Chapter 11
ELEVEN
The bag swings harder under my brutal kicks and punches. I unleash my anger on the inanimate object until I lean against it, panting and covered in sweat.
Music pumps through my basement gym, filling the silence I have come to hate.
All I’m left with are thoughts and memories.
He ruined my comfortable silence for me.
Yet again, my thoughts turn to Mackie and what he’s doing right now, so despite my exhaustion, I attack the bag again until I can’t feel my body, hoping it will clear my mind, but even when I collapse onto the mat, my brain won’t stop.
He went on that date. I saw him get picked up. I wasn’t spying. I just happened to see it. He went out with that stiff photographer. He’s dating someone.
That’s good because he’ll leave me alone, right? The thought makes me want to take a bat and smash his date’s perfect fucking car. I wonder what they are doing. I think he said furniture shopping. Will they eat together?
Will he take Mackie home?
Will they kiss?
My heart stops, and I close my eyes as I cover my face. It’s none of my business if they kiss or hook up. Mackie is single and young. He can do whatever he wants.
I still want to break something.
The thought of anyone kissing him makes me want to rip up the entire house and burn it down.
Dropping my arm, I stare up at my ceiling, sliding my hand down until my fingers linger over my lips as I remember the way his kiss felt.
He thinks I forgot, which is for the best, but it’s all I think about. I was weak for one moment and couldn’t resist.
I shouldn’t have kissed him, but even now, I don’t regret it. It was the best kiss of my entire fucking life, one I can never repeat. I can’t give him what he wants. I can’t ruin the friendship between us, but the idea of someone else giving him that makes me murderous.
Mackie can’t be mine, but the idea of him being someone else’s . . . I can’t handle that either.
My hand drops as my thoughts spiral again, imagining that pretty boy kissing my boy and taking what’s mine.
I wonder if he tastes me on Mackie’s mouth. I wonder if he knows I was there first. I wonder if Mackie will moan like he did for me.
Climbing to my feet, I turn the music off and stomp upstairs to shower. I need to distract myself, but even when I collapse into bed after, my mind won’t turn off and sleep evades me. I lie here for hours, watching the clock.
Did he get home okay?
Did he have fun?
Rolling over, I grab my phone, type out a text, and send it before I can second-guess myself.
Noah: I need you at work early tomorrow. You better be sleeping.
There’s no response, not even a read receipt. Does that mean he’s asleep? Or what if he’s busy?
Rolling onto my front, I scream into my pillow like a fucking teenager. It stopped smelling like him weeks ago and I hate it. I hate everything about this.
I keep hurting him. I wish he could understand why, but I know what Mackie is like. He’d see it through until the end. He never gives up.
No, it’s better this way.
It’s better if he falls in love with someone else, someone who can take care of him and give him what he needs.
I do not sleep all night, however, grieving what I lost before it even began.