Page 122 of Burn

I scan the rest of her space. It’s completely different, of course. All the things that made it hers are gone, replaced by new, almost cold furniture. There are no photos, nothing that would immediately suggestshelives here. I hate it. I hate that I miss the space that screamed, ‘Lex.’ There were so many memories and pieces of her here, and now it looks like anIKEAcatalog. When Mildred hops up onto the kitchen table, a sense of relief hits me because this tiny alien is all Lex. She mews and stretches her head toward me, so instead of brushing her off the table, like I want to do because cats on tables are fucking gross, I rub her velvety head. Her purrs fill the silent apartment.

“She’s not like that with anyone else, you know?” Lex confesses, her voice soft and sweet.

I scratch under her chin. “Yeah, well. We had some time to bond.” I stay focused on the cat as I continue. “I didn’t think I’d ever be back here.” Lex doesn’t reply, so I add. “You installed cameras.” My voice cracks on the last word.

Behind me, a cupboard slams, and I spin around. Lex has both hands pressed into the counter, and her shoulders are raised around her ears. It’s a tense stance, and I wait for her to respond, unsure of what I can say. She takes a deep breath. It’s shaky, and on her exhale, she murmurs, “I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, I was scared I’d wake to find you here. Sometimes, I was terrified to be alone.” She slowly turns to face me. “Do you have any idea what a mind fuck that is? To be afraid of someone’s presence as much as you fear their absence?”

Her words land like a sledgehammer to my chest.

Mildred hops off the table, and I pull out the chair and lower myself to sit. In my peripheral vision, she shifts, leaning into the cupboard and crossing her arms. “I’ve never felt more unhinged than when I requested the lock from the old door,” she saysbitterly. My eyes fly up to the door. “Installing it late one night, only to be terrified that I’d granted you access again, so I installed two chains to keep you out.”

I hadn’t noticed them when we arrived — two chain locks, installed unevenly on the door. I drop my head into my hands, overcome by guilt and remorse at the thought of her granting me access, only to restrict it. My throat feels thick when I swallow, and my words stick in my throat. I’m surprised she can hear me when I say, “I threw away the key weeks ago.”

She doesn’t respond right away. The crushing silence stretches between us until I risk a glance her way. Her eyes are fixed on me. Her slim frame is dwarfed by my hoodie, and her mouth is set in a straight line. There’s no warmth in her beautiful face, just a cool, detached expression. It’s so much more intense than if she screamed at me. If she screamed or cried, at least I’d know what she’s thinking, but this expression gives nothing away, and I think this is my only shot. I can’t fumble this again.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” I start.

She laughs. It’s shaky and lacks humor. “The right thing? Tracking me? Haunting me? Lying to me, again and again?” She shakes her head in disbelief.

I need to be clear, because she doesn’t understand what I mean.

“No.” My tone is defensive, and sounds angrier than I mean, so I soften my voice. “No, Lex. The last conversation I had with the person who meant more than anyone, the person I most looked up to, left me with the impression that…” I stumble when it hits me that I got it wrong then, too. My dad’s words echo through my mind, and I got them so wrong.

‘Ensure she knows exactly where she’s supposed tobe.’

Clearing my throat, I continue, “My dad told me to ensure my woman knows her place, at least that’s how I interpreted it, but now I realize I may have gotten it wrong. He never tried to control my mother. He adored her — worshiped her. He stood by her, supported her, encouraged her.” Glancing at Lex, I see her brows are pushed together. “Fuck, I’m not any good at this. I’m sorry.” Her lips part as if she’s going to speak, but I need to get this out, without interruption, so I drop my eyes to my hands and press on. “I crossed every fucking line. I thought — fuck — I thought if I could be near you, I could show you where you belong: with me. I’ve lost so much throughout my life. Everything that matters the most slipped through my fingers, and I thought…” I trail off.

My heart pounds painfully in my chest.

“You thought what, Adrian?”

