Page 158 of The Influencer

That’s the one thing. The only thing. The thing that’s insurmountable. It’s the fundamental truth I’ve been grappling with ever since I realized my feelings for him veered more toward obsession than lust. Not that lust isn’t still a major player here, I can’t get enough of him—I’ll never get enough of him. But it’s the obsession part that fucks with me. And the fact that I’ve always known he’s leaving might be the only reason I’ve allowed myself the indulgence when I should have maintained distance, taking only what was necessary. A bathroom blow job here—a fuck there.

He was never a safe place to spend all my pent-up need for both sex and affection. He’s too sweet. We’re too goddamn compatible. The abbreviated timeline we’ve been on is both a curse and a blessing. It’s allowed me to go all in, relearn what it feels like to be cared for, but it allowed him to do the same thing, and now I’m scared shitless, and he’s scrambling to fix it. It’s not fair. I fucked up. And it can’t go on.

“I think a clean break,” I say. “That’s what I want.”

“Oh.”

“Look, we knew it was coming, and there’s no reason it has to get messy?—”

“Excuse me,” he says with a bite in his tone, “but it’s gonna be messy.”

“Well, that’s not my fault,” I say shortly, refusing to let him pile even more guilt on me. I didn’t make him fall for me. I lived each moment as it came, and I gave him what I wanted him to have whenever I was able to. And I gave him what he wanted whenever he needed it. He was a coping mechanism who ended up being my favorite person. And while I realize I may never find someone else I like as much as I like him, I have no doubt someone else will come along and sweep him off his feet.

His heart isn’t as closed off as he once claimed it was. He said he didn’t do relationships, but he jumped in headfirst and nailed it. He’s a fucking great boyfriend, if you can get past the sex-worker part, and if anyone ever asks me in the future, I’ll tell them Jade is worth it. Let him keep doing his thing because it just makes him more irresistible.

“So, you’re telling me after all of this—” he sweeps an arm out as if to encompass the entire condo and all the time we’ve spent together in it, “that you’re still prepared to just walk away. Let me go on with my life like this meant nothing to you.”

“It meant a lot to me,” I say.

He lets out a long, loud grunt of frustration. “Did she surgically sever the connection between your brain and your heart, Ash? Is that what happened in that apartment for all those months?”

My gaze hardens, but I consider the question. It’s maybe one of the best ways anyone could have ever put what my relationship with Olivia actually did to me. It explains why I stayed, why I took the subtle and the not-so-subtle abuse, and why I never followed anyone’s advice to get out. I felt the things, but I didn’t let myself think about what I was feeling.

And maybe I’m still doing that. Maybe I’m too afraid I won’t be able to handle it.

“I guess that’s possible,” I admit.

“Well, it fucking sucks,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“Do you believe me when I tell you I love you?”

I make myself hold onto his gaze. “Yes.”

“Do you think you deserve it?” he asks.

“No,” I say immediately and without even thinking about it.

“Well, you do. And for the record, in case I wasn’t clear enough about it before, you’re the only person I’ve ever been in love with. I didn’t even know I was capable of it.”

“Then how do you know it’s love?” I ask.

“Because it’s the least convenient feeling I could possibly imagine. It hurts in every bone in my body. You’re in the air I breathe. I think of myself in the context of you. I consider you in every decision I make. You matter the most. How could that be anything but love?”

“Then I guess I love you, too, if that’s all it is,” I say.

He jerks his head. “What?”

“All the things you just said?” I shrug. “Same. But what fucking difference does it make? You’re leaving.”

“I’m not moving to Siberia, Asher, I’m going on a United States tour. Half of it’s even on this side of the country.”

“This conversation is going nowhere,” I say, backing away from the doorframe.

“Hold on—wait,” he nearly shouts. “Did I answer your question? About how I know?”

“I mean—you gave it a good shot?—”

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