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I sigh. “She mentioned something along the lines of you having a long line of women waiting for you. You know, since I don’t fit in. And some other stuff I really don’t remember.”
That’s a lie. Of course I remember. I’ll remember every word she said to me. But I don't want to repeat them. Doing so would only openly display every flaw that I’m aware of but am too scared to face when I’m with him. In the comforts of my own life, I’m only surrounded by whatever unsettled grief I’ve learned to live with. I don’t constantly stand up to a ruler that I’ll never measure up to. It’s only around Rhylan I feel this way. So why am I still here, waiting instead of walking away? Standing in front of him as I set myself up for heartbreak?
And then I feel him sigh, the warm exhale of his breath hitting my cold skin. Along with it comes the realization that maybe none of that matters. Maybe what everyone thinks, everyone’s opinion of seeing me alongside Rhylan, doesn’t matter. I want to believe it, to cast aside fear by replacing it with the possibility of us. But it almost feels too hopeful. Because I saw it in Constance’s eyes. Her judgment and the drool practically dripping from her mouth as she preyed on my own self-esteem, ready to tear it to shreds to remind me of my place.
“I forget how fucking shitty the people in this town can be,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
Unable to speak without the wavering in my voice, I shake my head and look away. My chest clenches while a part of me folds. I reach up to gently touch his biceps while running my hands over the material of his shirt to somehow let him know it’s okay. When I finally try to talk, nothing comes out. Just the scratching of the words that scrape the inside of my throat, stuck there and frozen.
I should walk away now when we have nothing to lose. Tell him goodbye as I pluck myself out of his life. It should be easy, right?
He lowers his face towards me, his eyes searching mine. When I finally look back at him, I can’t hide the mistiness coating my eyes. I notice his jaw clench and his mouth come together in a firm line. The furrow in his brows deepens, causing a shadow to cast over his face. But even through his hardened features, his eyes are soft. They’re asking me for forgiveness. He’s apologizing for something that’s every bit a part of him but that he has absolutely no control over.
“It’s okay.” The quiet words that are barely a whisper leave my lips before his come crashing into mine.
His hands grip my waist, clinging to me before moving up my back to press me closer to him, to fill that final gap between us. Our bodies mold into each other, each curve and crevice filling until every bit of our torsos touch. As if our bodies have become one. I feel his fingers trace into my nape, grasping it as his thumb grazes my skin, eliciting a quiet whimper from me. I feel a low groan vibrate from the base of his throat as our mouths open, welcoming the weave of our tangled tongues. The hold he has on me tightens, and my hands move to his chest, gripping his shirt right where it rests on his collarbone.
We stay tangled in this kiss, his hands roaming over my body as I lean into him. Trails of static pathways linger over my body from his firm touch grasping me as if I might slip away. When we finally pull away, our foreheads touch, our breathing unsteady but in sync.
Everything I wanted to tell him, all the goodbyes and excuses, is gone. Drifted away into nothingness and forgotten. None of that seems to make sense anymore. The only thing that does make sense is me in his arms, our bodies fitting into each other and somehow causing everything to fall into place, right where everything should be. That’s what he is doing. Righting every wrong, convincing me that every doubt in my mind should be thrown away and be traded for the surest thing that ever existed. Him and me.
“Let’s take you home,” he whispers. I silently nod as he takes my hand.
My lips are still tingling from Rhylan’s kiss. My fingers trace my lower lip, a tender throbbing taking over the absence of his lips on mine. Our feet crunch along the gravel, loud and vocal in the ever so present silence. My hand is wrapped inside his, and I don’t miss the strong reassurance his hold has on me. He leads the way to his car with no words between us. Just the understanding that we shouldn’t be here. Not when the atmosphere is so destructive. When I’m with Rhylan, just the two of us, we’re fine. Better than fine; we’re ideal.
When the light slams of the car doors enclose us in Rhylan’s car, I look at him, still apologetic that the night has taken a different turn because of me. Had I not been with him tonight, he would still be inside, enjoying his time while mingling with the crowd that he’s familiar with.
“I’m sorry you had to leave the party,” I whisper. I’m also apologizing for disrupting a part of his life that he has grown accustomed to. For the scene that I caused, leaving a deep red stain on the impeccable marble floor while Rhylan chased after me. For not being everything that should fit perfectly into his polished, Hollywood life in thousand-dollar dresses and an established taste for fine art. For almost wishing that he isn’tRhylan Matthewsand simply just Rhylan instead.
“Ellie…” he says, his face lowered and eyes closed. His words are so soft but filled to the brim with pain. I can feel it, from the hoarseness in his voice to the strain that sits in his throat, exposing the damage that I know is there. And that’s it. He doesn’t say anything else. He starts his car and drives off, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift, moving effortlessly, all while his expression stays the same.
I’m full of unease. I don’t have the right words to say. Just a foreboding in my bones that I can’t ignore. My eyes keep wandering to him. His hands moving in small movements, the muscles in his forearms tensing as he drives, emanating the words that are sitting between us. When he pulls to a stop in front of my house, the engine stills and quiets.
It’s then that he finally looks at me, and I melt. I thought I would see resentment, but his eyes are far from any malicious thought possible. I feel all the tension thaw through my chest, leaving behind a warm sense of hope.
His jaw ticks, his brows knitted together as he considers his next words. He swallows before he speaks. “Ellie, can I ask you something?”
I nod.
“Can you be patient with me?”
Patient? With him?
I don’t understand. But what I do know is that he isn’t just asking for patience. He’s asking me to trust him, to reserve my faith for him. I nod again. And when he sees the affirming dip of my chin, he takes my hand in his and squeezes, smiling solemnly at our connected hands before letting go.
Once inside my dark empty house, I close the door behind me, and my knees give out as my body sinks to the floor. With my face buried in my hands, I sigh and let the sudden licks from Angus’s greeting take over, momentarily distracting me from one simple fact: I kissed Rhylan Matthews.
NINETEEN
RHYLAN
My alarm blares on my nightstand. I roll over and peep my left eye open to peek at the time.
8:00 a.m.
I was dreaming. Not a good dream or a bad dream but a dream that felt real and fake at the same time. The kind of dream where you can’t differentiate what’s real or not, so you kind of go along with everything that’s happening. Right now, I only remember flashes of it, like Ellie’s brown eyes. When I looked into them, all I saw was a never-ending warmth that drew me in and wrapped me in comfort. And I remember seeing Constance’s large head bobbing from left to right like a chicken, squawking in a tongue that I couldn’t understand, all high-pitched gibberish. I even remember partygoers dressed to the nines laughing and drinking while Ellie and I stood on the sidelines, watching and feeling out of place. Like I said, not a good dream but not a bad dream. Just a dream that doesn’t make any sense but somehow fits into the story that is my life.
I groan, still tired from a fitful sleep. The last time I looked at the glowing lights on my clock, it showed 1:47. In between the dreams, I saw Ellie’s face when I closed my eyes. How hurt she was after Constance’s words cut deep into her character. How I saw the tears that pooled in the corner of her eyes as she pretended like those words didn’t hurt her as much as they did. And how her eyes lit with fire when I kissed her. How her breathing labored and skin heated when I touched her.
