34. CHAPTER THIRTY-THIRTY-FOUR #2
My chest caves in so hard I swear I feel it happen.
“I’m sorry.”
I stare at him for a second, close enough that his mouth is still touching mine, and there’s this stupid part of me waiting for something else.
A but.
Anything.
Nothing comes.
My forehead drops against his because I can’t hold myself up without touching him for one more fucking second. Connor stays there, his hand still against my face, and I breathe him in while something inside me finally gives.
My gaze drops to his mouth.
I could kiss him.
He’d let me.
I could kiss him right now and he’d kiss me back, and we’d end up right where we always do. Hands everywhere, clothes on the floor, Connor telling me I’m beautiful until the sun comes up and he remembers he’s not supposed to want me.
A broken sound catches in my throat.
“Yeah,” I manage, forcing myself to pull away. “So am I.”
Cold air rushes into the space between us.
It shouldn’t feel this different. He’s barely a foot away, but the loss of his body heat makes my stomach lurch, and I shove my hands against my sides because I don’t trust them not to reach straight back for him.
“There must be something seriously wrong with me.”
My own voice sounds strange.
Distant.
Connor’s face changes, but I can’t stop now. If I stop, I’ll lose my nerve, and I’m so fucking tired of losing it every time he touches me.
“Because I knew better.”
My breath catches halfway in and I have to swallow before I can force the rest out.
“I fucking knew better.”
My voice breaks on the last word.
I look away, jaw clenching as I try to get myself back under control, but then I look at him again and something in me refuses to leave it there.
I step forward.
I don’t know why.
Maybe because even now, when I’m trying to end this, I still need him to understand.
“I took every scrap you bothered to give me,” I say, quieter now. “Every fucking second.”
Connor goes completely still.
“Every time you touched me like you couldn’t get enough and then five minutes later acted like I meant nothing to you.
” My mouth falters around the words, hurt pushing through no matter how hard I try to keep it out.
“Every time you kissed me and then pretended it shouldn’t have happened.
Every time you wanted me right up until wanting me meant you had to actually fucking look at what you were doing. ”
His lips part, but I shake my head.
I can’t hear it yet.
Not until I finish.
“I took all of it, Connor. The denial. The shitty comments. You walking out on me. You coming back when you couldn’t stand the thought of someone else touching me, then acting like I was asking too much because I wanted to know what the fuck that meant.”
My hands are shaking again.
I shove them deep into my pockets, curling them into fists where he can’t see, because if I leave them loose I know exactly where they’ll end up.
On him.
Undoing every fucking word.
“And I told myself it was enough.”
I look at Connor, and my chest aches so badly I can barely breathe around it.
“You were mine,” I say.
It comes out softer than everything else, some part of me still believing it.
Connor’s face crumples, and I hate that I still want to fix that too.
My throat burns.
“And you were fucking worth it.” I swallow hard, holding his gaze even when mine starts to blur. “All of it.”
My gaze drops because looking at Connor feels like it might split me open completely. He’s too close, his face still carrying that fucking look that makes some stupid part of me want to believe this hurts him as much as it hurts me.
He steps forward, and my hand comes up, pressing flat against his chest to stop him. His warmth seeps into my palm, his heart beating hard beneath it, and I have to lock my elbow to keep the distance there when everything in me wants to do the opposite.
“Don’t do this, Theo,” he says, his voice wavering, panic threading through it now.
I shake my head slowly, swallowing against the ache lodged in my throat. “The worst part is,” I manage, forcing the words through it, “you were never even mine. Not really.”
Fuck, that hurts.
It fucking hurts because somewhere along the way, I’d started thinking he was. Maybe not in any way Connor would ever admit to, but in all those moments nobody else got to see.
I’d taken all of it and made him mine in my head.
“You were too busy trying to be perfect,” I continue, the words coming faster now that I’ve started, everything I’ve been swallowing for weeks finally forcing its way out. “Too busy making sure you fit exactly where you were supposed to, that you didn’t even realise I never asked for that.”
My breath catches, chest pulling tight enough that I have to stop for a second.
Connor’s expression shifts, but I don’t let myself look at it too closely.
“I never wanted you to be perfect, Connor.” The anger bleeds out of my voice as I say it, leaving something rawer behind, something I can’t hide beneath a smirk or a shitty joke. “I just wanted you to be mine."
It hangs between us, heavy and exposed, and I can feel every part of me that wants to snatch it back before Connor can do anything with it.
I look away instead, fixing my gaze somewhere over his shoulder because I can’t hold his anymore.
“I might not be worth much,” I say, somehow managing to keep my voice steadier than the rest of me, “but I’m worth more than this.”
I let my hand fall from his chest and start to step back, but Connor’s fingers close around my wrist before I can get anywhere.
My head snaps up.
For one second, the softness in his face nearly fucking ruins me. My chest pulls toward it before the rest of me can catch up, that same pathetic instinct telling me to let him drag me back in. To take whatever he gives me and stop asking for the one thing he keeps telling me he can’t.
I harden before I can.
“Don’t,” I grit out, wrenching my wrist from his grip.
His fingers stay suspended between us for a second, curling slightly like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me again.
“Just stay away from me.”
My voice shakes on the words and I fucking hate it. Hate how badly I want to take them back the second they’re out. Every part of me is pulling toward him, screaming at me to close the space again, to grab him, kiss him, tell him I didn’t mean it.
But I did.
I do.
Because I know exactly what happens if I let him touch me again.
“No.” Connor moves before I can, lunging forward, panic flashing across his face as his hand reaches for me. “Stop, please.”
My vision blurs so suddenly I barely register what’s happening until something hot slips down my cheek.
Fuck.
I scrub at it roughly with the heel of my hand, blinking hard against the sting in my eyes. “I can’t, Connor.”
My voice breaks anyway.
“I just-” I swallow, trying to force down whatever the fuck is closing my throat, but it doesn’t move. “I just fucking can’t.”
Because if I stay, I’ll cave.
He’ll touch me and I’ll let him. He’ll kiss me and I’ll forget every fucking reason I’m supposed to walk away. He’ll call me beautiful, or baby, or look at me like I’m something he can’t stand to lose, and I’ll convince myself all over again that it’s enough.
Then he’ll walk away.
He’ll go right back to pretending this is nothing.
That I’m nothing.
I turn before he can say anything else, forcing my legs to move even though they don’t feel entirely steady beneath me.
“Baby, stop.”
My next step fucking falters.
“Stop. Please.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my back still to him, because that one word nearly has me turning around. Nearly has me throwing away every thing I just said and going straight back to him.
Instead, I keep moving.
I reach the bike and swing my leg over it, grabbing my helmet with hands that won’t stop shaking. It catches awkwardly as I drag it on, my fingers fumbling with it until frustration burns through the hurt.
I know better than to look at him again.
I do it anyway.
Connor’s still standing there.
Wrecked. Pale. Eyes fixed on me like he’s waiting for me to change my mind, and fuck, I want to. I want to so badly it physically hurts.
My throat closes.
“I can’t,” I choke out, barely loud enough to hear myself.
I start the engine.
The roar tears through the silence, swallowing everything else before Connor can say another word that might make me stay.
Then I’m gone.
I tear away from the house without looking back, gripping the handlebars hard enough that my knuckles ache while another tear slips hot down my face beneath the helmet.
At least this one nobody can fucking see.