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All I feel is cold.
Ezra lets me climb off the bike first, and before he stands, he tugs me to him by yanking on my shirt, his fingers working quickly to unstrap and pull the helmet from my head, a sad smile stretching his lips as he brushes the messy hair from my face.
We’re an hour outside the city and still haven’t said the first word to each other.
What is there to say?
I love you?
You destroy me?
You are the only person who can put me back together?
We say that to each other all the time. It’s in the way our eyes meet across the distance. In the way we gravitate to each other. In the way we kiss or fight or fuck. It’s in everything we’ve ever done and will ever do.
It’s in the way he won’t let go and I refuse to hold on.
The first time we ever touched each other, we said it all.
And now we have to say the one word we’ve never spoken. The one word we’ve been avoiding all along.
Goodbye...
With a heavy exhalation, Ezra climbs off the bike, hooks his pinky finger with mine and tugs me along behind him.
Dropping to sit on the sand, he pulls me down to sit on his lap, my legs straddling his waist, my arms hooking around his shoulders as we cling to each other with desperate hands.
I hear a sigh of relief blow over his lips, his muscles relaxing just to hold me. Minutes pass silently, neither of us moving or saying a word.
We don’t have to talk.
We just know.
What the other is thinking.
What we’re feeling.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, not moving to look at me, those two words spoken into the side of my neck, his lips brushing my skin.
“I know.”
“We can’t keep going like this, Em.”
My eyes clench shut, the tears I always cry for him returning.
“I know.”
More silence and then his next words come out in a pained breath.
“Fuck, killer, what have you done to me? I can’t let go.”
I feel that pain bone deep. The same frustration. The clawing desperation.
Rather than answering, I hold him tighter, his body so tense, he’s shaking.
Neither of us intended to end up here, and I have to wonder what would have come from this if circumstances were different?
If Damon hadn’t loved me.
