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Fuck.
He’s going to end up hurting me, and I have to end this before he has the chance to. Before he realizes I’m too into him and he leaves me for one of his many women who I’m sure know how to keep sex and feelings separate, and are all too willing to take my place.
But do those women get his homemade pizza? Do they sleep outside under the full moon and wake up to the sunrise with him? Does he take them on trips to lighthouses? Does he see how fast he can get them off like it’s a personal challenge? Do any of them want him as much as I do? All of him, and not just what he can offer in the bedroom?
All these questions flow through my head in a matter of seconds, and I can’t breathe.
As quickly and quietly as I can, I untangle myself from him and slip out of bed.
I need to leave. I can’t pretend anymore.
Pretending ended so long ago I don’t know if, or when, I ever really was.
Looking around for my clothes, I realize I have no idea where they are. Shit, I came in here naked…
I walk over to his dresser and open a few drawers until I find an oversized t-shirt. It only hits me a few inches below my butt cheeks, but it’ll do.
“What’re you doing?” his sexy, groggy, just-woke-up-voice has me hesitating from what I’m about to do.
“Getting dressed.”
“I see that, but why? Come back here, sugar.”
My eyes dart to his, and oh Lord, he looks like a gift waiting for me on Christmas morning. But instead of hopping back into bed with him for a repeat of last night, I don’t. I can’t. I let myself have my perfect night, and now it’s over.
“I have to go,” I say in a rush.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Uh, where are my clothes?”
“Downstairs,” he says, and I sigh, running my hands through my hair, trying to tame it. I’ll just grab them on my way out, I guess.
I look longingly out the window one last time and then head for the door.
“Whoa, wait, El.” Sitting up in a flash, he grabs my hand. “Stop. Look at me,” he urges. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t. I have to go, Tyler. Sorry, I just can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
Frustrated with having to explain myself when I’ve only just gathered enough courage to even walk away, I just stare at him. My resolve wanes slightly at how beautiful he looks, his face showing me how confused and unwilling he is to let me go right now.
“Elizabeth,” he says softly, as if any louder and I’ll run. “What’s going through your head right now?”
“A lot,” I tell him honestly.
“Okay.” He nods, waiting for me to say more.
I take a deep breath and look down at my toes. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?”
“This”–I motion between us–“us. I can’t anymore.”
“Okay…” He draws out the word, his tired brain trying to catch up with what I’m saying. “Why? Because I’m sure as hell not imagining last night.”
Yes. And that’s precisely why I can’t do this anymore. I’m feeling too much.
