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But I’m not going to tell him that.
I need to talk to him.
Set it straight, once and for all.
“Well, you’re obviously here for a reason.”
“What part of a relationship don’t you understand?”
“Here we go again,” I say, defeated, throwing my hands in the air. “I leave for two minutes, and you’re acting like a caveman. Give me a fucking break! Do you know what it’s like to have cameras point in your face demanding you tell them if you’re fucking Wesley Rich?”
“No… you give me a break.” His hands nervously run through his hair. I can see now, at closer range, his bloodshot eyes that Emerson must have noticed. He must be on something. The deal, the other night, he’s high now or whatever happens when you’ve taken something. He needs help, I can’t do this. This is beyond me.
“I can’t fucking think straight, Milana. You think it’s fun not calling me. Playing these useless mind games to fuck with me? I know you read my texts. I know you go out and have fun, dancing or whatever the fuck with other men. You think I just sit around and not think about you? I can’t fucking breathe. All. The. Time.”
“And do you think it’s easy for me? This life. Your life. It isn’t what I know. I don’t know what it’s like to have every move watched. What happened yesterday terrified me. On top of that, I have broken an important relationship because of us.”
“What? Your fucking ex back home?”
“No. Emerson.”
He remains quiet, lifting his head and biting his lip. I know he craves a drag, same thing he did every other time.
“You always do this. Smother me when I ask for space.”
“You didn’t ask for space,” he reminds me, bitterly. “You said you can’t do this.”
He is right. I gave up. Ran. Threw everything into the too-hard basket.
If I love him, which I openly admit, why do I give up so easily?
“I have no clue how to be in love. This is… overwhelming. I just want time to process. I have so much going on, and I don’t know what to do, what to say, everything is getting to me. Your life, in the spotlight, I don’t know how to cope.”
“You have no clue how to be in love?” he repeats, a rough smile playing on his lips. “You love me. Yet, you said you wanted out…”
“Yes.” I can’t look at him, but then, I listen to this crazy heart of mine playing a wicked game of chess, and realize it’s checkmate, baby. “Just like you’re in love with me.”
The emotions, raw and exposed between us in the flesh, exert their power while we stand here in the same room, though what feels like miles apart.
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Could have saved me an expensive plane ticket and a possible violation of Canadian law.”
He moves closer to me, leaning over the side of the bed and bending as his hand grazes my cheek. The surface of his skin, soft yet manly, is all I need. I close my eyes, at peace, basking in his touch and allowing myself to feel it rain all over me. How easily the simplest of gestures wash away the pain.
“You want to process. Then process.”
“You mean it?”
“You love me.” He breathes with a weightless gaze. “That’s all there is to it. Process, be merry. I’ll be waiting back in the States.”
With a slow burn, he bridges the gap between us, purposely hovering his lips above mine. I want to taste him on me. It feels like forever since we have been intimate.
I smile, releasing a satisfied sigh. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But you know, I came all the way over here, you tell me you love me, and I love you, I think it warrants that we make love… if that’s what love is.”
I laugh, softly and tired. “It’s kinda that time of the month.”
“I don’t care.”
