Chapter 40 - THEO
THEO
I’m dreaming.
Alex is in one of my flannels, the hem halfway down her bare thighs, puttering around the kitchen and humming along to French jazz.
Her hair is pulled up into a bun and she looks calm when her eyes flit over to me as she whisks milk into the eggs, and her smile is soft when she hands me a cup of coffee.
I know it’s a dream because Alex doesn’t cook.
I know it’s a dream because Alex fucking hates me, which she should.
My world is falling apart, and I might not know what’s real anymore, but I know this can’t be real.
I thought I was better. I thought I’d done enough work on myself in prison, and that Dr. Mills was full of shit. I honestly didn’t see how out of control I got with Alex.
I look at Alex’s back and close my eyes to block it out. Okay, maybe I knew I was a little out of control, but everything I did made so much sense when I did it.
Now, nothing makes sense.
I think Dr. Mills has been trying to talk to me about this for months, and I’ve been doing my best not to listen to her. She’s been trying to protect Alex from me, and for good reason. She was right that this situation has been a nightmare for Alex. God, I’m such a piece of shit.
Alex is absolutely right, too. Did I work hard to trap her? Fuck yeah, I did. I took every opportunity I saw, I made opportunities where I could, and I did everything in my fucking power to trap her. To make matters worse, it worked, and now she’s here the way I wanted.
I’m living inside a dream, but it feels empty now. Alex was always supposed to want to be here, was always supposed to love me back.
For the first time, the tight rush of obsession dwindles as I stare at her.
I don’t know that I’ve ever really seen Alex as a whole person before, but I’m starting to now, and it’s painful.
I've been ignoring so much about her, like the fact that I’ve been making her fucking miserable.
Instead of the unmitigated happiness I felt a few hours ago, I feel a thick, oily slide of guilt in my stomach.
God, I think I barely even know her.
The first pieces of French toast come out dark, and Alex fiddles with the gas range to get the right level of flame, slipping more butter into the pan. Why would she be cooking? There are so many leftovers in the fridge. This is a dream, so it’s probably just wish fulfillment.
My brain seems to be exceptionally good at that.
I stare at her, my mind skipping over everything she said on repeat, always landing back on the fact that she could want me, could love me, but that I’ve fucked it up. That’s a new level of fucking up I wasn’t even aware I was capable of.
I can’t believe I did this to her. I’m no better than her husband.
Actually, I’m still much better than her husband. Unlike him, I would never fucking hurt her. I’m unsure about pretty much everything else in my life, but I know that for a fact – she does too, now.
I can’t believe she thought I was going to fucking kill her. It’s almost like she tried to get me to do it, but that’s ridiculous.
Alex isn’t like that.
I watch Alex grab some more butter, staring at her back. Jesus, I can’t believe I did that. Where the fuck did that impulse even come from? My impulses have never made me want to do anything like that. That’s objectively insane.
Fuck, I wish I was the version of me she wants, someone who just asked her on a date and slowly built something with her. Then we’d be here for real, and this would actually be perfect, or at least good. All I want is to go back and start over, to give her that, but I don’t think I can.
I think this is maybe the last time I’ll ever see her.
I watch her glance back at me, and I want to keep her.
I still feel like we’re connected, even though I probably shouldn’t.
I still feel like she’s mine, even though that’s probably wrong.
She likes me and wishes she could love me, even though I’m ruining her life, so maybe I can fix this.
Maybe I can undo everything I did that’s ruining her life, and we can start over.
That’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever had.
I don’t think I can fix it, and I don’t think I deserve a chance, but all I want is to beg her to let me try.
I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t. I should leave her the fuck alone, but I can’t help it.
Everything is fucked, and I have one desire in my life right now, and it’s to try fix this and make it real so I can keep her.
God, I’m a selfish prick.
I take a deep breath, pushing down the impulse. If I did ask her, she’d say no. She fucking hates me, I know she does. Even if she doesn’t hate me, it probably wouldn’t fix anything.
“Alex?” I’m so fucking stupid for even attempting this.
