Page 76 of The Space Between
Maybe we burn too bright… too fast.
Maybe we were always going to.
The silence isa different kind of loud now.
The river still hums through the trees, low and steady. Cicadas pulse in the trees. Somewhere down by the edge of the water, I hear the faint bark of a dog. I think it’s Reece’s hound. I think I hear the faint buzz of a passing boat, too. But none of it touches me. Because my chest is too tight, and my mind is too full, and my body is still echoing with every thrust, every kiss, every damn whisper he makes that feels like it means something in the moment.
It does. I know it does.
But he won’t stay… he can’t.
I should feel used… but I don’t.
I feel... unsettled… afraid. Not of him but of what I feel and what I’m not certain he can give me.
And that’s somehow worse.
I eventually get up, I’ve laid on his damn floor long enough. My legs are shaky and my fingers fumble as I collect my clothes and pull them back on, trying to reassemble something resembling a person. My bra is shoved up. My breasts are exposed to the air. My tank’s got a small tear along the side seam.
I put everything on and straighten my clothing slowly. Part of me wants to stay. The other part doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
I make it as far as the porch before I stop, again. His mug from this morning is still on the steps. The coffee has long gone cold.
There’s a dark ring on the wooden step where his foot was. A stray hair—dark and wavy, mine—is caught in the railing. A pine needle is stuck to the back of my thigh that I didn’t notice until now—I probably picked it up from his floor. I brush it off.
Standing at the railing, I stare at the river until the sun climbs too high and my skin starts to burn… Alone.
He doesn’t come back.
I want to scream but not because I’m angry. Because Ifelt something… and I know he did, too.
But he left anyway.
Hell, that’s probably exactly why he left.
I'm walking backfrom the little general store up the road with a bag of apples, granola bars, and a bottle of cheap wine swinging from my hand,I’m kind of thinking of drinking the whole bottle by myself.Sweat is sticking to the back of my neck, and my thighs are chafing in my shorts, when I hear his voice before I see him.
It’s low, rough, and tired. "Careful with that kayak rack, Reece. I swear, if you scratch another one?—"
"Ididn'tscratch the last one.” Reece exclaims.
"Youdefinitelydid." Gruene says.
Their banter sounds normal. Easy. Familiar.
I round the back of the shop’s just in time to see Reece ducking away, flipping him off over his shoulder as he laughs.
And then, Gruene turns. He stops. For a split second, neither of us says a thing.
His eyes drag over me slowly… like he’s bracing for something… like he doesn’t know whether I’m going to throw the wine at his head or cry or kiss him again.
I do none of those things. I just walk past him.
My hand brushes just in front of his when I do. I don’t touch him, but I know he felt me anyway.
I’m not gone. Not yet.
But I’m also not just going to settle for sex crumbs.
