Page 100 of Beautiful Beast

My time living like one of the elites is coming to an end.

And even though it breaks my damn heart, my time with Adam is ending even sooner.

Chapter 22

Adam

Bellehasbeenrelentlessabout trying to get in touch with me.

After what happened, I owe her a conversation. I hurt her, whether it was intentional or not, and I’m lucky that she’s still willing to speak to me, let alone pursue being with me.

But she’s clearly lost her mind if she still thinks that she wants us to have a relationship, and she doesn’t understand what’s best for her – because it’s definitely not me.

The problem is that I want to be with her and have a normal life together so fucking badly and it’s out of my reach.

When she calls while I’m in the middle of eating dinner – greasy and delicious takeout pizza because apparently eating my feelings is something I do now – I answer.

“Oh, shit,” Belle says. “You figured out how the phone works.”

“Funny, princess.”

Sometimes I’m like an outsider watching my own life with disbelief. Before Syria, I would have absolutely dated Belle and loved every second of it. But I need time and it’s not fair of me to ask her to wait until I heal, especially because the fixed version still might not be good enough.

And I don’t just mean my face.

My main concern is having her safe in my presence whether I’m awake or asleep, and until that can be guaranteed, we can’t have a normal relationship. She shouldn’t have to put everything on hold for a “maybe” and hope things work out.

She deserves to be someone normal.

Someone whole.

Someone who can give her the things that matter in life, things that have nothing to do with money.

Now it’s just a matter of convincing her because cutting her off is so goddamn hard.

“I’m going to come up. We need to talk.”

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She hangs up, and based on how quickly she knocks on the door, she must have run. When I open it fully, we stare at each other for a solid six beats. It’s been too long since I’ve had her in my arms, and soaking her in is a luxury I’ve sorely missed.

Belle pushes past me, Buster right behind her, and heads straight toward my pizza slice, taking a massive bite. She goes to the wine room, choosing a vintage bottle of Domaine Leroy Richebourg Grand Cru and pouring us both a glass.

“Why have you been ignoring me?” she demands.

“I don’t want to hurt you again.”

The marks on her neck are faint but visible, and I know exactly what put them there – me. She should never feel fear or pain from her partner’s hands, and I can’t control myself if I’m asleep and not aware that I’m doing it.

“You’re hurting me now,” she whispers.

“I meant physically.”

“Adam, we need to figure this out. Tell me all the reasons you think we can’t be together so I can tell you why you’re wrong.”

---