“That’s not true. Your heart . . .”
I press my fingers against his lips and offer a quick shake of my head.
“We’re not gonna do that. You’re right. This started with sex, so let’s finish it the same way.”
“I’m asking you to come with me. Live the life you want with me.”
I reach up on my tiptoes. “And I said no.”
“You’re your own worst enemy, Henley Wright.”
With that, his bottom lip slips between mine, the cage of his mouth caressing my top lip in a gentle caress. His kiss utterly tender as his body buzzes with hostility and impatience.
My arduously open best friend.
Loving to his own detriment. Merciless to mine.
He hates himself right now.
For wanting this. For needing to touch me even when he hates me.
He despises himself for letting the poison of our union affect him the way it does.
“I can’t look at you,” he seethes. A complete contradiction to the way his tongue laps at mine eagerly.
Breaking our kiss, I take a step back, not in the least ashamed of how disgustingly desperate I am for this man.
I turn without a word, my hands grasping my panties to slide them down my thighs.
I can feel his breath on my neck.
Watching.
Waiting.
I step forward, lifting a knee to slide it along the bed, but his hand grips at my hair.
“Just bend over the bed. No need to get comfortable.”
My throat tightens with emotion the same way my pussy does with anticipation.
I do as he says, arms sliding into the mussed sheets in front of me, bent at the waist, ready and waiting.
Is this what rock bottom feels like?
The farewell of our self-worth?
This isn’t hate fucking, but it sure as hell isn’t making love.
This is nothing but a selfish sorrowful attempt to erase our pain.
We’re brokenhearted fucking, and as Brooks slides urgently inside me, I conclude it’s the saddest, most depressing moment of my entire existence.
I want to cry.
I want to sob.
But I don’t want him to stop.
I’m a fucking mess.
He barely touches me as he thrusts in and out of my body, and I’ve never felt so detached from anything or anyone in my entire life.
I think that’s what hurts the most right now.
Brooks is the only person I’ve ever felt connected to, and now, he’s taking that away from me with every aloof drive of his hips.
A low growl sounds in his throat, but he clears it as quickly as it comes on, a small sniff giving away the thick roll of emotion coursing through him.
I chance a look over my shoulder, and our eyes collide.
He holds my stare, the blue of his eyes almost black with disaffection.
“Your body responds to mine with limited touch. My cock alone is enough to make you throb,” he seethes. “Do you feel that, Henley?” He slams forward, and I choke on my own breath.
“You clench every time I pull out,” he tells me. “Begging me for more.”
I swallow his words, knowing he’s right.
“Even when my heart is bleeding all over your tipped-up ass.”
I work to ignore the glisten of tears in his eyes.
“Even when your eyes are begging me to tell you I love you. Even when I deny you,” he whispers. “Your pussy begs for more.”
My chin wobbles.
“Your body knows how badly you want me, how fiercely you need me. Your mind is just too weak to take notice.”
My body spasms at the infliction in his tone.
His head shakes. “Fuck. You’re messed up, Henley.”
“I-I know,” I stutter.
“So come for me, baby. Make your pussy apologize for the way your heart tells me you don’t need me the way I need you.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I come apart beneath him, letting my tears stream down my cheeks. I bite my lip, refusing to make a sound as I do as I’m told, and come.
He follows soon after, just as silently and just as broken.
Pulling out, he leaves me cold and alone as he moves to the bathroom to clean up. I use his absence to crawl into his bed, pulling myself under the covers to cry.
He joins me a minute or so later, shutting the room into darkness before settling beside me.
I open my mouth to speak but pause, afraid to talk.
He shifts in the bed, giving me his back.
“You’re punishing me.”
He knows it as well as I do. He’s overcome with frustration at my rejection.
“Just go to sleep, Henley.”
I should tell him I’m sorry.
I should demand the same from him.
Because I know . . . I know when the sun breaks in the morning, he’ll be gone, and my heart won’t just be splintered. It’ll be shattered beyond recognition, large Brooks-sized holes forever hindering the possibility of it ever being whole again.
He says he loves me, but then he leaves me.
How do you walk away from someone you love time and time again?
As I lie there, his body stretched out next to mine, close enough to touch, I think of all the times we’ve almost made it, and it’s only when my eyelids become heavy that realization dawns.
He leaves the same way I do.
Out of necessity.
Because in the end, our individual desire to escape has been more important than our love.
22
HENLEY
AGE 24 (TWO YEARS LATER)
“Addy, that was such a beautiful ceremony.”
I nod along with Evelyn, afraid to speak as the limousine bumps along the road.
I readjust my dress over my knees.
“Are you okay, Hen?”
I glance up at Addy too fast. “Of course. Just completely overwhelmed by all the love,” I lie easily. “In a good way,” I add on with a smile.
I ignore the way Evelyn’s stare burns my profile. My peripheral lets me see the way her eyebrows pull together for the briefest of seconds before releasing as a slow, calculating smile crawls onto her face.
Andrew leans down, kissing Addy’s temple, and she reluctantly turns her inquisitive gaze from me to kiss her husband.
I’m sure it was a beautiful ceremony. There were tears of happiness from the bride and groom. Shit, even Evelyn’s eyes looked red-rimmed following their vows.
I’m
