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He tosses my phone to the bed as if it's offended him, scorched him, and runs his fingers through his hair.
"So what the fuck was everything we just did?" He looks everywhere but at me as he speaks. "A mistake? Just something you gave into?" He stops, going so still that I don't dare to breathe in the silence that suddenly fills the room. Then he turns, eyes narrowing, but I can see the suspicion in them clearly. "Was this goodbye sex? Was that what that look in your eyes was about? You doing something you felt you had to do one more time?"
"No!" I exclaim. "I wanted that. I wanted every single thing that happened."
"So what the fuck is the problem? Because you're telling me you wanted it, still want what we do, but your text is saying we can't do it anymore."
"This just isn't... working for me anymore," I pathetically lie.
"You mean, I'm not working for you."
Why does he look... hurt?
"I never said that," I say low.
"You don't have to. You clearly haven't lost your desire for what we do, so that means you've lost your desire for me."
"Jackson, no." I take a step toward him and he takes one away.
It's only a step, but my God, how it hurts. To see him basically shrink away from me, my touch. To not want me for the first time.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asks, pain clear in his voice. "Was what happened at my house too much? Did I go too far? Did I hurt you?"
I'm quick to shake my head, because I cannot have him blaming himself for this. Not when I'm the one who went too far. I did something wrong. I hurt myself. I fell for the man I agreed to live out a fantasy with. I let reality bleed into him bringing my dreams to life.
"It's not you," I tell him.
He gives a bitter chuckle. "Wow. Now you're gonna give me theit's not you, it's mespeech? Say no more." He heads to the nightstand and grabs his phone off of it. "Well, I'll leave you the hell alone, like you obviously want." He walks to my door, stops just inside of it, but doesn't turn around as he says, "I hope you feel better, Charlotte. I’ll see you... whenever I see you, I guess. Goodbye."
"Jackson, wait."
Fuck.Fuck.Why can't I just let him go? Why call his name, make his steps pause, when this could have been done, over with, when he left my room? Am I trying to make this worse?
He turns his head, looks over his shoulder, but not at me. His eyes are on the floor, and it kills me to see him look so defeated, to, for once, see his confidence wane. He thinks he's done something to deserve this, something to make me refuse him.
"What else is there to say, Charlotte? Especially since you weren't even going to give me the decency of saying any of this to my face instead of texting it to me."
"I didn't want to..." I cut myself off, not sure what to say next.
I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't want him to see how much saying goodbye was breaking my heart. I didn't want him to look at me with the confusion in his eyes that he was just now, or for him to say the right things and make me swallow every word and beg him to stay. I wanted to be selfish and save myself the pain that I feel right now. What a fool I was to think I could ever escape it.
"I know what you didn't want," he says, finally looking up, his eyes meeting mine. They break my heart more than anything he's said. "You didn't want me. So let me make that happen for you."
He leaves. I watch him go, then hear his footsteps going down the hall. The door opens, then closes. He doesn't even slam it shut, doesn't even give me his anger. I don't get to want for anything from him anymore, though. I gave that up.
I close my eyes, desperate not to let the tears filling them escape. I fail. They slip out, trail down my cheeks, fall from my face. I hold in the sob for as long as I can, lips quivering, chesttrembling, hands balled into fists. But I lose that battle too. The cry wretches itself up my throat, over my tongue, past my lips. At the last moment, I turn it into a scream.
"Ah!!"
It's better than sobbing, but it hurts just the same. I keep my eyes shut, let myself drown in the darkness behind my closed lids. This is all my fault. I knew having any emotions beyond desire, lust, anticipation were forbidden, foolish, downright stupid, and I did it anyway. I let him into my heart, embraced him in my soul, and now I stand here, feeling like I've lost both. Just like I've lost Jackson.
I open my eyes and look around my bedroom that has never felt as empty and lonely as it does right now. My eyes land on my bed, looking at the ruffled sheets. I'm sure our scents are on them, and the pillows. I should change them now, save myself from that torture later. But the thought of inhaling it as I doubtlessly toss and turn all night stops me. It'll hurt like hell, but it feels like it's all I have left of him now.
Then I see my phone sitting on the end of my bed. As if it typed the words of its own free will, as if it caused me the damage I feel rippling through my heart right now, I pick it up and throw it at the wall. It thuds against it before falling to the floor. And I follow it down.
Screaming again to keep from sobbing, even if my tears betray me, I wrap my arms around my legs, holding myself tight and letting myself shatter.
Even though I've felt better since the night Jackson stayed here, I use the excuse of sickness for another three days. To continue calling out of work. To avoid speaking with Sophie and Lexa beyond a few texts. To avoid hardly leaving my bed at all. It hurts too much, to move, to speak, to think. I want to turn offmy mind, and even more, I want to turn off my heart. Because it won't stop aching. It won't stop calling for a man it can't have. It won't stop begging me to go to him. And that's not an option. Not anymore. Even if it were just for sex, it could never be just sex with him again.
