Page 97 of Be Your Anything
And again.
His arms hold me tightly, the firm embrace of his body equal parts calming and cutting.
Eventually, I pull away, looking up into those eyes I love so much. “I need you to leave,” I say.
And then I turn and walk away. I leave all my shit at the entry and head to the stairs, climbing up to my bedroom.
I stop at the top, bend over, and inhale deeply, trying to catch my breath. It suddenly feels like something vital has been stolen from me, like a lung or a leg or a heart that thought it was happy.
Moving without sound, I head into my bathroom and turn on the shower. I strip out of the stupid costume I put on for him, angrily chucking each piece into the laundry hamper that sits in the corner.
Then I do what I don’t want to do.
I look at myself in the mirror as the steam starts to build inside the glass-walled shower.
My hair and makeup are still mostly intact, though my face is a little smudgy from the tears and where Lucas pulled my face against his chest.
For the first time in my life, I hate what I see in the mirror.
Not because I’m not enough, but because I know I am, and yet I allow myself be treated like I’m disposable.
I slink into the shower and stand under the heavy flow of water, allowing it to pound down on me, wishing it would soothe the ache in my chest as much as it helps with my sore muscles.
A soft click has me turning my head, surprised to see Lucas stepping into the shower, fully clothed.
The sight of him standing there, looking almost as heartbroken as I am, is the last push I need, the last slip of permission before the tears finally rush forth without a care for who sees them.
I don’t want him here right now.
Seeing me like this.
I only want him to see the beautiful version of me, the one that’s happy and easy and sexy.
Not this person who stands like a crumpled war victim in the corner, who hides under the shower spray to mask her tears.
“I’m sorry, Len,” he says, true sadness reflected on his face as he steps towards me.
I don’t answer, turning my face directly under the spray to try to hide my emotions. I take the time to collect myself then turn back to face him, broken mask tattered and slipping but in place for the moment.
“It’s okay,” I say, giving him a sad smile. “I’m just going to get cleaned up and…”
“Lennon.”
I nearly shudder at his use of my name.
He knows.
He knows I’m breaking apart right now.
I feel him step behind me, wrap his arms around my waist, and tuck me in against his chest, my back resting along his front.
This might be the first time we’ve been pressed together and I don’t feel him hard against me.
I don’t know how I feel about it.
His lips drop to press against my neck, along the dampness of my skin on my shoulders.
My breath starts to come in pants, in long labored gasps, because having him so close and knowing I’m going to lose him is almost too much for me to bear.
