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“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It was my stupid brother who convinced me to be so mad at you. My options were heartbreak or loathing, and I chose to convince myself to loathe you. I even started this ridiculous blog. I called myself Monster Milker, and—”
“Wait. You’re Monster Milker?”
“Please tell me you haven’t heard of the blog.”
“I read every post,” I said.
She covered her face and fell back on the bed, groaning.
I laughed. “I enjoy them. They’re complete nonsense, but its fun seeing the way you jump through logical hoops to make me look bad. It’s like a game, and you’re good at it. You’re good at writing, too.”
She peeked out from behind her fingers, just showing me one eye. “Did you just say I’m good at writing?” Her voice was muffled by her cupped hands.
“I did. Really good. You have voice. Not a lot of people have that. It makes everything feel more alive. I can hear you in every page. And… I feel like shit after reading how I made you feel.”
“You shouldn’t,” she said. “You made the terms clear from the start. I was the one who should’ve known I couldn’t live by them. I’m the one who keeps saying one thing and meaning another.”
And I was the one who couldn’t handle them the second time. “We should get some sleep,” I said, closing her laptop and handing it back to her.
“Yeah,” she said. She blinked a few times like she’d snapped out of a kind of trance. “Definitely. It’s probably going to be morning soon.”
“Can you send me what you have? I want to read through it again later to get a better look. Maybe I can make a few suggestions, even.”
“Of course. Yeah. Definitely.” She chewed her lip. “Sebastian?”
“Yeah?” I said.
“Was tonight just you being nice because you want to fix your writer’s block? Or was this real?”
Far more real than I’d like to admit, I thought. “We should sleep,” I said.
“Always changing the subject,” she muttered, but she flopped down and rolled to her side.
Yes. I was always changing the subject because she had an irritating tendency to ask questions I didn’t want to answer.
Kenzie was still fully dressed and so was I, but I was too tired to get up and change for bed. I got comfortable on the couch and closed my eyes. But I couldn’t sleep. Kenzie made me feel like I was trying to claw my way out of a steep-sided pit. Every few days, I made a serious effort to stop myself from sinking deeper. Maybe I could even scrabble up the walls a few feet and trick myself into thinking I’d be free of it. But it was hopeless, wasn’t it? I was already in too deep. I’d tasted too much. Felt too much.
I let my eyes open and stared at the ceiling. For the first time since this all started, I seriously considered whether I could break my own rule. What if I did let Kenzie in?
The answer that came back was obvious and unpleasant. Letting her in would be bad for her. I was in no position to make someone happy. I was more like a damn sponge. I’d just soak up any positive energy she had and leave her feeling emptied out.
So the only option was to give her an out. I had to think of a way to make her want to move on and chase her own dreams.
I realized I’d already been planning this before the thought came to me. It was exactly why I’d asked her to send me her story.
29
Kenzie
Sebastian wasn’t in the room when I woke. I rubbed my eyes and stretched. Being at this cabin had been a much-needed escape. I hadn’t written quite as much as I’d hoped, but I also had barely thought about losing my job back home or what I was going to do next. I’d been able to live in the present, even if that “present” had been regularly overshadowed by the delicious grump I was calling a roommate.
I remembered how he’d asked to have a copy of my story, so I fired off a quick email with it attached. I removed the mortifying sex scene and the rest of the story, including the scene where the character that was supposed to be Sebastian got his balls stomped. I was flattered that he’d been so kind after hearing my work, but I wasn’t completely convinced he was genuine. After all, it would take a very cruel person to say my story sucked in such an intimate setting. But I thought maybe it was actually a good sign that he wanted me to send it. If he was just being nice, I doubted he’d have thought to ask.
I was a little scared to let myself believe his praise too much because I still needed to fit my head through doorways. Having someone with Sebastian’s talent tell me my writing was good would be the ego boost of all ego boosts. So I stashed all those feelings for later and simply enjoyed the glowingly good mood I was in.
