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“What am I cooking?” Then she flipped it around. The ladle scraped dramatically across an empty pan.

“Nothing! Because there’s nothing to eat, you snobbish arsehole. I don’t think I’m eating tonight.”

I might’ve rushed out of the meeting without another word, leaving a thoroughly pissed Roman behind as he invented new insults just for me.

I drove home far too fast, knowing exactly what she was doing. I also knew I didn’t stand a chance.

I was hopelessly wrapped around her finger.

The second I walked through the door, she launched herself off the couch and threw her arms around me so tightly I forgot my own name.

After kissing her forehead, then devouring her lips, I sat her down on the counter while I cooked her some pasta, followed by the hot chocolate she loved so much.

The woman was crazy.

The way she would make a mess of our place, fuck. It was indeed our place. Those closed four walls now became a home for me. She belonged, in every sense of the word.

The thought of being the only one to calm her demons down whenever she shrieked at night, haunted by her nightmares, made me feel worthy of something.

I felt worthy when she asked me to cook for her, when she depended on me. I felt like I matter, like I was in control as long as she was with me.

But I lost it.

The control slipping through my fingers like sand as I watched her leave. Fucking again. But it wasn’t rage what I felt, it was terror.

I was scared. What if she doesn’t need me anymore? What if I’m not worthy of her anymore?

What if she has trouble sleeping tonight? I needed my woman in my fucking bed, right now.

But she chose that moron over me.

Elara is constantly digging her nails into her skin whenever her dimwit sister raises her voice.

“How long have you been together?” Amara asks as she sits across from my girl.

“A month.” Elara mumbles. That’s not my girl.

My girl blushes over the stupidest things, rambles the moment she’s excited, and never misses a chance to put me in my place.

This…This is the frightened girl I found at KU. And it took her sister less than an hour to bring her back.

“Where did you meet him?” She interviews, her high- pitched voice scraping against my nerves.

Elara looks away. “What’s with all these questions? What happened to, ‘how are you Elara? Are you doing, okay? Did you eat something Elara?’”

She pushes off the couch, standing. “I’m going to bed. Make yourself at home, Amara. If you came to check on me, as you can see—I’m fine. So, you can leave in the morning. And if you didn’t, then there’s no reason to stay.”

The door to her room slams shut with a sharp thud. I tap a few keys on my laptop, and the feed to her room flickers on just as she collapses onto the bed. Her face hidden in the mattress.

“Fuck.” Her voice comes out muffled, “stupid bitch.” She growls, banging her fist on the pillow. “You’re so fucking stupid. She doesn’t fucking care.”

Her voice breaks into hiccups before dissolving into sobs. I hear my girl cry, unable to take it anymore I start moving towards her building.

I’m just about to lock my screen when her voice cuts through, fragile and wrecked. “I miss him.” She cries and my chest tightens.

“I wish you were here.” She falters, crying again, the sound piercing my heart.

Even though she never chooses me. I’ll still choose her. Every fucking time.