66. Let Her Cry #2
His eyes widen on me. “What scares the livin’ shit outta you is you know exactly what this is.
You know exactly how I feel about you.” His gaze flicks across my face, then chest, back to my face.
“You been knowin’. That you and me? Us? It’s everything, Allison.
And it’s never gonna end. We're never gonna stop feelin' this way.”
My arms hang at my sides,
and I glance off.
“Allison, fuckin’ look at me.”
I do, and his palm flies back out.
“It’s everything. The thing.
“Like, this is the one. This is it.
“And if we lose each other?” His hand drops. “Then someday, some girl’s gonna look at me and go, ‘It’s always gonna be her, isn’t it?’ and I’ll tell her, ‘Yeah. It’s Allison. Always.’”
His throat bobs once,
eyes drifting between mine.
“And some motherfucker’s gonna ask you what the fuck happened to you. And you’ll think Andrew… ‘cause you’ll never admit it out loud.
“That’s what this is.”
He glances off, shaking his head.
“What we got? This ain’t the kinda thing you get twice. It hits once in your life, if you’re lucky.” He looks back at me, then shrugs. “It’s the kind of thing that rewrites you or ruins you.
“Forever or funeral,
“ain’t nothin’ between.
“That’s why it scares the fuckin’ shit outta you.”
I’m suddenly cold again,
a shiver running up my arms.
“Allison, listen to me,” he says, weak. “I already fucked up, okay? I fucked up bad, did shit I can’t take back now. Believe me. I’d give anything for a do-over. But I been countin’ on what we got’s stronger than my mistakes, so I’m beggin’ you. Don’t fuckin’ give up on me now.”
I stare…
taking in his beautiful face—
his dark, heavy eyes,
like velvet midnights,
his expressive brows,
his melancholic mouth,
his jawline that belongs on the cover of vintage vinyl.
I take in how perfect he is to me,
how perfect even his words are.
How he always says the right thing…
when Raymond’s voice slips into my head…
‘They’ll always say what you want to hear
if they think it’ll get them what they want.’
My stomach turns. ‘Cause that's something Raymond is right about. Men who love you don’t always know what to say. Men who want something always somehow do.
And now I feel sick.
“It’s everything,” I repeat.
His eyes don’t leave me.
“Yeah. Everything,” he echoes.
I nod. “Everything, but love.”
His mouth snaps shut.
Then his eyes slide off me.
Mine start to water from that alone.
“Allison—”
“No, it actually makes a lot of sense.”
I drum against the counter,
looking down at my hand,
blinking the water from my eyes.
“Performers, actors, porn stars—they all got a no-go list, don’t they? A list of things they’d never do or say. Especially when sex is involved.” I lift a shoulder, the more I’m talking, the more everything’s falling into place. “It’s to keep the line between what’s real and what’s fake.”
His head tips back with a fuckin’-hell laugh. “That’s where we’re goin’? I’m fuckin’ fakin’ this now?”
I grind my teeth shut,
trapping the sob in my throat.
And when I look up,
and our eyes meet,
he sees how serious I am.
But I stay dry-eyed,
refusing to hand over my tears.
He already owns my heart,
my body,
my mind.
He’s taken possession of me.
My tears are the last fucking thing I haven’t given him, the last private thing that still belongs to me.
“Been going at it for ten years now,” I say, lifting my palm. “Only real thing you know how to give anyone is an orgasm.”
He falls back on his heel,
staring at me in disbelief,
shame in his eyes, shock in his face.
His hurt smile flashes fast,
then disappears.
“You think all this was me givin’ you a fantasy? That I wanted to be your fuckin’ fantasy?”
My smile is so sharp I wish it’d cut off the tear hanging from my lashes.
“No, Andrew.
“You didn’t want to be my fantasy.
“You wanted me to be yours.”
His face goes pale, then he shakes his head fast. “Allison, no—seriously? C'mon. That’s not what this is.”
I keep going, “First girl who made you feel like a man and not a mouth. First girl to make you feel anything, really. First girl to make your dick hard. Your dream girl, right? And I think once in your miserable fucking life, you looked at me and said to yourself,’ You know what? My fuckin’ turn.’”
“Allison.” His brows raise. “Stop.”
I don’t. “Bet you’d keep me for as long as you could. At least until the river runs dry.”
His palm slaps the counter.
“Jesus. Seriously, fuckin’ stop!”
I lift my arms up at my sides, voice shaky. “Tell me the point then.”
My vision smears,
so I stare harder.
“For months,
“you’re beggin’ me to let you in,
“you’re tearin’ down my walls.
“And once you do,
“this is what you do with it?
“What was the goddamn point, huh?”
“Why beg me to let you in?
“Why would you sleep with me every night—inside me, Drew.” I clap hard. “INSIDE ME!
“Why make love to me.
“Why kiss me like you do.
“Why stand there and tell me we’re everything. And why hang me out to dry when I tell you I love you?
“You freeze up, acting shocked?
“WHAT THE FUCK did you expect?”
The hurt takes my throat with both hands, squeezing each time I try to swallow back the sob. Then a tearless cry breaks through when I finally say,
“Why would you do this to me?
“You knew what this would fuckin’ do to me.”
His bloodshot eyes hold mine, wet and wrecked, and then he cuts them sideways, furious, knuckle catching the tear on his jaw.
“You can do all that, say all that,” I continue, “but not the one thing that’d help me breathe.
And you wanna know what that tells me?” I ask, not giving him a chance to answer.
“It tells me you can’t, ‘cause then that means this would be real. And this was never supposed to be real to you. And that tells me this was never gonna last.”
His phone buzzes on the counter.
He silences it. “Allison, I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m not.” He pinches between his eyes, blinking hard. Then looks back up at me. “I’m never fuckin’ leavin’ you.”
“That’s too bad,” I say. “‘Cause you can either tell me what this is then, or you can get the fuck out.”
His phone buzzes again.
He silences it again, his hand shaking.
“You know. You fuckin' know,” he bites out. “And that's why this hurts so goddamn much. So don't do this. Don't stand there and act like you don't know what you are to me.”
Buzzzz.
His jaw tightens.
My eyes go wide. “Answer it.”
“No.”
“Just answer the phone, Andrew.”
“No. This is more important right now.”
“It’s ringing like somebody died.”
The words land in his eyes.
His expression changes.
The phone stops.
Then starts again.
Buzz.
He swipes it off the counter.
Looks at the screen,
then he answers fast.
I watch as he suddenly goes tense.
“Yeah, this is Andrew Harding.”
My stomach churns sick.
He listens, gripping the back of his neck.
“Yeah. I’m her proxy.”
I round the counter,
my heart in my throat.
“When?” he says,
eyes finding mine,
like he needs me.
“Okay. Yeah. We’re comin’.
“We’re comin’ right now.”
I grab his shirt at his waist.
“Andrew?”
His throat bobs.
He shakes his head in disbelief.
Then he says,
“They got a liver.”