The reason I was avoiding her, was the simple fact that I can’t risk getting close, for her to get close to me, to open me up and see what’s inside, for her to see things that I’ve spent so many years of my life burying, things that would frighten her away. I can’t let that happen.
But at the same time, I want to be better for her. I want to be the man that is worthy of her. I’ve never had to do the romantic shit like buying a girl flowers or a box of chocolates, it's just not me, it’s not some I’ve ever wanted to do, until her.
I want her, I want everything with her, and I know she wants me too, she just doesn’t seem to know it yet, or at least won't admit it to herself. I’ve seen how her body reacts to mine, how she shivers when I’m near, felt it when I touch her.
God, how I want to touch her, really touch her.
I want to reach out and take her as my own.
But I made a vow to her and to myself that I won’t touch her unless she wants me to, no matter how much my fingers itch with the need to touch her, lace my fingers in her hair, over her body, no matter how much my lips tingle with the need to kiss her, taste her, but I’m a man of my word and I intend to stand by it.
But with each day it’s getting harder and harder to resist her. I crave her like an alcoholic craves booze, like a drug addict craves his next fix. Which is partly why I’ve been avoiding her. As much as I want to be around her, I want to keep my distance, to remove temptation so I don’t do anything stupid.
When I returned from the office, I offered her a bouquet of flowers that I picked up on my way home, a bouquet of pink and white roses, a peace offering. When she saw them, her face seemed to soften somewhat, a little bit of that anger she feels towards me chipped away, I daresay I even saw the corners of her mouth curve upwards slightly.
Getting her to agree to go for food with me wasn’t as hard as I had anticipated, maybe the flowers did the trick?
We stop at a small deli downtown for food and after a brief disagreement in which I insist I pay for the food and Hayley not having any of it, though eventually she backs down, finding a table in the back corner while I place our order.
Why does everyone have to be so damn stubborn?
I glance over my shoulder to find her peering around the deli, fiddling with her phone, twiddling it in her fingers.
My heart leaps.
She doesn’t belong with me, in my world, I’ll only corrupt her, I’ll only hurt her, so why can’t I let her go?
Because I’m selfish, I’m a bastard that’s why.
Maybe she can be the one to save me? To shed a little light on my dark.
I want this girl.
I want this girl so much, her body, her soul… and her heart.
I eventually reach our table with our food, for Hayley, a Greek salad and for me, a club sandwich.
I sit across from her and begin eating.
She does everything she can but to meet my gaze.
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry about leaving earlier, it couldn’t be avoided,” I take another bite before continuing, “and I’m sorry for being so distant for the past couple of days. This is all new to me.”
Her eyes flick to mine. “Never held someone in your apartment against their will before?” she snaps. She sighs and shakes her head. “It’s new for me too, you know. You were the one that wanted me for the whole week, and for the past two days all you’ve done is avoid me.”
“Fuck, I know. I just don’t know how to do this.” I rest my elbows on the table, pinching the bridge of my nose.
We sit in silence for a minute.
She sighs. “What do your tattoos mean?” Hayley asks curiously, changing the subject, eyeing the tattoos on my forearms, peeking from under the rolled-up sleeves of my shirt.
“A lot of different things. The tree represents my family, each branch represents them, me, my mom, dad and my brother.”
The tree was the first tattoo I got when I was nineteen, starting at the roots that circle my wrist, transforming into the tree trunk, spreading out into branches, winding their way around my forearm.
She nods slowly. “There are six branches, who do the last two branches represent?”
I hesitate. “One of them is for my mother… my real mother."
“Oh.” Her eyes widen.
“I was adopted,” I clarify. “The other, doesn’t mean anything, yet. I’m waiting for someone to mean something to me enough for it to represent them.”
A faint smile spreads across her lips. “And… your biological parents, do you know anything about them?”
Fuck. Here we go, I knew this question was coming, it always does when people find out I was adopted when I was a baby. I see it in their eyes when they ask me about it, the look in their eyes asking the questions they wouldn’t dare speak out loud, ‘were you a mistake, is that why mommy didn’t want you?’
If only that was the truth and not the real reason.
“My real mother died when I was a few months old.” I avoid her gaze, I can feel her gaze burning into me, searching my face for emotion.
“I’m sorry, mine died too.” I look up to meet her gaze, her eyes are filled with sadness and understanding. “What about your father?”