“If I showed you that there was no escaping me, no other option, you’d stay.” The words sound so fucking stupid as I say them; as if I am a caveman, incapable of rational thought or reason. “After everything, I believed I fuckingdeservedyou, and I realize now that I haven’t earned that right. I haven’t earned you.”

I sound desperate.

Because I am. I only have one chance, and there’s so much on the line. Fear claws at my chest, and my hands tremble, so I ball them into fists, hoping to disguise how terrified I am of losing her. The seconds tick by, each one longer than the last. For a moment, I consider dropping to my knees and begging for forgiveness, promising her I’ll never fuck up again, but I know I will. I’ve fucked up again and again for years.

Just say it.

“I think I knew that first night,” I whisper. “In that bar. You turned around, and I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life. It shook me to my core because you were so far from what I thought I wanted up to that point. You stood there, rock solid in yourself. Arms folded defiantly across your chest, unwavering and unshakable. I suppose it terrified me, because until you, I’d convinced myself that I was unshakable, but you shook me, and in hindsight, I think I knew right then and there but refused to accept it. So, I turned it into something else. Something dangerous and obsessive.”

I know I’m rambling, and she has no idea what I’m trying to say. “I didn’t mean to become this person. I didn’t mean to scare you, butIwas scared, so I dragged you down into that darkness with me. I chose wrong every step, and in turn, I kept ruining it. I kept fucking ruining you; the person I —” Her warm scent floods my sense, and I know she’s moved closer, but I don’t allow myself to look up. “I’ve never said these words. No, I mean, I have, but I’ve never said them and meant them. I think I wanted to say them that night in the bar, then in that restaurant when you stood there, again firm in your beliefs and opinions, and every time you dug your heels in and refused to bend. God, you’re so fucking stubborn, and so much stronger than maybe even you realize, and it intimidates the fuck out of me, but I also love it. I love the fire, the intensity, the fight in your soul.”

Her leg brushes mine, and I’m almost there, the words are almost out, so I slam my eyes closed. “And you. I love you, and if you tell me to leave, I’ll go, and I’ll never come back. Not for me, but because I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Just tellme what you need, and I’ll work the rest of my life to be what you need, even if it means being out of your life.”

Every fiber of my being shakes and threatens to break, but when I open my eyes, they meet hers. She’s on her knees before me, eyes searching my face. The corner of her mouth lifts into a soft, half-smile, and her tone is honey-sweet when she asks, “Are you done?”

I sigh, it’s stuttered and resigned, and I have no words left, so I nod. Her hands move, sliding up my legs and pushing my hands off my knees. I shift back, sitting up, taking in her wild hair that’s dried into a mess of frizzy waves. Her dark eyes are more gray than usual, like storm clouds. They’re so uniquely different than any eyes I’ve ever seen. They change with her mood, or the environment she’s in, and now they’re gray.

She shifts, pushing herself up from the floor, and slowly crawls into my lap. Her legs straddle mine, and she presses her hand into my chest, over my heart. I breathe, trying to calm the racing muscles, but it’s no use, not with so much at stake. When I start to drop my stare, she places her hands on both sides of my face and pleads, “Don’t look away from me.” Her thumb slowly strokes over my stubble. “I don’t think I can tell you that I knew that first night. But I do think I knew you were here, in my space, long before that letter confirmed it.” She speaks slowly and intentionally. “When I came home after the fire, and knew you weren’t here, this place didn’t feel like home. It felt cold and desolate. So, I filled it with things that made me think of you.”

I allow my eyes to scan the room. It’s missing the brightness that made it so uniquely her before, but what I hadn’t realized is that everything is darker. The couch is black leather, and the table we’re seated at is identical to the one I bought for my place after she moved in. It’s subtle, but the space is undeniably more masculine. She waits for my attention to return to her face. “None of it helped, and I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to sort out how to tell you that. How do I tell you that despite it all, the lies, the manipulation, the hurt, that I want you here?”

Her words leave me breathless.

She’s watching me, waiting for my reaction, but I’m too stunned to speak.

She wants me here.

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