Page 85 of Playing Games

She turns to meet my eyes as I stand from the couch.

“I think you’re being obtuse, and you’re too smart to be doing it without purpose. This—what happened between us—isn’t something you can write off as research or statistics, and you know it. We’re talking about emotions here. And whether you want to face it or not, youdohave feelings for me, and if you push me away now, you’re going to regret it.”

Her bottom lip quivers. But she schools her face so quickly, I almost question if I even saw that in the first place. “I think you need to leave.”

“So, that’s it?” I question, but she makes a point to grab my duffel bag that sits by her kitchen island and hand it to me.

“Goodbye, Blake.”

“Goodbye for tonight, or goodbye forever?”

“Goodbye…forever.”

I shut my eyes and have to force myself to breathe through the pain. When I feel like my lungs are made of something slightly less dense than lead, I lean forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

“When I said I love you, I meant it,” I whisper. “One day, you’re going to admit to yourself you feel the same. I just hope it’s not too late.”

And then, I leave.

Walking away hurts like a motherfucker, but my dignity is all I have left.

With Lexi Winslow, there’s no forcing the issue. The only option…is to wait.

Saturday, August 2nd

Lexi

My morning alarm is the equivalent of someone running their nails down a chalkboard, and I reach out to slam my hand down on my phone, desperate to end the noise trauma. Instantly, the sweet sounds of silence fill my bedroom, but the sun decides it’s the perfect time to peek in through my window and add an extra blanket of warmth to my skin.

I groan and drag my pillow over my face, my usual routine of getting out of bed at the first sounds of my alarm clearly not happening.

But as I turn over to my side and open my eyes, my vision slowly adjusting from the darkness of my lids to the brightness of the morning, I fixate on the empty spot on my mattress beside me.

For the past few weeks, that spot hasn’t been empty at all. It’s been filled with the larger-than-life man I kicked out of my apartment last night.

He told me he loved me. And I didn’t say anything at all.

He told me he wanted to be with me. And I asked him to leave.

I can’t even begin to explain or understand my reaction to his words. All I know is that my physiological reaction was intense. My heart pounded inside my chest and my ears rang and my feet felt like they had been cemented to the floor.

And the hurt I saw on his face reminded me so much of how I’ve felt after causing tears in my mom’s eyes.

I know I’m the problem. I just don’t know how to fix it.

I turn back over onto my side and snag my phone from the nightstand, my fingers instantly unlocking the screen and opening up my ongoing text chat with Blake.

Are you okay?I type, but my finger hovers over the send button, hanging precariously in the air as I try to decide what to do.

I want to send it, but upon analysis, I have no idea where I’d go if he were to answer.

I delete the three words and lock the screen of my phone.

I don’t want to hurt him, but I don’t know how to be anything else but me. And one of the hardest parts about being me is that I don’t feel things the same way most people do.

Love is abstract. It defies the logical processes my mind utilizes, and the idea of things like soul mates or finding the man of your dreams has always sounded like an unrealistic notion to me.

But Blakebelievesin those things—believes he’s found them in me; that much is clear.

---