Page 106 of The Problem with Falling
“Not always,” I argued.
He huffed, and the sound was packed with annoyance. Maybe confusion. Maybe both. “You do.”
“What do you want from me, then, Theo? You want me to fuck you with the lights on? You want me to stare in your eyes when I hit my orgasm?” I sarcastically remarked, being colder and ruder than I’d ever truly been. But I had to. I had to push him away. “You want me to make eye contact nonstop.”
He looked at me as if I were a stranger. Good.
“What’s with the tone?” he questioned.
“You’re asking stupid questions.”
He stared even more perplexed. Great.
“Stop with the attitude, Willow,” he said.
“Then stop with the assumptions about me pulling away from you.” Even though I had been. I was running as far away as possible.
“They aren’t assumptions. They’re facts.”
“You can’t make—”
“Something scared you.” His voice rose as he stood in front of me. “You’re scared, Willow. I get it. Just tell me what happened.”
“I’m not scared of anything.”
“You’re scared ofeverything.” He stepped back slightly and slid his hands into his sweatpants pockets. “We’re not that different, you and me, Willow. So stop acting like we are,” Theo scolded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Because after that one time I told you I’d always see you, I haven’t stopped looking. I notice everything when it comes to you, and I know you’re scared because this feels real.” He took my hands in his. “We are real, and real scares you.”
Yes. Yes. All of that, yes. I puffed my chest out. “I’m not scared.”
“You’re terrified.”
I swallowed hard as my heart pounded aggressively against my ribs. Who did this guy think he was? Who was he to tell me who I’d been? The love of my life. That was who he was.
Keep pushing him away, Willow. Just keep pushing.
“Oh, screw you, Theo,” I spat out.
“You already did that, so what else?”
“What do you mean what else?”
“What else do you have to give me? Because, no offense, I like fucking you, but that’s just not enough. I want more with you. I can’t keep fucking your body when you stopped giving me your mind out of nowhere.”
“You don’t want my mind,” I argued.
“Don’t you get it?” He leaned in toward my ear and brushed his mouth against the edge. “I want every thought that lives in that beautiful mess of your mind.”
My whole chest began to ache as I stood there in the bathroom, feeling my stomach building with a mixture of butterflies and killer hornets. I was going to break his freaking heart.
I hated the whole situation. I hated him pressed against me, but I also hated the idea of him moving away. I hated that he could see me in ways others couldn’t, and I hated the fact that I loved feeling seen for the first time in my life. I hated his words, but I loved his mouth.
How could someone make me feel so conflicted for the first time in my life? How did he manage to see me? How did he see past the mask I’d worn my whole life? And how in the hell was I going to go through with breaking his heart?
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Theo?”
