Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“You never really wanted to walk away.”
“Yes, I did.” She loses her battle to retain her emotions, her eyes brimming. It’s both relieving and crushing. “I fought you off. I knew I was heading for trouble, but you were relentless. What happened? Did you run out of married women to fuck?”
I flinch. How could she say that? “No, I found you,” I say, moving forward, but she maintains the distance, stepping away. She’s scared of my touch.
“Get out,” she orders, making her escape. I reach for her, missing her arm, her pace too fast for my lagging, worn-out muscles.
“I can’t. I need you, Ava.”
“You don’t need me!” she shouts, flinging her arm out toward the door. “You want me.” She pulls up, gasping for air, the pure level of her anger exhausting her. “Oh God, you are a dominant, aren’t you?”
“No!”
“Why the control issue then?” she asks. “And the commands?”
Oh, Jesus, where do I even begin explaining this without filling her in on every fucked-up detail of my past? I’m snookered. Because the reality is, I can’t. And what I’m dealing with now—what we’re both dealing with—is set to end this. “The sex is just sex.” Just sex? It’s never just fucking sex with Ava. It’s earthmoving every time. “I can’t get close enough to you. The control is because I’m frightened to death that something will happen to you.” Because everyone I’ve ever loved has been stolen from me. “That you’ll be taken away from me. I’ve waited too long for you, Ava,” I go on, finding words in my bedlam, letting them roll out. “I’ll do anything to keep you safe. I’ve lived a life with little control or care. Believe me, I need you.” She needs to take my word for it. She has to. “Please. Please don’t leave me.” She must see the despair as I approach her cautiously. There must be a small part of her that wants to help me. But she steps away again, avoiding me. “I’ll never recover.”
“Do you think this is going to be any easier for me?” she yells, her eyes overflowing, tears rolling down her cheeks. No. I don’t think it’ll be easier for her. If anything, it’ll be harder, because I would put my life on the fact that she won’t find numbness in alcohol like I will.
“If I could change how I’ve handled things, I would.”
“But you can’t. The damage is done.”
“The damage will be worse if you leave me.” So much worse. There’s still a chance this can be repaired. If I walk out of this room, there will be no going back for me.
“Get out!”
“No.” I will not give up. “Ava, please, I’m begging you.”
She looks away.
“Ava, look at me.”
“Goodbye, Jesse.”
I will not let her do this. “Please.”
“I said, goodbye.” She swallows, and the shift in her persona is like a punch to my gut. And I see it. Resolve. I see the end.
I’m not enough for her. And I absolutely cannot risk spilling my agony, my entire fucked-up story, for her to reject me. I can’t confess my love for her to throw it back in my face. It would destroy the idea of her. It would make me hate her, and I have no energy to hate.
She’s taken away my choices.
It really is the end.
Numb and beaten, I turn and walk away, my despair fading, my anger returning. I pass Sam and Kate in the hall. I don’t look at them.
“Jesse?” Sam calls.
“It’s over.” I say, swallowing hard. I’m over.
I make it to my car and stare at my reflection in the window. This feeling of loss, of grief. It’s embedded on every inch of my worn face. It’s familiar. It’s excruciating.
It’s all my fault.
Again.
My lip curls at the man staring back at me. A man I hate.
And I launch my fist into his face.
38
I push the door of my penthouse closed behind me and go to the kitchen, sliding the box onto the counter and bracing my hands on the edge, staring at it. My heart hasn’t slowed. My pulse is still booming. Has been since I entered the liquor store and bought enough vodka to kill me. I’ve ignored endless calls from John, Sarah, Sam, and Drew. Everyone in the fucking world is trying to get hold of me except the one person who could stop the train crash that’s about to happen. But this pain. This anger.
With no Ava, there is only emptiness without a cure.
I pull out a bottle and unscrew the cap, breathing in deeply, staring at the clear liquid. My nostrils flare. I snarl and take it to my lips, swigging, clenching the side of the worktop with my spare hand, closing my eyes. The burn isn’t so familiar anymore. It hurts, and I gasp, slamming the bottle down on the counter, breathing hard.