slide them on as well. Kenneth stands in the middle of his living room completely naked, and I drink him in one last time before stepping toward him and kissing his cheek. But he turns his head and grabs the back of my head, then thrusts his tongue into my mouth and groans. My stomach is in knots as I pull away, and the last thing I want to do is walk out of here, but I steel myself and stand straight.

“Will you be calling then?” I ask him seriously, and he raises his chin, looking right into my eyes.

“Yes.”

I smile softly at him, brushing my thumb over his bottom lip, and then take a step back. “Good night, Kenneth.”

“Good night, Conrad,” he replies with a little smile of his own.

It’s with those parting words that I walk quickly towards the door and exit his apartment. Before he can change my mind. Before I beg him not to let me go.

I wish I had stayed a little longer.

Held him a little tighter.

But we don’t get a do-over.

Chapter 8

MAYBE IT’S ME

I’m sitting on Emerson’s couch, feeling despondent and completely helpless as I glance at my phone every few minutes. It’s been three days—three long fucking days—since I left Kenneth’s apartment. He still hasn’t called, and I don’t know whether I’m pissed or spiraling into a deep sadness that I’m not sure I’ll get out of any time soon.

It was four in the morning when I got home from spending the night with him. A night he was right about—one I’ll never forget. I woke up later in the afternoon, still tired enough to need two mugs of coffee, then jumped in the shower before sitting on my couch and noticing that he still hadn’t texted or called. I told myself it was still early, that he was probably having a slow day just like me, but by that night, I began to question everything. Did last night mean nothing to him after all? Did I give him exactly what he wanted, and now he’s discarded me as if I never mattered in the first place? The thought made me ill.

By the second day, I was pissed off. I felt used. The feeling didn’t go away all day, even as I went to work. I snapped at everyone, taking my anger out on anybody who dared to speakto me. My coworkers gave me weary glances and steered clear of me, and Emerson came to talk to me at the end of the workday to tell me to chill the fuck out. That just because I had a leadership position didn’t mean I could speak to people the way I had. I can’t lie—it humbled me. I didn’t know how to apologize, so I brought coffee and donuts for everyone this morning. It seemed to do the trick, and now everything has gone back to normal.

Now, on the third day, I feel like I’m going fucking insane. Nothing I do distracts me from looking at my phone, and Emerson is convinced that I need to leave it at home and forget about it. The problem is that I’m still holding out hope—a cruel, useless feeling that has no right to live inside me right now. He’s done with me, that much is clear, but here I am, dreadfully infatuated with him. If I thought I was obsessed before, it has nothing on how I feel after he rocked my world. He shook the very foundation of my life, and now I have to watch helplessly as it crumbles around me. I fucking hate it.

I look at my phone screen one more time, huffing at the lack of messages and missed calls. He’s gone as if he never existed, as if he were only a figment of my imagination. Someone who only breathed in my dreams. It’s made me feel crazier than I care to admit, because what if none of it was real to him? What if he did play me after all? But even through the doubts and the pain, I do the unthinkable. I search for him on Instagram, and much to my dismay, his profile does come up. I don’t know what I was expecting, considering he’s a public figure. Maybe that he’d be a recluse and not share his life with anyone. But even I know that’s not him at all. He’s the life of the party, the center of attention in any room he enters. He’s a bright star in the darkness, and people can’t help but watch him shine.

I hold my breath as I tap on his most recent picture, a view of the horizon from the beach, endless and vast. The setting sun reminds me of our date, how it paints the sky in orange andpink hues. I think that might be the color of my heartbreak. Or maybe it’s the lighter blue shade of his eyes when the sun casts its golden light upon them, as if it can’t help itself. As if even the sun can’t help but be drawn to him. I can relate deeply. It’s then that I notice the date he posted the picture—yesterday. Last night, to be exact. My chest grows hot, but I can’t name the emotion I’m feeling now. Not quite heartbreak, not quite anger. But somewhere in between. Somewhere only pain resides.

Emerson must see something on my face from his armchair across from the couch, because he speaks softly but clearly. “You have to stop looking at your phone. Conrad, you have to stop waiting around for him.”

“I can’t,” I say to him, voice breaking. “I don’t know where I went wrong. We had a great time. I—”

“Unless he tells you the reason why he ghosted you, you’ll never actually figure it out,” Emerson says softly, as if trying to lessen the blow of what he’s about to say. “I really did want him to give you a chance, Con, but maybe it’s not meant to be. He doesn’t seem to want what you want.”

“I thought he did,” I reply. “It felt like he did.”

“Maybe you read it wrong.”

I feel my heart break a little more at those words. Did I really read it all wrong?

“You ever feel like someone cracked something open in you?” I ask quietly.

“Not really.” Em shakes his head. “I don’t go falling in love this easily.”

I narrow my eyes, wanting to scream that I haven’t fallen in love this easily. That I’ve been in love with him for ages. That the love that lives inside of me is endless and has existed for a very long time—I just can’t explain how I know that.

Instead, I tell him, “Then you wouldn’t understand.”