Maladaptive

Chapter 31 #2

Chris froze. For a second, the chaos around us faded away.

My heart slammed against my ribs, the noise of the club dulling into a weird, distant hum.

His eyes held me there like they always fucking did, pulling me in.

I felt like screaming to get away. Anna’s lips slid down his neck, her hands moving confidently like she’d done this a thousand times before.

Then she turned her attention to the other girl, giggling and touching her.

Chris looked torn, as if he was debating his next move.

Move, Jules. Fucking move!

I broke the connection, spinning on my heel and heading for the bathroom like my life depended on it. Maybe it did. I quickened my steps until I was practically running. My chest felt tight, my stomach still turning. Was I going to puke? Shit. Run.

When I reached the bathroom, I went straight to the sink, holding the edges so hard my knuckles turned white. The cold water hit my face in sharp splashes as I washed away… everything. The tequila and my anger, mostly.

When I looked up, my reflection stared back at me, blurry and distorted through the droplets on the mirror.

For a moment, I didn’t see myself; I saw her.

The dream Jules. She was confident, radiant, glowing like she had all the answers I didn’t.

Her smile mocked me, her eyes filled with a smugness I couldn’t stand.

Fuck her.

“Get out,” I muttered under my breath, but her image wouldn’t budge.

The anger flared hot in my chest. I grabbed another handful of water and threw it at the mirror.

The droplets splattered across the surface, distorting her face further until she was almost gone.

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against the cool glass, trying to calm the storm inside me. I closed my eyes for a second.

You are not her. You will never be her.

The image in the mirror finally disappeared, leaving just me.

Hi, you.

I stared at my reflection, taking in the puffiness under my eyes, the redness around them, and the smudge of mascara. The creak of the door startled me, and through the mirror I could see Chris leaning against the doorframe, a smug look plastered across his stupid, perfect face.

Asshole.

“This is the women’s bathroom,” I stated.

He laughed, the sound low and mocking. His eyes scanned my whole body—lingering on my very exposed thighs—before flicking back to meet mine. “You look good.”

“And you look drunk,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes.

“I am drunk,” he declared like it was some kind of achievement.

“Nice chat,” I muttered, grabbing paper towels to dry my face. My eyes flicked to the mirror. Shit. I’d made a mess. Smudged water and droplets were everywhere. I sighed and used the same paper to wipe it down.

I turned to leave, but before I could, Chris stepped into my path, blocking me. His cologne hit me first, mingling with the sharp scent of whiskey. My body betrayed me, reacting instantly, and the tequila in my system amplified every sensation.

Stop. Focus. Get out of here.

“What do you want?” I demanded, glaring up at him, my patience running thin.

“Really? Nothing? No reaction?”

“To what exactly?” I asked, crossing my arms, doing my best to look like I didn’t care. Like I wasn’t still furious. Like I didn’t want to slap that stupid smirk off his face.

“Aren’t you, like, a little mad?” he pressed, leaning closer. The door closed behind him.

“Why would I be mad?” My tone was icy, but inside, I was fucking raging. Furious wasn’t even the word. If I’d had one more shot, I probably would’ve slapped him by now.

“I guess not, then…” he muttered. Before I could fire back, the door swung open. A girl peeked in, only to be met with Chris barking, “Get out!” She immediately closed the door, and we were alone again.

So classy, Chris. Always a gentleman.

“I have to get back,” I said, trying to move past him, but he stepped in my way again.

“You could join us, you know?” he suggested.

“What?” I stopped, incredulous.

The freaking nerve.

“Join me, Anna, and…” He furrowed his brows, pretending to think. “Can’t remember the other one’s name.”

“No, thank you.” Whatever daze the tequila had me in earlier was long gone. Now, I wanted to get the hell out of there.

“Come on…” He leaned in closer, the smell of whiskey rolling off him. “Since you’re not upset, you might as well.”

“Stop!” The word came out sharper, louder than I intended.

