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I hurt people, and I know that, but I don’t do it maliciously. Okay, maybe I do. When I come face-to-face with an abuser, all I want to do is hurt them. So am I any different? Is there something inside an abuser they can’t turn off? Like when I’m around one, I want to beat them to near death.
It’s kept me up at night, thinking about why they do it—trying to reason it. I’ve come to terms that it’s useless. I’ll never understand because while I do want to hurt people, I’m not like them. I don’t want to hurt defenseless people or people I love or care about.
How does that even exist in someone?
I need to get up before getting lost in my head and start to analyze the people I care about. The people I love…or maybe that I could.
If I stay here any longer, I might wake Harper up, confess my true feelings to her, and beg her to stay.
And that’s not fucking happening. I need to save her from the possibility.
I quietly and slowly slither out of bed and head for the kitchen to get the coffee going.
A half-hour later, she walks into the room with her bags.
I take one long look at her, not knowing when I may see her again. “Ya all packed and ready to go?”
“Yep.” She drops her bags on the sofa, glancing at the counter. “Oh, good. Coffee.”
She makes her way over to the pot and pours herself a cup.
“I talked to Willa,” she says after taking a sip. “She’ll be home on Saturday.”
“I bet she’s happy you’ll be there.”
“Yeah.” She laughs. “She already sent me a grocery list and rescheduled the meetings at her house starting tomorrow.”
She walks toward me. My heartbeat gathers momentum when her eyes connect with mine. Her gaze isolates me, and I’m blinded, conscious of only her. She sets her mug down on the counter. My palms sweat with anticipation. She places her arms on my shoulders. My hands move around her waist and clasp behind her back, locking her to me. I never want to let go.
But this is it.
She’s leaving today.
“Good morning,” she whispers with a hint of coffee on her sweet breath.
My eyes lower to her lips. My breaths get heavy, and my mouth turns dry. “Good morning,” I say, leaning in and longing for the taste of her sweet coffee. To feel the softness of her lips pillow mine. The warmth she creates through my body from our morning ritual.
I resist moving forward. Not wanting it to be the last time.
Not ready for our last kiss.
“I’m going to miss this,” she whispers what I am thinking.
“I told you,” I say. It comes out more severe than intended. I meant for it to be playful. Yet I’m not feeling it. I’m hesitant and uneasy, and I’m falling for her.
“Yes.” Her view drops to my mouth. “You did warn me.” She grips the back of my neck. “Now, kiss me.” She pulls my lips to hers.
I get lost in her. With her. She does that to me. Takes me off my spinning axle and pulls me down to the solid ground. An impermeable place where only we exist. I could stay here forever.
Our lips break apart, flesh hanging on for as long as possible before the air replaces our touch.
“Well, I better be going.” She moves back, goes for her bags on the sofa, and swings them over her shoulder.
I run my hand over my tingling mouth. “Don’t you need a lift?”
“No.” Her eyes flash to mine. “I called for a ride.” She heads to the elevator.
“Are you sure? I can—”