“Hmmm?” Alex plops the next pieces of toast into the pan before she looks over at me, concerned. I think I’m going to vomit or pass out, so I take another deep breath.
“Is there any way I could fix this?” She looks confused, and I rush to explain.
“If I stopped stalking you, could I fix this? I’ll stop following you, I’ll take the cameras out, I’ll remove the trackers, I’ll give back my keys to your place – if I do all of that and I ask you out like you wanted in the first place, would that fix anything between us, even a little bit?
” Her eyes go wide but she doesn’t say anything, and I’m absolutely going to vomit.
“You can say no, and if you do, you can stay in Astoria or you can leave, but I swear I’ll leave you alone no matter what.
I just want to fix this.” Her expression becomes incredulous, and she tilts her head a little, staring at me with wide eyes.
She seems to be considering what I’m asking, which quells some of my nausea.
She turns away from me, staying quiet for an agonizingly long minute.
“Theo, are you seriously, after everything, trying to ask me on a fucking date?” I grip the cold tile of the counter, trying to stay present in my body and not vomit. When she puts it like that, it sounds really fucking stupid.
“Uh, yeah, pretty much.” A sharp laugh escapes her, and she shakes her head slowly.
“Are you fucking joking?”
“No. I want this to be real, and I’ll do fucking anything to make that happen.
I know you’re going to say no, but I need to try.
I can’t help it, I really can’t. I just need to try.
” She looks at me over her shoulder and gives me a strange, conflicted look before sighing heavily and turning back to the food.
“Why try if you know I’m going to say no?”
“Because I love you, Alex.” She makes a sharp little inhale as she flips the next two pieces of French toast out of the pan. She takes her time soaking more pieces of bread before putting them into the pan, turning away from the stove to start slicing a banana at a glacial pace.
It feels like the oxygen is being slowly sucked out of the room as I wait for her to respond.
“I kind of figured that out when you didn’t snap my fucking neck,” she says quietly. Dread lances through me, and I repeatedly run my hands through my hair, trying not to panic. She’s going to say no, and she absolutely should say no if that’s what she thinks happened.
I watch her chop walnuts into fine pieces, my gaze landing in the space between her shoulder blades. I need to take that tracker out of her no matter what she says to my asinine, delusional fucking request.
She’ll say no, and I know I won’t be able to deal with her saying no. There’s no fucking way I’ll ever leave her alone if left to my own devices. The only way I’ll be able to stay away from her is to go back to prison.
Either that, or I’ll kill myself, which seems like the more appealing option.
I’ll go to Boston and kill Danny either way as an apology, so she can get her life back, so I can make him fucking pay for how badly he hurt her, so I can make sure he won’t ever hurt her again.
If I kill him and then myself, I can fix two problems for her, but if I kill him and go back to prison, she could always choose to come see me, which she probably wouldn’t.
When she finally speaks again, she’s turned away from me so I can’t see her face, but I can hear the wariness and frustration in her voice.
“You’re seriously asking me for a chance to fix this fucked up situation you made?”
“I’m begging you.”
“Do you honestly think that giving me a choice now will fix everything?”
“Uh, probably not.”
“It won’t,” she snaps.
“I want to try anyway. Please.”
She shakes her head, flipping the toast. “Theo, you’re asking for something impossible here.”
“I know that.”
“You don’t even deserve a chance after what you did.” It feels like she’s lodged a knife in my gut.
“Believe me, I know.”
“If I say no, you’ll leave me alone?”
“Yes,” I choke out.
“You think you could actually leave me alone?” My heart plummets. She’s going to say no.
“I’ll make sure of it, I promise.” One way or another.
She slides the last pieces of toast out of the pan and turns off the stovetop before walking over to me, crossing her arms and frowning up at me.
“You know you’re delusional to even ask for this, right? I think you might actually be insane.” I shrug. She’s probably right. She gives me a hard stare, searching my face for something, but I don’t know what.
She’s slipping further out of my grasp, so I focus on memorizing her face. She’s so angry and sad, and I know that’s partially my fault, and I want to undo that.