Page 82 of The Two of Us

It’s not until his hands graze under my shirt, causing my skin to pebble that I’m pulled to my senses.

“Wait,” I breathe. “We can’t.”

“We can.” His mouth consumes mine again and my back arches into him instinctively. Like my body was created for the sole purpose of binding itself to Ambrose King. He tugs my bottom lip between his teeth and I know if I don’t stop now, I never will.

I shove him away before he can kiss me again. “We shouldn’t do this, Ambrose.”

He stops then, rearing his head back a bit to scan my eyes. “Do you want this?”

I don’t respond.

“Tell me what you want, Mara.”

I can’t answer him. Because it’s not about what I want. It doesn’t matter what I want. Not anymore. I no longer allow myself the privilege of wanting anything.

Ambrose shakes his head and his disheveled hair falls into his eyes. “You can’t do this anymore. You can’t keep punishing yourself.”

When I look away, he closes in on me again. I back up against the wall, wishing I could disappear into it. His eyes swim with rage and passion. Each emotion fighting to be front and center. I envy his ability to let himself feel so deeply.

When he speaks, his minty breath tickles my skin. “I want you, Mara. God, you have no idea how much I want you. How much I’ve wanted you. But I won’t touch you again until you ask me to. When you’re ready to admit what it is that you want, you come find me.”

I remain glue to the wall long after Ambrose leaves. It could be five minutes. It could be five hours. Time is an arbitrary concept when you’re in the presence of someone who lays claim to every part of your soul. For the first time in a long time, tears streak down my face as I bend down to retrieve the picture that fell to the floor. I can’t remember the last time I cried and it terrifies me. I’m unraveling. He’s unraveling me. I trail my thumb across the dust-covered surface, a clear streak revealing its subjects.

I smile at the picture of Ambrose, Cat, and me. We’re huddled together under a large towel at the lake, floaties at our feet, smiling wide for the camera. It’s from the summer we learned how to do backflips at Lake Bonnie and watched our first R-rated movie. We were safe. We were happy. We were together. I clasp my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound of my broken sobs.

Somehow, the wooden frame isn’t broken.

Oh, how I wish I was that frame.

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