Sara, you hated him not too long ago. Revert to that feeling!
I’m washing a mug, avoiding thoughts and putting my focus and devotion to something as simple as washing dishes, taking me absolutely no closer to a sanctuary, except that I crave to bare more of my soul to Liam and to see how far he will strip me alive.
I jolt when he appears behind me, close enough that I feel the heat of him but not close enough to touch. How easy it would be to turn around, put my hand on his chest and kiss him. That desire is as poisoned as the cruel daydreams that taunt me.
We were so close to crossing the line… I feel deprived of carbs, and I need a dose of gluten. I’d shove my whole face into a loaf of bread at this point and regret it later.
“You don’t have to clean. I’ve got it.” His voice is low, kind, even.
I grip the mug harder than necessary. I don’t turn around because if I do, I don’t trust what I’ll do.
“I live here now, don’t I? I want to do my part.” It comes out sharper than I intend.
There’s a beat, one of those heavy Liam beats, where he says nothing and somehow says too much.
“You do, but…” he answers quietly. He sounds as if he’s forcing the words past something lodged in his throat.
I finally turn to face him.
His eyes flick down to my hands, then up to my face, and the tension between us stretches so taut I feel the throb of want pulse inside me, a string attached to my chest pulling me not to act on any of it. Each of my heartbeats expands that thin thread to the point of snapping, and I don't care about what's right or wrong. His eyes only reveal that he’s holding himself together just as badly as I am.
“Then stop acting like I’m made of glass,” I whisper.
“Sara…” he says in an exasperated, too lost in a breath, pinching his eyebrows.
“What?” I ask, feeling a sting. “What are we doing, Liam?”
“I’m trying not to hurt you.” His jaw ticks hard, his icy blue eyes making my stomach flutter.
Ignore it, ignore it, Sara.
“You’re hurting me, anyway. You were hurting me less when you meant to!” It is the closest I come to unleashing everything.
His breath leaves him in a slow, ragged sigh, and for a throb, the smallest, treacherous pulsation and I think he might reach for me. Pull me in. Finally, stop pretending he doesn’t want to, and convince me to do the same… but he takes the mug from my hands and wipes it down with a towel.
His eyes never leaving mine.
I swallow hard, my legs shaking at his proximity, and it’s downright ridiculous and amateur. He steps closer and my breath hitches, my body begging for things that only resonate with regretful carnal desire. Just when my eyes stare down at his lips, he sets the cup on the counter and steps away. Leaving me breathless from running an imaginary marathon on my bare knees, begging for him to ruin me.
I eventually go to my bedroom and slam the door, which draws him standing outside my room a moment later. If we are trying to make things uncomplicated, we are pathetically failing.While, perhaps, it doesn’t have to be, the brain and the heart are dividing me into what started as a fuse and now feels like a ticking bomb ready to explode. For better or for worse, taking everything in its path either carrying us away to dive deep or take us apart.
Wanting him. Hating him. Breaking for him.
Silently, hoping he’s breaking for me too, for something we will both never be able to take back.
It’s as if he’s ready to knock. I stand taller, longing for the doorknob to turn, for him to walk through that door and tell me the things I’m too frightened to hear. I take a breath, digging my nails into my palms.
Come on, Liam…
Come on.
But he walks away, and I let out a heavy breath— a feeling of being unwanted ravaging through me, a feeling I am too familiar with.
When I think I'm drowning a little more into an existence of wanting things I’ll never have, my phone pings.
Mimi: Boat Velastra, Party starts at 18:30 tomorrow, and they will park the boat across from The Senequier Café. You’re welcome. Don’t make me regret this.
Mimi came through with the poker game invitation I've been waiting for.
