Page 68 of Out of the Dark

He turns toward me, startled, and assesses me with a furrowed brow. "What makes you ask that?"

"Because you clearly have some sort of hang-up when it comes to relationships, even before I came along, and I don’tget it." I cross my arms and hold his gaze as we stand in front of his parked car in the cool night air.

"It’s not that simple," he says, as if that’s a suitable explanation for anything.

"Then tell me. Why is the idea of me being your girlfriend so terrible? It’s not like we don’t already act like a couple in every way that matters."

He sighs in defeat, knowing I won’t drop the conversation so easily. "The idea of you being mine isnotterrible. But you have so much more to experience in life."

I can tell he’s not saying everything he’s thinking, so I press. "So?"

"So, I won’t be the one to hold you back, and once you realize how much more is out there, you’ll leave. Your life—your freedom—has just begun. I won’t be the one to hold you back."

His expression falls, and all the anger that had been thrumming through my veins seeps out of me. The defeated look on his face just makes me feel sorry for him.

"You’re wrong," I say in a softer voice. "My freedom may have just begun, but no matter how much I experience, there’s one constant: I always look forward to coming home to you."

There’s a flicker of hope in his eyes before his forlorn expression returns. "We’ll see," is all he says.

"Yes, we will."

He may not believe me, but I’m determined to prove from here on out that he doesn’t have to worry about losing me once I see what else the world has to offer. I wasn’t lying when I said that being with him is what I look forward to most every day. I don’t know who in his life made him believe that he isn’t worth loving, isn’t worth staying for, but I’ll spend every single day proving him wrong until he believes me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CLAIRE

I can’t sleep. After our heavy conversation outside Club Caliber, Mark and I had gone home with the unspoken agreement that neither of us would bring up the topic again tonight. I had retreated to my room, and he had done the same.

Now, I’m lying in bed feeling anything but okay. Every time I attempt to move, my limbs feel like they’re made of lead, as if the intense pleasure from earlier has drained every ounce of energy from me. But it's not just physical exhaustion; it's something heavier, something deeper that sinks into the pit of my stomach and crawls up into my chest.

My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a chaotic mess that I can't seem to untangle. But it keeps returning to the same worry—that maybe I really am just a plaything for Mark, a pity project that he took in who also just happens to be pretty enough to fuck. I’m a fun, temporarydistraction in his life, while he’s the center of mine.

I think back to what happened at the club earlier—first, the overwhelming, intense moments that required me to have total trust in him, followed by the constant insecurity that plagues my mind. That I’m not enough; That I’ll never be enough. He has literal decades of experience compared to me, and I’m barely learning the ropes of how to be a functional adult. We’re complete opposites on a practical level, so even though the connection between us is undeniable, it’s no wonder he wouldn’t want me long-term. He made that plenty clear when correcting the man about me not being his girlfriend.

Tears well up in my eyes as the insecurity only grows. Why am I feeling this way? Earlier, I was disappointed but determined to prove Mark wrong about whatever deep-seated issues he has with relationships. But now, everything feels hopeless and borderline depressing. I try to hold back the tears, but they fall anyway.

The lethargy taking over my body is nothing compared to the deep, dull emotional pain infiltrating every part of my heart and mind.

And the worst part is, the only person that could help right now is the one I’m crying over.

Actually? Screw it. We’re not mad at each other, but even if we were, I think back to his words from a few weeks ago when he promised me he’d be there for me if I ever need it.

My fear of showing him this much vulnerability is outweighed by my need for comfort. For him.

I slip out of bed and quietly make my way down the carpeted hallway. My hand trembles as I pause before knocking on Mark’s door. It’s a soft knock, but it's enough to stir Mark from his sleep.

His footsteps sound, followed by the door opening, revealing Mark in only his underwear, his chest bare, his hair tousled from sleep. His eyes widen with concern as he takes in my tear-streaked face.

"Claire, what's wrong?" He pulls me into his arms immediately, and I lean my head on his chest, grateful for his strong, warm embrace.

"I-I don't know," I stammer, sniffling between the words. "I was fine for a bit, but now I just feel sad, and you said to come to you if I needed you and—"

I cut myself off, partly because I’m rambling and partly because I don’t know what else to say.

Mark leads me to his bed then pulls me onto his lap, smoothing his hand over my hair and keeping an arm around my waist.

"Shit," he mutters.

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