Page 13 of Make Me Want it Too

Maybe it wasn’t—for him.

I don’t even have words. I’m frozen, mouth open, can’t breathe, can’t think.

I can’t breathe. My chest hurts. Rigid. Cold.

Ten minutes ago, I would have said I loved this man more than anyone in the world, and even if he didn’t proclaim it outwardly, I was confident he felt the same about me.

And now I know he doesn’t. He never did. Because he wouldn’t have been able to treat me like this. Like I mean nothing to him. Like we are nothing.

I want to scream. I want to throw something at the back of his stupid little head. I want him to react. I want something, anything from him.

But I know I won’t get it. I know him.

Fighting with someone who always wins is never worth it. That’s why I never did. And that’s why I won’t now.

My suitcase is conveniently in the corner of the room. I never fully unpacked—a reminder he never let me forget that me living here was temporary. Silently, I go to the bathroom and get my things, double-checking I have all my medical supplies.

I leave his spare key on the kitchen counter, glancing back at his bedroom door. I don’t know, I guess…still hoping he’ll come out and stop me. Tell me he didn’t mean it, and we’ll talk about it in the morning. That we’ll work it out.

Silly me.

There’s no sound. No movement.

So I leave.

It’s not until I’m out on the street, in the dark, not sure which direction to go, that the tears start. I don’t have many people. I was never the going out, social, life-of-the-party type who made friends everywhere. I had Bex and Spencer.

And now I don’t.

I walk up the block and turn left at the corner, still not sure where I’m heading. I should probably call for a ride. Call someone. But I just keep walking.

And then I make another turn—toward the only other place I have to go, toward the only other people I really know—to Livvy and Noah and Wood’s apartment.

CHAPTER 4

WOOD

She’s cried every day since she’s been here.

It’s gut-wrenching.

The first three days were the worst. She didn’t leave. Just laid up in the loft above the kitchen, overlooking the living room and the view out to downtown Seattle, and cried. I could hear her no matter where I was in the apartment. And late into the night as I tried to go to sleep.

She didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially not me. Only Livvy was allowed to go up there and check on her, bring her food and make sure she was eating.

Livvy would carry down whole plates of food she didn’t touch.

I don’t know much about managing type I diabetes, but her not eating was really starting to freak me out. I felt helpless.

Today is day four, her first day back at work, and I am determined to help make it a good day for her.

I’ve been up since five for a weekly conference call, a hazard of consulting for a company on the east coast. And I’ve been in the kitchen since six, “The Sign” by Ace of Base stuck in my head all morning.

The low gurgle and drip of the coffee maker behind me tells me the pot is almost done. Bacon is sizzling and smells divine. I made sure to pick up extra fresh fruits at the store last night and any second now—ding!—yep, there’s the timer for my mini blueberry muffins.

They’re perfectly risen and golden brown, steaming as I place them on the cooling rack.

Noah and Livvy come out first. She’s rubbing her eyes, begrudging all the sun coming in through the giant windows, and his dark eye circles tell me he didn’t get enough sleep. The dark, sunken eyes fit his aesthetic, though. Some days he could pass for the inspiration for the skull tattooed on his throat.

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