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But as much as my heart begs for me to turn around, or at least look back over my shoulder, I don’t. I fight it and think of her.
You are not what Abigail needs. Not really.
Walk away, Elliot. Before you cause her even more pain than you already have.
13
ABIGAIL
My heart gallops in my chest as I lie there, still and silent, pretending to be asleep while Elliot takes a shower.
Part of me wants to glance at the bathroom door, to see if he shut me out, the way I’ve shut him out more than once since he brought me to the Chapel.
But I don’t.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
Waking up in his bed, with him right beside me, was a shock. One I hadn’t expected, not even after the way he comforted me last night. He was so gentle with me, handling me like fragile glass while my heart splintered over and over.
But it doesn’t change anything—I’ll always be me and he’ll always be him. And the truth of it is, Elliot will never want me the way I want him.
Wantedhim.
Because I’m empty inside now. Hollow and broken.
The bathroom door clicks open, and Elliot comes back into the room. I resist the urge to look at him, forcing myself to maintain the ruse that I’m sleeping.
If he catches me awake, I don’t know what I’ll say—what I’ll do.
I hear him getting dressed, feel his intense stare lingering on me. But then, he’s gone. And I feel like I can and can’t breathe all at the same time.
I don’t want to rely on him. I don’t want to need him. But the dark thoughts circling my mind swoop in, increasing the constant heaviness on my chest, and I’m terrified—so bloody terrified—of what I might do.
What I want to do.
Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling, forcing myself to inhale and exhale slowly. Grief isn’t a new emotion to me. I’ve lived with the pain of loss for over five years. But losing my father has irrevocably broken something inside me. Even though I knew this day would come, even though we’d both prepared for it as much as we could, it’s here, and I’m not ready. I’m not?—
Panic surges through me, coiling around my heart and squeezing until the edges of my vision begin to blur.
Breathe, Abi. You have to breathe.
I repeat the mantra over and over as I grip Elliot’s soft bedsheets.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Finally, my heart rate steadies and my breathing returns to a normal pace. But I’m left feeling weak and unsettled.
I wish Elliot were here. I wish I was wrapped in his arms, listening to his soothing words. I can’t afford to let myself lower my guard again though.
Because he might be here for me now, but he won’t be here forever.
Despite all the tears I’ve cried in the last twenty-four hours, the urge to pee hits me and I quickly climb out of his bed and head into the bathroom.
My weary gaze lands on the shelf with all his products. Anti-perspirant, expensive aftershave, designer hair gel. All little clues to the lifestyle he leads.