“What?” He had that damn smirk again, the one that used to make my knees weak but now made my skin crawl. He had the whole actor thing down, putting on quite the show.

“This game you’re playing. It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

I held his gaze, unflinching, my eyes locking onto his. His eyes—those deep, endless oceans that once pulled me under—didn’t get to me this time. No, not anymore. I was done drowning in them.

“No, no, no. It’s embarrassing for you,” I said, my words cutting clean through the haze of whatever bullshit game he was trying to play. He stood there, stunned. My hands reached for the door. Chris’ cockiness had shattered, leaving him silent, almost lost. Good.

And then, as I opened the door, his eyes dropped to my hand.

He saw it.

The ring.

I had forgotten about the ring, honestly.

My mind had been so tangled up in trying to escape itself that I hadn’t spared a thought for what it meant.

George and I—everything about him—I’d shoved to the back of my mind to deal with later.

But the second Chris’ eyes locked onto that small, stupid band on my finger, I knew he wouldn’t let me leave.

Why hadn’t I taken it off? No. I didn’t need to. Why should I? I could wear my ring if I wanted to.

Deal with it, bitch.

I was determined to leave before this spiraled further, but his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. He pulled my hand up to his face, his eyes narrowing as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The door clicked shut behind us.

“What is this?”

I yanked my hand back, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

“Don’t you dare,” I warned, my words trembling but firm. I could feel my throat tighten, my chest threatening to explode.

Don’t cry, Jules. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

Chris’ face twisted, his confusion boiling into anger. Before I could react, his hands were on my waist, gripping me like I weighed nothing. In one swift motion, he pushed me back until my back touched the wall, his body pressed close, his breath hot and heavy as he glared at me.

“Is that it?” he growled, his voice raw. Rough. “You’re going back to him? Like nothing happened between us?”

I didn’t falter. My own anger surged, burning through my veins, and I threw his words back at him.

“You cannot be serious. Your tongue was down someone’s throat seconds ago!” My stomach twisted, the tequila threatening to betray me. I clenched my fists to ground myself.

Chris’ hold loosened as his hand fell away and he stepped back. His hands ran slowly through his hair. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to punch a wall or scream. I knew I wanted to do both.

“It’s not like I’m marrying any of them,” he muttered, quieter now but still frustrated.

“Oh, aren’t you?” I spat, my fury matching his. “Isn’t that the famous Anna? God, you two look like a perfect couple.”

“STOP!” His voice boomed through the small bathroom, practically shaking the walls. He took two steps back, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he controlled his emotions. “You can’t use some fucking marketing stunt as an excuse to do this!” he shouted.

I froze, both from the sheer intensity of his reaction and the mounting nausea rolling through me.

“He’s not who you’re supposed to be with!” Chris’ voice cracked. His eyes burned into mine. “You know that!” His chest rose and fell like he’d run a marathon, his breathing jagged, as he dropped the final blow. “You weren’t even supposed to meet!”

“And who says that?” I snapped. “Maybe we’re the ones who weren’t supposed to meet!

Maybe us being together was such a huge mistake the Universe made sure we stayed apart!

” He didn’t get to throw this at me. Not now.

Not after everything. There was no point in stopping my life to spend the rest of my days mourning what we could’ve had.

We would’ve met, sure, but we didn’t. This was the reality we were stuck with.

And we both had to come to terms with it.

Chris’ hands clenched at his sides. A single tear escaped from his eye, trailing down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away, and the sight of it sent a painful sting straight to my chest.

No. Don’t cry on me, Chris. You don’t get to cry on me.

He stared at the floor, his shoulders rising and falling as if trying to rein in whatever chaos was inside him. After a few moments, the tension in his jaw softened, and he slowly raised his head. Then, with a measured step, he closed the space until only inches separated us.

“You don’t really believe that,” he whispered, his deep blue eyes locking onto mine.

Damn it. There they were. Those ocean eyes that always made me feel like I was drowning. The moment our eyes met, my defenses shattered. Tears welled up, sliding down my cheeks before I could even attempt to stop them.

