Page 12 of Lucy and Her Wicked Three

She doesn't look at me, walking into the living room, sitting on the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table, sipping her wine. Lucy's a diamond. In her beauty and uniqueness, yes, but also because she's so multifaceted. She has so many layers andsides. Happy, wild, anxious, sad, confused, adorable, focused. I've never met solemn Lucy. She looks like she's already given up on us, and I fucking hate it.

It's how I know this storm cloud between us isn't about fake pictures, a false affair, and her shitty friend Delaney.

She tilts the wine glass, some of the red spilling on her shirt. It doesn't phase her, she just shrugs and keeps drinking.

I sit beside her, giving her a little space, resisting the urge to demand she just forget about everything, let me handle the Delaney bullshit, so we can go back to normal like we were yesterday morning before I kissed her goodbye, rewind time to when everything was right.

But I can't do it. Because as much as I love her, I can't keep such a big piece of myself from her forever. It's been weighing on me for months, and the more my friends demand answers from me, the closer the lie creeps into my life.

"I need space, Mateo." Four words hammer into my heart.

"Look, Lu—"

"No. Something isn't right between us. I know you didn't do this thing with Delaney—I do believe you—but something else is off, has been for a while. Maybe we moved too quickly."

"Lucy, no. We didn't move too quickly. I love you. We're good, this is good, what we have."

"But it's not enough for you, is it?"

I grit my teeth, "Yes. It is. I don't need more than you." I think about Noah and Silas, what they'd say in this situation. They're better at this shit than I am. Communication. Bleeding honesty.

How do I tell her what I really want without scaring the shit out of her? Or repulsing her.

"I'll pack a bag. I'm sure Portia won't mind if I stay with her for a little while."

"No. Absolutely not."

"It's not up to you, Mateo. This is just a lot. I'm… stressed. I'm so stressed. My anxiety is the worst it's ever been. It's not just you and Delaney—"

"There is no me and Delaney."

"It's this thing that's missing between us. I feel like I want more from you, but I don't even know what that means. You're busy, I'm busy. We talk, but we don't, not really. I don't know what I want and it's not fair to you to string you along, no matter how I feel about you."

"You're not breaking up with me, Lucy, so get that shit out of your head right fucking now." I'm tense and angry. I feel her slipping away from me; still, I can't bring myself to talk to her like a normal fucking person. She deserves so much more than me, but I can't let her go. I refuse.

"Mateo…"

I turn and look at her, and when her hand covers mine, I realize how tightly I'm gripping the seat cushion. She stands, like this is final, this is her answer. No. I can't let it go, not like this. Not so quickly, so easily.

So, I compromise. "You can stay here. I'll go."

Lucy flinches. "Where will you…"

"With friends. Not far. But I want you to stay here, in our home. Until you feel better."

"You're not listening, Mateo. This isn't about me feeling sad. Can you honestly tell me you don't feel like something's missing?"

"I never wanted it to touch you, Lu," I mutter, the words slipping out unintentionally.

"What do you mean?"

"I…" Fuck.

"See? This is what I'm talking about."

I want to squeeze your throat till it leaves a necklace of bruises. I want to fuck you so hard, watch your eyes roll into theback of your head until you nearly pass out, stuff you so full of come you can't walk for a week without it dripping out of your pussy. I want to watch my friends take turns with your body, stripping down your walls, tearing all your stress away till all you can do is feel so I can watch the wonder of being alive light up your beautiful face.

Words I want to say and pray she still loves me. Words I don't say because she'll run from me screaming.

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