Page 81 of Devoured
She crossed her arms over her chest, blocking herself off from me. I set the suitcase on the ground, waiting for her to change my mind. To tell me not to leave. To tell me to stay.
“Just don’t,” she whispered.
But that wasn’t good enough.
She didn’t want me there. She never had. She had gotten what she wanted.
I turned towards the door, grabbing the suitcase again.
“So that’s it,” she said, her voice louder now. “You have no loyalty for us?”
“What ‘us’ are you talking about?” I snapped around again, facing her. “There is no ‘us,’ Iris. It’s just you.” I pointed at the window as if we could look through it to the Dahlia District. “You own that club now. You were so positive that you knew how to run it before. So sure of yourself, that you could do itallon your own.” I sneered. “So figure it out yourself.”
She didn’t move. I uncurled my fingers of my free hand, loosening my grip on the suitcase. I pointed at the door.
“I’ve got to lock up,” I said. The doors would lock automatically behind her, but I wanted her out of there. Away from me. The longer she stayed, the harder it was to fight. “My penthouse doesn’t come with the Dahlia District.”
She hesitated, but then she crossed in front of me. Tears were in her eyes, but she blinked them back, holding her chin high, not letting me see her waver. I waited at the door, taking my time, watching her disappear into the elevator.
A woman like Iris handled herself. She never needed me.
I went to the window near the elevator and peered out, watching her cross the parking lot. The black-haired man who had been there before was gone now, but Iris took up space, made herself known, stomping on the ground as if she hated the earth.
With every single moment, she had presence. An explosion of passion. Her smile when she realized we were watching a Cirque du Ciel show. The grin when she saw the farmers’ market. The encompassing hug she gave me when she knew I had found her best friend.
She was right. I shouldn’t have manipulated her. Lied to her. Played with her. Because in the end, I did respect Iris.
But it was done now.
I pushed the elevator button for the ground floor. The cart raced down, and I stalled at the concierge, pausing before I called my driver.
None of this was what I wanted.
So what the fuck was I doing?
Going to New York, moving onto the next goal, was the life I had always planned for myself. I couldn’t change it now.
So I got in the car, and let the driver take me to the airport. Cursed the pounding headache. Damned all of the things I wished I could have been.
The truth was that even if I changed everything, if I stayed, Iris deserved more than I could give her. Comfort. Stability. Love. Home wasn’t a concept that existed for me, and that’s what Iris needed.
But I wasn’t any of those things.
