I lean in, kiss his cheek again, and hope he doesn’t feel how badly I’m shaking.
He doesn’t move.
“Please,” I whisper. “You need to leave.”
“Like hell—”
“Julian, please!” The snap in my voice cracks something open between us.
I see the hesitation in his eyes.
I see the way his hands clench into fists at his sides.
He’s frustrated, and I know he wants to fight me on this, but I pray he doesn’t.
This isn’t his pain to carry.
He cups my face in his hands. “I can stay, Celeste.”
And I know he would if I asked.
Just tell him what you need.
I open my mouth, but the words that come out aren’t a request for help. “Honestly, I’m just tired. I had such an amazing night. Thank you.”
“I don’t like this.”
“You don’t have to. I just need a night.”
“Call me if—”
“I will,” I lie.
He presses a devastating kiss to my lips, then another one to my forehead, before he squeezes my hand, grabs his jacket, and leaves.
The second the door shuts, I drop to the bed and curl in as the next wave hits.
It’s not just cramps. It’s an ambush.
It’s heat and cold, pressure, stabbing and burning, all layered until it feels like my body’s folding in on itself.
Breathing hurts. Moving hurts more.
I force myself up, every step to the bathroom a fight, before my knees give out. I hit the floor, knees to my chest, and press my palms into my stomach like I can hold myself together.
Sweat drips down my temples. Nausea rises hot in my throat. The cold tile kisses my cheek, grounding mein the smallest way.
But it’s not enough. It never is.
For the first time in so long, I feel completely alone.
Thirty-Five
Julian
I shouldn’t have left her last night.
The thought has been wedged in my skull since the second I stepped out of her apartment. It hasn’t dulled. It’s gotten sharper, pressing at the base of my neck and sitting heavy between my eyes.