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I was so confused; it didn’t make any sense. Why would he snap every time I asked if she wasn’t real?
“She doesn’t exist. Not anymore,” he said again, sounding frustrated.
“What do you mean, not anymore?”
“It’s just a random tattoo, okay?” he said, trying to dismiss the topic.
“What happened to her? I know it’s not just a random tattoo.” I leaned closer to the table.
He looked away, finding it hard to tell me.
“You can talk to me, Tristan. I can’t do this if you’re gonna keep me in the dark.”
“I can’t,” he said without looking at me.
For some reason, he sounded like he was about to break me. He finally met my gaze. He moved closer and took my hands in his; his warm and rough hands gave mine a soft squeeze while his thumbs drew little patterns on the back of my palms.
“Am I not enough for you?” he whispered softly.
“I don’t know. Each day with you feels like a mystery. I’m just picking up any crumbs I find, and I want the whole thing.”
“Even if it hurts?”
I didn’t know how to answer that. I wanted to know more about him, about Nadia, and whatever it was that had happened. It might come back and bite me in the ass later if we kept avoiding the topic.
“Hey,” he whispered. “I hate myself for hurting you. I know I have been an asshole, but I want to be more for you, Chloe. Ask me anything about me. I will answer, but I’m not ready to talk about my tattoo or my past.”
He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckle. I expected him to let go after, but he held it to his cheek. I was tempted to touch the bruise beneath his eye. Who had done it to him?
“I don’t want to be that guy who makes you cry. I want to be the guy who puts a smile on your face every day. I have become so attached to you, more than I ever imagined, and I don’t want to ruin that, Cassandra.”
He gave me a soft smile and kissed the back of my palm again. I tried to fight the smile tugging at my lips.
“Chloe is fine,” I said and frowned at the mention of my middle name even if it sounded so eloquent and poised from his lips.
“I like Cassandra. It’s a beautiful name,” he muttered, his eyes sparkling with the flames from the candles around us. I scoffed and fought the smile trying to form on my face. “My middle name is Nolan,” he told me, and my eyes widened in surprise.
“Doesn’t fit you,” I said, and he laughed softly.
I looked into his beautiful eyes, wondering if I should give him another chance. I pulled my hands away from his grasp. I needed to concentrate without his touch distracting me. I took another sip from my wine as I tried to control my emotions. I wanted to believe him, but he made it so hard, using my insecurities against me every time he got angry.
“Can we please start over?” he asked softly, extending his hand for me to take.
I stared at his solid arm, like he was offering me a sword to use and kill myself.
“I will prove my feelings to you if you give me the chance.”
“I don’t know, Tristan. I wanna be patient with you, but I don’t know how long. I wanna know what I’m getting myself into if we advance with whatever we have between us. I also wanna know if whatever happened in your past is beyond me. I’m not sure I can do this,” I said and stood up.
His smile fell, and he dropped his arm, as if my words had sucked the life out of him. I returned to my room with different thoughts spinning in my head like a tornado.
I opened the door leading to the balcony. I sighed softly and gripped the railing. I stared at the skyline that lit up the city. I closed my eyes and relished the soft caresses of the cool breeze on my face. Tristan had made me question everything in my life. I wanted to forgive him. I wanted to look past everything he had done and try to be happy, but I wasn’t ready.
I forgot what it felt like to be normal. No family, a fucked up life, and stuck with the person who had taken it all from me. Sometimes, I saw him as the hero, but I got reminded that he was the villain, and he showed me that every time he flipped.
What was I still doing here? Why was I helping him live a lie? He’d said one month, and it had been more than that. His mom didn’t look like someone who was critically ill and dying, and it made me a little suspicious. The fact that he wouldn’t tell me anything made me angry.
Some days, I wanted to leave, but I cared too much about him, and I hated myself for that. I opened my eyes and laughed at myself; it eased the pain.
