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She turns away on a growl, her feet stumbling at the tequila still floating through her system. “I’m not a fucking possession. I’ve lived that life. Being ripped between two people who vowed to love me.”
My feet stop abruptly. “Don’t compare me to them.”
Regret washes over her face, but she doesn’t vocalize it, choosing to swallow it down indignantly.
“Funny.” I step forward, bringing us close enough that I can feel her heavy breath on my face. “That the thought of being mine brings you nightmares when the thought of being yours brings me everything I’ve ever wanted in this world. I don’t see you as a possession, Henley. You’re a part of me.” I hit my chest. “An extension of who I am. The better part of who I am.”
Unable to look me in the eye, she focuses on the wall over my shoulder, her jaw shaking.
“I’m sorry that makes me an asshole,” I whisper. “I’m sorry that fills you with nothing but dread. Maybe we aren’t forkeeps, maybealwaysisn’t ours. We’re grasping at two separate endings here, Squirrel.”
A tear rolls down one cheek. Then her other.
“You’re not gonna say anything?” I push. “You’re just gonna stand there silently and act like your heart isn’t hurting like mine right now?”
My hands ache to grab her shoulders, to shake her roughly, to make her see how stubborn she’s being.
“We held the idea of heaven for a while,” she says quietly.
I swear under my breath, close-cut fingernails biting into the skin of my palm painfully. “Is that what you call it? Heaven?”
“It had to be,” she mumbles, eyes cast downward. “It’s how I know we’re now in hell.”
I blink rapidly.
“You’d rather be apart and miserable because of some preconceived notion that you need to be one-hundred-percent content by yourself. I’m not asking you to look at me for your happiness, Henley. I’m begging you to see that making you happy will be a part of the way I love you. Your happiness isn’t reliant on me, but on the days you can’t find it, it would’ve been my job to show you the way. Or to love you hard enough that the world didn’t look so bleak without it.”
She moves away before I can touch her. Moving hastily to the small kitchenette, she gulps down a glass of water in panic.
I stay put, watching her from afar.
Finally, she turns to look at me. “I don’t know if I want this anymore.” She’s afraid of her own words, her voice scarcely audible over the beating of her own heart.
“Want what? Me?”
I dare her to say it. To admit she doesn’t love me. Not enough.
Her dark lashes push roughly against her skin as she squeezes her eyes shut. “I’ll always want you. But . . .us. . .”
“Uswhat?” I push, stepping closer.
“We’ve tried.” She shivers, her arms wrapping around her body protectively. “We never seem whole, Brooks.”
“Because we haven’t given ourselves a fighting fucking chance.”
She clears her throat. “We took our friendship and grew it wildly. We’ve been broken from the start.”
“When shit is broken, youfixit, Henley,” I implore, trying to make her see. “Wefix this.”
She shrugs weakly, still refusing to let me see her eyes. “Some things are better left broken.”
I want to break something. I want to scream and yell and let her see the pain I’m in.
“If I knew loving you would hurt this much, I would’ve made sure my heart was made of stone before I tried.”
I pause for a breath.
“Like yours, Henley. Stone fucking cold.”
