Page 146 of Staying Selfless

“Yes. Distract me. I need you to distract me.”

I pull away to look at him, his glazed eyes hooded over. “No.”

“What? Why not?” he asks with furrowed brows.

“Because I’m not your fucking distraction, Eli. That’s what you used to do. You used to fuck girls to distract yourself from the anxiety you felt, and you used to drink it away like you’re doing right now.”

“Logan—” he begins, the remorse already forming on his face.

“No, Eli. I’m your girlfriend, and I love you. I’m not some pawn you can use to distract yourself from the tricks your mind is playing on you. In fact, what you need to do is tackle it head-on, not drink and fuck the panic away.” I pull away, heading towards the back door, needing some fresh air.

I’m oddly angry right now. Eli has never once used me for anything, sexual or not, and the thought of it seems insulting.

“You did the exact same thing when we were in Chicago!” he calls out as I turn to face him. “You asked me to fuck you and distract you when you were upset.”

My eyes widen at his words. “No, I asked you to love me because I missed you and I had just spent the worst three weeks of my life without you, trying to work through my grief,” I retort. “This isn’t the same and you know it. I don’t want to feel like them, Eli. Please, don’t make me feel like them,” I add in reference to the slew of women he used as distractions before me.

The frustration builds so I turn away once again, needing fresh air.

“Baby,” he coos, pulling my arm back to stand in front of him.

I search his red-rimmed eyes, watching as the realization hits him. He wraps both his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into him and hiding his face in the crook of my neck as his shaky breath tickles my skin.

My hands graze the length of his back, trying to calm him down.

“I’m never going to make it,” he quietly says, his face hidden, and his voice cracked. “I’m never going to get called up.”

My eyes screw shut at his tone. This is my Eli. The honest, vulnerable one. Not the one who uses distractions as a coping mechanism.

“Yes, you are.”

His hold on me tightens, and I can feel the desperation through his grasp. I pull away and put my hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at me.

“Yes, you are, Eli,” I repeat, willing the words to sink in. His brown eyes search my face before he nods in my hold. “I love you,” I remind him. “And you’re fucking great. And you’re going to make it.”

His lips lift in a half-smile before he firmly presses them to mine.

He’s sad right now. It’s evident. And that’s not going to change from a few sweet words and kisses. He’s in the thick of it, dealing with the precise reason panic attacks have plagued him all these years, and unfortunately, as much as I wish I could change the way his mind taunts him, the only person who has control over his doubts is him.

“Oh shit,” Eli says, his gaze locked on the bar’s entrance.

I follow his line of sight to the door as Ali walks into the crowded bar. She doesn’t even look in my direction. The first thing her eyes lock on is Marc and his latest friend pinned to the wall, going at it and apparently not needing fresh oxygen.

“Ali!” I call out, trying to break her stare.

She quickly glances in my direction before her gaze falls right back to Marc. After a beat, she brings her attention back to Eli and me, heading our way.

“Are you okay?” She looks smaller than usual right now, and the sadness she’s been living in is evident on her face.

“I texted Cam to see where you guys were,” she explains. “I figured it was time to leave my room.”

Okay, maybe this won’t be as much of a car-wreck as I imagined. Maybe Ali just wants to hang out with the group like we usually do. Maybe it won’t bother her to see Marc with another woman. Multiple other women.

“Why haven’t you talked to Marc yet?” Eli asks, the alcohol taking away any filter he may have had.

“I’m going to.”

“Do you want me to get you a drink?” I ask.

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