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“It’ll dry on its own,” she grumbles, staring at me through the mirror.
“That’s not healthy. Stop being lazy.” I run my fingers through her strands and inhale her scent. The scent that should be boring but is now growing on me more than anything. Then I turn off the hairdryer and brush the strands back.
“Hey, Nate?”
“What?” I ask absentmindedly, too focused on her hair.
“Why do you never kiss me?”
I pause, meeting her gaze in the mirror. It’s cautious, expectant, and on the verge of gray.
“What’s with that question all of a sudden?”
“You never do. I just thought it was weird.”
“I don’t kiss.”
“You just fuck?”
“Correct. I just fuck.”
“What if I want to kiss?”
“Gwyneth, I told you…”
“This is sex only, no feelings,” she repeats, mimicking my tone before she slips back into hers. “I know that. But this is about kissing, not feelings.”
“Kissing is related to feelings for me. That’s why I don’t do it.”
She stands up abruptly and faces me. There’s a soft halo around her face, a tension in her neck, and she’s clinking her nails over and over as if she can’t keep them in one place.
“Even now?” she asks in a low, haunting voice that fucking guts me.
Though, no. It’s not the voice that guts me, it’s the expectation in it, on her face. It’s practically shining through the green of her eyes.
But I can’t allow her to have rosy dreams. I can’t let her build her life on expectations.
She said I make her feel full, but it’s the fake type that holds no meaning.
After all, how could I cure her emptiness when I’m hollow myself?
“Even now,” I say.
She flinches as if I’ve slapped her. There’s a tremble in her chin before it spreads to the rest of her body.
“Screw you,” she whispers, and storms out of the room.
I don’t follow after her, because it’ll just get ugly. She probably needs to cool off for a while before we talk again.
I spend some time checking my emails, then I go to the living room to find her sleeping with her head on the table and her notebook between her fingers.
It’s open on the letterN, where she’s been scribbling in bold red letters.
Nate.
My jaw tightens and it takes everything in me not to rip up the thing. Does she really think she’ll get rid of me by just writing my name in a notebook?
She obviously doesn’t know the heights I’d reach to make sure she remains fucking mine. I warned her and she didn’t listen, so all she can do is bear the consequences.
