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She was right. I’d done the same thing tonight with a friend.
“I want to be around you. I want to remember what you meant to me, but right now, I don’t, and apparently, that’s causing problems for you, so maybe we should have that space that you wanted, just until I do.”
“No.”
“I don’t want to be pulled into your world to be shut out of it with nowhere to go. I don’t know what I let you get away with when we knew each other—”
My finger on her lips cut her off. “Too much. You let me get away with too much.”
Her lips moved behind my finger, each word like a poisonous kiss on my skin. “I won’t do it again.”
“Neither will I. Don’t worry about the past. You can’t remember it, and I want to forget everything that happened between now and meeting you. Let’s just start over.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
She nodded, and her finalizing that sentence broke my fucking heart.
“No.” I reeled back on my heels. “There’s no maybe, Cat!” Those words came through my lips before I could stop them, and more followed that I didn’t even try to prevent. “You said you’d let me lead.”
I was already doing it, already obsessing. Already trying to force what we’d be if she wouldn’t give it willingly.
I obviously hadn’t changed as much as I thought.
“I think you need space.”
“I don’t want space. And I don’t care how much time you need. You spend it with me, and we do what you said. We’ll work through things together. We aren’t losing any more time. Now, shift over, and don’t you even think about getting out of this fucking bed.”
Chapter 20
Catharina
Achill ran over me with invisible hands, and I hated how the twisted memory felt, touching me right down to my soul and leaving goosebumps in its wake.
I sat up on Remi’s bed, which did look something like a bed, with its folded mattress stretched out. The sofa cushions we’d chosen to leave on the bed had been kicked off by the nightmare I had just had, and at some point, through the night, Remi had done what he’d told me not to. He’d gotten out of bed.
I let out a breath that I couldn’t see because I wasn’t cold. I was snug and toasty, for once.
I was safe.
The room was dark but not scary, the shadows all friendly and not intimidating, but I still squeezed my little panda’s head, working my way through the anxiety that sleep and all the words I’d shared with Remi had left behind.
He wasn’t in the room.
I kicked the blankets down. The satin sheets insisted on clinging to the prickly follicles breaking through my skin. I stepped from the sofa. The thick black carpet was dark enough to hold all my nightmares, but it was soft beneath my wiggling toes and the drying-up cuts and bruises on my feet as I wandered through the room.
The door opened quietly, and I was grateful to the hinges for not waking the house with an anticipated squeal.
The kitchen was clean. The few pots left out after tonight’s dinner had been cleared away. The space was lit by a crystal lamp, resembling some kind of giant egg, which sat between that room and the hallway, where my feet kept me planted.
The darkness cleared as another egg—a little bigger than the one at my side—cast a warm glow over the couch, where Remi was spread out, one leg over the armrest, the other over the back of the cushions.
He was far too tall to rest there comfortably. Though he looked comfortable, his body sank into the oversized white cushions.
I finally moved, edging around in the dark, careful not to hit his foot as I slipped between the armrest and a small table that sat between the couch and what was undoubtedly the world’s biggest chair.
“Remi,” I whispered.
