Page 123 of Make Me Mean It

I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and scrub both hands over my face, trying to make sense of something that stopped making any sense days ago. I fucked Theo. Twice. Let him fall asleep against me, and panicked so badly that leaving felt easier than staying there long enough to understand why I hadn’t wanted to move in the first place.

Then I looked him in the face and called it a mistake.

Even thinking the word now makes me feel sick. It felt wrong when I said it, sounded worse out loud, and the way Theo looked at me afterwards has been stuck in my head ever since. But what else was I supposed to call it when I’m straight?

I let my hands fall and stare at the floor between my feet, because that explanation would be a lot more convincing if I wasn’t currently sitting on another man’s bed while he’s out on a date, unable to think about anything except what he might be doing with someone else.

I push the heel of my hand into my eye until colour bursts behind it, but it does fuck all to stop me wondering what Theo’s doing right now. He’s probably with Tristen already, although maybe they’re still at the bar. Maybe the date is shit. Maybe Tristen is boring as fuck, and Theo’s sitting there wondering why he bothered going in the first place.

I cling to that.

Except the date might not be shit.

My eyes drift towards Theo’s bed as the thought takes shape, bringing with it an image I really don’t need of Tristen touching him. Hands on Theo’s waist, mouth against his, fingers slipping beneath the shirt I buttoned less than an hour ago and undoing every single one.

And Theo would let him.

Fuck, Theo might want him to.

That’s the part that turns my stomach, because now I can see Theo leaning into it, letting Tristen pull him closer while his mouth parts beneath someone else’s. His hair getting messed up beneath someone else’s hands. Those green eyes going heavy in that way I know too well.

I shake my head, breathing hard.

I’m the one who left. I’m the one who looked Theo in the face and called what happened between us a mistake, then stood outside my flat tonight and still couldn’t give him what he was asking for. I don’t get to sit in his bedroom now and be angry because he might have gone looking for it somewhere else.

Theo can do whatever he wants.

The problem is, knowing that does absolutely nothing to stop the sick feeling spreading through my stomach when I look at his bed and imagine Tristen there with him.

And maybe that’s because it isn’t really Tristen touching him that’s getting to me.

It’s the thought of Theo looking at him the way he looks at me.