16. It’s Me, Not You #2
I know that I want that now. I can’t deny it when the veracity of that knowledge made itself so completely clear the day Kingston showed up and sent me into a mental tailspin.
I’d been fighting it so hard because I was so afraid that history would repeat itself; that I’d give away my heart only to have it trampled and spit on again.
And now, in hindsight, I can see all the clues, the many lights in Marcus that never existed in Kingston.
I know they aren’t the same, but it can’t be a coincidence that the first time I start to give in to a dream, my worst nightmare comes blaring through to obliterate it.
It’s not even about knowing better or being scared that Marcus will do me like Kingston did, because I know he won’t.
But I can’t give him what he deserves. I’m so afraid of reliving a pain even remotely similar to the one I’ve lived through that I can’t let go of the pieces of me that Marcus deserves the most.
I’m weak, completely shamefaced, not even capable of moving past a cruel liar, and that’s before even revealing the whole story. That’s the husk I am, and I’m so unworthy of Marcus’s affections, it’s a crime against nature to even entertain the idea of giving in to them.
So as much as I love his eyes on me, as much as I wish they’d always be on me, I have to end this. I have to make him understand that he needs to move on to someone healthier than the shitshow that is me.
I look up and meet Qi’s eyes. “You guys go on ahead, we’ll be out in a second,” I tell him.
Qi’s lips immediately dip down into a frown.
He takes me in, and I can tell he knows what I’m about to do, and I can just as easily tell he completely disagrees with me.
I’ve never known a time when the two of us were so wholly out of sync, but I need to do this.
He must see the resolution on my face because he shakes his head slightly before letting out a frustrated huff.
“Hypocrisy is not a good look for you, Qiang,” he says with a meaningful look before grabbing Tristan’s arm and walking out the front door.
I groan inwardly at the reminder of the conversation we had when he was on the fence about Tristan.
He was so scared he wouldn’t be enough for him, and I could sense my brother was thinking about turning Tristan down against his better wishes because he felt he wasn’t good enough for Tristan.
I very specifically told him not to do that, that it’s the most selfish way a person can self-sacrifice because all it does is hurt everyone for no reason.
I get the parallels between that conversation and my resolution to end this with Marcus now, but there’s one massive difference between the two scenarios.
My brother is a completely whole and amazing person with everything in the world to offer; I’m a fucking shell incapable of even making myself happy.
Taking what he wanted made everyone happy.
Taking what I want would be the exact opposite.
Marcus raises a curious eyebrow at the comment, his mouth also dipping down into a frown, likely taking in the unhappy tension for the bad news that it is. Once the door closes behind Tristan and Qi, I take a deep breath and face Marcus.
“Marcus–” I start to say, but he immediately cuts me off, stepping into my space with eyes so compassionate that they make me want to throw myself into his arms and just be held.
Like he could hold me and comfort me in a way no one else would, that for once, in his arms, I might finally be free from the hellish thoughts in my head. I look away from them before I can do anything so cataclysmically stupid and remind myself of the point of this conversation.
“Okay,” he says with that same compassionate kindness that makes a dull ache creep all the way through me.
I swallow hard, fighting desperately for the will to argue back with him when what he said settles in my skull and confuses me with the ambiguity of it.
I raise an eyebrow at him, trying to figure out what he meant by that. “Okay, what?”
He brushes his knuckles under my chin and tilts my head up to meet his eyes.
And the fact that my skin has the gall to light up with his touch isn’t helping at all.
He gives me a wavering smile, one of resolution, which tells me he expected this and has already accepted this.
And the fact that his touch ignites the cells within my skin isn’t helping at all.
Part of me is relieved because I won’t have to argue with him or force myself to be harsh enough for him to see my resolution. But it stings, too, more than just a bit, that he’s so readily conceded defeat, but then again, I have no right to be hurt since that’s how this is supposed to go.
Downright confusing to know a thing needs to happen, to choose to make it happen, and then to be hurt by it. It’s stupid how messy everything is all the time.
“Okay, I’ll do whatever it is you need. You need me to back off, I’ll back off.
You need me to pretend we weren’t moving forward and that this massive thing between us doesn’t have the potential to be amazingly gorgeous, you got it,” he says, taking yet another soul-stealing step closer to me, our faces now close enough for our breath to mingle between us.
“But what good will it do, Qiang? We both know it’s there. But I get that you need time. There’s no way that fucker showing up here wouldn’t be a massive punch to the gut, and I get you need to catch your breath. So I can be just friends for now,” he says.
It takes me a beat to realize he’s not conceding defeat at all.
He’s agreeing to nothing more than a timeout.
A breather, a moment, before he steps back up to the plate, and now, after thinking this might be easier than I thought it would be, I’m gonna have to be more specific to make it clear that it ALL ends here and now.
I take a steady breath and gaze unwaveringly into his stupidly gorgeous obsidian eyes that do very little to help my resolve at all.
“You’re right, that’s what I need, except the part where you’re leaving yourself open to hope for something to change once I’ve caught my breath, because it’s not going to happen.
You are an amazing person, Marcus, and I’ve let myself get really caught up in the dream of you, but you aren’t meant for me. ”
Marcus’s lips part on a breath, his eyes widening lightly before they soften. “I completely disagree with that. Every time I look at you, I know you are the only one who has ever been meant for me,” he says with conviction, his thumb tracing circles along my jawline.
It floors me a bit because he’s said plenty, flirted relentlessly, told me unequivocally that he wants me, but it’s never been this pointed, this ardently firm, and my heart crashes wildly against the cage I’m keeping it trapped in.
I let out a harsh breath and take a step back. His hand drops at the clear statement of boundaries in the action. My face feels bereft the moment his touch is gone, but I hold firm.