Chapter 67
At dinner, my mind replays every moment I’ve had with Declan. Why tonight? I hate him right now. I hate that I still feel a pull toward him, the lingering attraction that refuses to fade. It’s infuriating. I thought I had moved past this, past him. But here I am, my stomach is in knots.
It’s the hangover, and that you’re hungry for dinner. That’s a lie.
Declan keeps looking at me, and I can’t look at him.
Nothing good can come of it. Declan’s advances tonight have thrown me off balance again.
His touch was … I’m not even going to think about how much I liked it.
It’s maddening how he can still affect me like this, how he can stir up emotions I thought I had buried.
I hate him for it, but I hate myself more for responding, for wanting him.
Declan is never going to fucking happen, I remind myself.
Gideon is being his normal affectionate self, but I keep shrugging off his touches.
He’s real, he’s here, and he’s trying. But the drugs.
It’s shattered my sense of stability, and now I don’t know what to believe or what to trust. I thought we were building something solid, something lasting.
But now, doubts creep in. I need time to process it all, to understand what it means for us.
Adam—what did he think would come from that gift?
If he got over his anger … I don’t know.
I’d love to tell myself that there is nothing there.
But that lie is just that. There’s still something there, for both of us and I hate that.
I think about the last time we had sex. It was so perfect.
I am so in love with aspects of him, but I also really fucking hate parts of him.
I sit, silent and detached, while the world around me buzzes with chatter and laughter. I feel like I’m suffocating, trapped in this room with all these people, yet utterly alone with my chaotic thoughts. I’m stuck here, playing the role of the perfect guest, while inside, I’m falling apart.