Shit, shit, shit. I wanted to take the tears back.

His voice cracked as he continued.

“If you were seeing the same life I was… You wouldn’t believe that.

” His tone softened, each word a plea. “We were so… so happy…” He paused as if the memory itself physically hurt him.

“The kind of happiness that haunted me here because I knew that nothing—nothing in this reality—fame, money, women… nothing could ever come close to it.”

I stood frozen. His eyes bore into mine, pulling me into that space where nothing else existed.

And he was right. God help me, but he was right.

In the life I’d dreamed of, there was nothing like the security of being in his arms. He was the one I wanted to tell everything to, the first person I wanted to see every morning.

His touch was the grounding I craved every moment of every day.

It wasn’t the glossy, perfect love of a rom-com.

It was imperfect and messy, but instead of being weighty or toxic, it felt… alive.

“I would lie awake at night,” he murmured, and I almost couldn’t hear it over the pounding of my heart, “thinking the devil himself had put the image of you in my head to mock me… to make everything in this reality colorless in comparison.” He moved closer, our bodies pressing together.

His words cut me so deep because I’d thought the same thing.

Like I was being punished for glimpsing that kind of joy and knowing it wasn’t mine.

I inhaled sharply, my chest brushing against his.

Oh, fuck. Bad idea.

We were too close.

My gaze flicked to his lips, and for a split second, I almost leaned in. No. I needed to break this spell before I did something stupid.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” I managed to ask, though my throat felt like it was closing.

“For not being the Chris you dreamed of.”

Fuck. Stop it. He wasn’t the man I’d imagined, but he wasn’t the man I’d seen earlier tonight either. He wasn’t the drunk, messy, careless guy I’d witnessed at the bar. He was raw, vulnerable, and full of depth. And damn it, I knew this side of him existed because I’d seen it more than once.

“I’m not that Jules either,” I admitted softly.

The person I’d dreamed of being—this fearless, radiant version of myself—I wasn’t her.

My Nana said that was who I could’ve been if things had gone a little differently.

But, shit, I couldn’t think of a single event that could’ve turned me into that woman.

Well, except maybe… if we’d met twelve years ago.

Goddamn it. If we’d met then, when I was all raw edges and chaos, maybe we would’ve wrecked each other just enough to rebuild together. Maybe twelve-years-ago me would’ve loved him so fiercely, and together, we’d have become the people we were supposed to be.

But we didn’t.

Chris leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin. His hands brushed lightly against my cheek. His thumb hovered at my bottom lip, tracing it softly, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His eyes followed the movement.

Don’t do this.

But my body didn’t listen. It never did around him. It wasn’t mine when he was near; it was ours, like it belonged to him as much as it belonged to me, as if we were still connected to that other reality where we’d spent twelve years building a life together.

“It’s too late now. Isn’t it?” His voice was barely a whisper, and his hand rested on my neck, thumb grazing the pulse point where my heart was pounding too fast. His eyes locked onto mine, begging for an answer, hoping that the answer wasn’t what we both knew it was.

I couldn’t say it. The word wouldn’t come. But my eyes said it all for me.

Yes. It was too late.

The versions of us that existed here, in this mess of a reality, seemed to only hurt each other instead of growing together.

He moved closer, his lips hovering a breath away from mine. He hesitated, waiting. Always waiting for me to make the move. And fuck it, I did. I closed the distance, my lips meeting his in a soft kiss, full of all the things we couldn’t say.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a goodbye. When our lips parted, he lingered for a second longer. Then he stepped back and forced a sad, sideways smile. That smile broke me.

Without another word, Chris turned and stepped out of the bathroom, leaving me there.

Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them.

My chest felt tight, and when I turned to the mirror, I saw my reflection.

My makeup was all smudged, my cheeks streaked with tears, and my eyes were red and swollen.

I looked like a mess—like the broken version of myself I’d been trying so hard to hide from everyone.

I wasn’t the woman Chris Jones had dreamt of marrying anyway.