Page 18 of Unwanted

I convinced myself time would heal the rift between us and this life-changing event would erase our past. I thought he would want me by his side to help navigate this, but clearly I was wrong.

I had been replaced.

By Samuel. By Clem and Remy. By Arlo.

And it shouldn’t have hurt. I mean, what did I expect to happen?

I had a choice, and I left.

I should be grateful Lennox has all these people who are in his corner, people who have run to his side when he needed them most, people who didn’t leave him once he hit adulthood.

But jealousy was a cruel bitch. It didn’t matter if I had reasons for leaving. It didn’t matter if I thought I was doing the right thing. I was jealous of what they all had with Lennox, and it lingered like the burn after a slap on the cheek or the bruise from a punch to the jaw.

It was selfish to even prioritize my feelings right now. They shouldn’t matter. Theydon’tmatter.

Logically I knew it was inevitable that their lives had continued to move forward without me there, but it didn’t stop the shame. It didn’t stop the guilt, and it sure as hell didn’t stop me from feeling lonely and unwanted.

I give myself a few more minutes to wallow as I continue to soap my body. I scrub at every part of myself, wishing I could get rid of the heavy burdens of my past. That the water could wash it all away, and we could just start fresh.

But I had hurt too many people for that to happen, and I needed to stop having thoughts of grandeur and face my reality.

I had some groveling to do. And I knew it had to start the second I opened this door.

6

ARLO

What the fuck am I doing in here?

Pacing around the room, my eyes dart in the direction of the bathroom one too many times. Frankie is just on the other side of that door, and I’m here, in his space, pretending everything is going to be fine.

That he and I are fine.

That any of this was fine.

My phone beeps and a message from Clem comes through.

Clem: Just checking in.

I tap furiously at the screen.

Me: Really? You have some nerve.

Clem: Stop being so dramatic. I assume you haven’t killed each other.

Me: Now who’s being dramatic?

Me: We’re just at his place. He’s taking a shower.

Clem: Well, that wasn’t what I expected.

Just as I’m about to respond to Clem and ask her what exactly it is that she expected, the bathroom door opens. I lose my train of thought but continue to stare at the screen anyway, not wanting to show Frankie just how rattled being in his presence has made me.

When the silence between us extends to the point of discomfort, I glance up at him and regret it immediately.

Dressed in dark denim jeans and a gray tee, his eyes are on me. They’re still tired, but he looks a lot less defeated than the version of him I’d first seen wearing crumpled clothes and vomiting up his whole stomach and the lining into the trash can.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He lazily runs his hand through his wet hair, like he wasn’t just standing there and staring at me. “I’ll just get shoes on and we can go.”

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