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“Sleeping in your bed.”

His breathing changes.

Mine does too.

That hurts most.

Because that night—God.

That night I stopped holding back. I let myself love him. And maybe he didn't know that's what I was giving him.

But I knew.

And now I'm finding out that the foundation underneath us isn't what I thought it was.

“You let me trust you.”

“I didn't fake what happened between us.”

“That's not the same thing as telling me the truth.”

“No.”

At least he doesn't argue. I swipe furiously at my cheeks.

“And then you have the nerve to accuse me of using you.”

“I was angry.”

“You didn't even ask.”

“I saw the article. You didn't come home. I⁠—”

“Stop saying that.”

“What?”

“Home.”

Silence.

“Your house isn't my home, Mitchell.”

The words hurt me as much as I know they'll hurt him.

But they're true.

Aren't they?

“We've never even defined what the hell this is.”

“That doesn't mean⁠—”

“Doesn't it?”

I laugh again, softer this time. Sadder.

“Think about it. What was I supposed to do last night? Sit in your house waiting for you like your girlfriend?”