Page 66 of Another Story

My feelings are hurt. A deep ache that forces me to sit back and stare at the moon, high in the sky.

And it isn’t the superficial kind of hurt that can be fixed with an apology. My feelings for myself, and for Ezra…they ache.

When did lust give way to love?

At what point did I sign my heart away?

I’ve checked my phone all night since I left his house, praying that there’d be a text message with an apology, even if it doesn’t fix me.

I need him totry,even in vain. If only for my own pride. If only to remind me that I’m not what Ivan said I am. That we aren’t doing what he thinks we’re doing.

I’m sitting on my front step, my knees tucked against my body, when I see headlights stop at the end of the driveway.

I know it’s him. Who else would be sitting here, waiting for me?

I’d read somewhere that these were the witching hours, and I pray for strength as I regard the Jeep parked yards away. With a quick glance toward the guest house, I shake off my nerves and walk out into the night.

Barefoot and anxious, I make my way toward the car, and when he steps out, his eyes tired, we walk down the driveway along the road in silence. The farther we get from my house, the more I think about what it would be like to walk beside him in other parts of the world.

“That guy was a piece of shit,” I mutter, sneaking a glance in his direction, wondering what we’re doing here. Volleying back and forth between wanting him to tell me that what Ivan said isn’t true and just calling the entire thing off, even if it cuts me down.

Ezra nods in agreement and the back of his hand brushes against mine. The jolt of his skin against mine reminds me. It’s a reminder I didn’t need. One that speaks of Emily Brontë and shower sex. Of secret waterfalls and fucking against a bookshelf the night we met.

“But you aren’t a piece of shit,” I inform him, feeling the need to tell him the closest thing I can to the truth. It isn’t an, “I’ve missed you,” or an, “I somehow managed to break all my rules fall in love with you,” but it is what I can afford to give.

He nods again as we continue on, but he doesn’t remain silent. “I’m just good enough for you to fuck, but not for you to be with.” It isn’t accusatory, it’s uttered as a sad fact.

“I just listened to your business partner tell you that you’re paying for pussy.” And this is where my hurt feelings come out to play. This is where I say the wrong things. “That’s pretty much what we’re doing here, isn’t it?”

Do I let my fears continue to speak? Like maybe he’d done this before? Maybe this was all a trick to get me to fall for his bullshit so he could sink his teeth into the store?

“It’s so fucking far from that, and you know it,” he grinds out and there so much truth behind his words but I’m only familiar with what mine looks like.

He stops and looks at me and it takes me back to walking to the bookstore after watching fireworks with a stranger who felt more familiar than anyone I’d ever known.

“I want more than stolen moments with you, Eloise.”

His words box me in, even as I try to push him away. I’m happy with his truth but I wish it were a lie.

We are more than physical beings. Him, trying to force his way into my soul. Me, trying to force my way out of his presence.

“Truth or dare?” he murmurs, still staring at me, reaching for me. It’s all too much.

“No more,” I beg, fighting as he tries to hug me. “I can’t play these games anymore.”

There’s too much at stake and now love is involved. What the hell am I supposed to do here? What option saves me? Saves the bookstore?

I am raw and wounded, split wide open, and I don’t know if I can stand letting him in and then letting him go. I can’t bear the hope that lives and breathes on his tongue.

“If you want to pretend that this has meant nothing to you…” he says, letting me go. In my fight, I don’t expect him to surrender, and I fall to the ground, gravel digging into my bare thighs. He tries to help me up, his hands bracing my shoulders, and I push him away.

Shame.

I’ve sold my body in return for my family’s dream. And I’ve fallen in love in with him, with a dream.

The ever-consuming fear has me lashing out, my head bowed as I deliver the blow, wishing him away.

“The summer is almost over. You can’t treat me like yourwhoreanymore.” I tremble as I speak, my hair and the night covering my face, hiding my tears from him.

---