Page 64 of Heathen

We're married but we can't stay that way.

This whole situation is just a short trip, a departure from our normal lives, and eventually, whether we want to or not, we have to go back to reality.

I'll return to the grocery store, growing increasingly bitter and hating my job until I quit and find a new one that I know I'll also begin to hate.

He'll spend his time rescuing others and becoming a hero in so many lives.

I pull in a deep breath, swiping my hand over the foggy mirror, and stare into my reflection.

I want to smile and allow myself to live in the moment, but the looming end is inevitable. Just thinking of leaving this house and not seeing him again makes my stomach turn and my skin grow clammy.

I'm not supposed to care. I'm supposed to be the one who wants to leave and get back to my life, but there's something about him and the way his eyes light up when he's near that also makes me want to cling to him and beg him to keep me.

I shake my head, the insanity of that thought a little too close to forming on my lips.

I finish drying off from our shower, before hanging the towel up and pulling a shirt he left for me over my head.

I have no idea what happens when I go into the bedroom.

He could be there or he could be gone.

We didn't have a discussion after I made him come.

We simply washed up, smiling at each other with wordless appreciation.

He got out and toweled off while I rinsed, and then he was gone, closing the bathroom door behind him.

I don't know if he was giving me space after what we've experienced together or if he needed space himself.

Maybe it's my opinion about men, but more than once I've wondered if sex with me would mean anything to him. In my history, men are capable of having sex and it means nothing other than a release, a way to take the edge off with no other emotions involved.

It's never been like that for me. It's how I ended up tangled with an ex-boyfriend who was still married, albeit one who was getting a divorce.

That man is why I left home. When he reunited with his wife, I became the homewrecker, the one who the wife hated and made sure to tell all her friends what I'd done. As if I was the one who darkened his doorstep with lies on my lips rather than the other way around. I had to face the shame in my mother's eyes when she heard the gossip at the local grocery store.

Vegas seemed like a much better choice after that. There are hundreds of thousands of people here and their faces change nearly every day. I was looking forward to it, but then I settled in and found comfort in the same in-and-out routine every day, and now I feel just as stuck as I did back home.

Darkness coats me when I turn the light off and leave the bathroom.

I can sense Ellis in the room, but I walk around the end of the bed and climb under the sheet and blanket without a word. I can't formulate the right words to say right now, and I feel like ifI start talking, I'll blurt things I shouldn't say because they'll be met with him trying to counter my thoughts.

I'm not supposed to be catching feelings for this man, despite the marriage license that binds us together for the time being.

He doesn't speak either, leaving me lying there, gripping the blanket under my chin, and staring up at the ceiling.

I don't know how long I fight the urge to speak, but it seems like days tick by, each second making me more and more uncomfortable than the second before it.

I can't count how many times I open my mouth to speak and snap it closed again. Although I feel like I have a million questions for him, I don't think I'll like any of his answers, and then I feel guilty for not letting him prove to me who he really is.

I'm not a fool. I know that just wanting something from him doesn't mean I deserve it. Wanting him to be a certain way negates who he actually is.

The man is beyond good-looking, and as corny as it sounds, I imagine he could have any woman he set his sights on. So there's a reason why he was single before he showed up at the warehouse. He wasn't in a relationship because he wasn't looking for one.

I have no idea why he volunteered to tangle his life up with mine in the first place.

"Is this weird for you?" I whisper, part of me hoping he's already asleep and won't be capable of answering the ridiculous question.

"Yes," he replies instantly, and the one syllable has the power to make my eyes burn.

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