Page 121 of Burn

Her body is warm against mine, but we can’t stay here forever, so I reach up and turn the shower off. It has a sobering effect. She sits back, blinking up at me through her long, thick lashes. Goosebumps erupt across her skin, and she wraps her arms around herself and shivers.

“I’ll grab us some towels,” I say before standing. She’s still sitting on the tile floor and makes no move to rise. Each step away from her feels like a betrayal, so I rush, needing to be near her again. I only brought one towel, so I grab it and return to her, wrapping it around her shoulders. When she shifts her feet, I grip her shoulders and guide her upright. The tension is thick between us. It’s not angry, just tense and awkward.

She doesn’t speak, and I follow her out of the showers, watching as she stoops to collect her discarded clothes. She dries herself and is pulling her panties up her legs when she notices I’m watching her, dripping water onto the rubber mats that line the floor. “Are you going to get dressed?” she asks cautiously.

“Only one towel,” I reply.

She fixes her thong over her hips and twists, grabbing the towel off the bench and tossing it to me. By the time I’ve used it to dry myself, she’s dressed in her jeans and a plain, gray t-shirt. I’m a confident man, but something about standing here, naked before her, makes me uneasy. I wrap the towel around my hips and step toward the bench. Her eyes widen, and if I weren’t paying attention to every movement and detail, I wouldn’t have seen the nervousness bubbling below her tough exterior.

I flick my eyes to the bench behind her. Sitting is the last thing I want to do, but I do anyway, not wanting her to be nervous or afraid. She stares down at me, worrying her bottom lip. Her hair is wet, and it soaks the shoulders of her shirt, so I grab the discarded black hoodie and hold it out for her.

My hoodie.

I silently watch as she takes it and pulls it over her head, tucking her hands inside the sleeves. She shifts back and forth on her feet, then quietly says, “I’m gonna use the restroom.” Without waiting for a response, she spins and rushes away. I take the opportunity to quickly dress; grateful I packed something other than my pre-game suit. I’m in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, my gear packed away, when she returns, pausing on the other side of the room.

Say something, you idiot.

“I guess I should go,” she sighs.

I jump to my feet, holding a hand out before me. “No.” It’s more intense than I mean it to be, and she visibly flinches. “Shit. Sorry. Please, don’t go.”

She smiles. Just a little. It’s more sad than happy. “I’m not any good at this.”

“You?” I chuckle. “I’m the one who’s blundered this from the start. We need to talk, right?”

Nodding, she agrees, “Yeah, we probably do, but…” she looks around. “Can we get out of here?”

“Yeah, we can go to my place.” Her expression lets me know that’s off the table. “Or, not. We could go to your place? A coffee shop? Fuck, Lex, I’ll go anywhere you want me to go.”

She considers this and eventually responds, “Okay. We can go to my place. I didn’t drive, so I can meet you there.”

God, why is this so fucking awkward?

“I have my truck. I can give you a ride.”

“Okay.”

She turns and slowly exits the room. I have to stop myself from fucking running after her, terrified by the time I make it out the door, she’ll be gone, and I’ll never find her again. I keep a small distance between us, and as she walks, the smell of her perfume fills the hall and floods my senses — that warm, sweet vanilla cookie scent. After a few weeks of her being gone, my apartment lost that smell, so I sprayed the perfume she left behind, but it wasn’t the same. It was too synthetic, and despite being similar, it wasn’ther.

I inhale deeply, allowing her to fill my lungs. It’s a scent I could never forget, and one I hope to keep around. Forever, ideally. When we step outside, the wind chases the scent away and replaces it with the crisp smell of fall. We walk in silence, me one step behind, until we near the truck. Only then do I rush around her to open her door.

The drive is short, but time moves slow.

She shifts beside me, pulling her feet onto the seat and tucking herself into a ball, keeping her stare fixed on the passing city. My heart pounds in my ears, and I keep my hands lockedon the steering wheel. Ten and two, like I’m a teenager in a driving test. It’s the only way I can stop myself from reaching out for her. The stillness is devastating until she clears her throat and says, “You can park at your place, and we can walk over.”

Something about it cuts like a knife. It’s a reminder that I put myself so close without her knowledge. That I did so many things to violate her and break her trust.

How the hell do I apologize for everything?

It’s unforgivable.

She doesn’t wait for me to open her door, hopping out of the truck as soon as I shift it into park. I grab my keys and phone and follow. She’s halfway across the parking garage by the time my feet hit the pavement, so I jog to catch up. Always chasing this girl. We pass through her lobby and ride the elevator in complete silence. My mind swirls as I write and rewrite a script for the apology I need to deliver. Everything I come up with sounds so fucking stupid.

She slides the key into the lock on her door, and the mechanism echoes through the hall like a gunshot. The entire door is new, the lock is new, rendering my copy of her key useless. I threw it out weeks ago, anyway — so sure I’d never be welcomed here again. I catch a faint hint of smoke once we’re inside. She flicks the light in the kitchen on, and the first thing I notice is a security camera above the cupboards, pointed at the entrance.

I gave her fucking PTSD.

That thought is a boulder on my soul, crushing me, and I start to reconsider this. Perhaps the best thing for her would be if I walked away. Less than a year with me back in her life, and she’s survived a fire and installed cameras to protect herself from the monster in the dark. Me. I’m the monster in the dark.

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