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That makes me frown. “It’s still early.” I sit up and glance at the gray dawn light outside the windows.
“I have to take a shower and get ready for classes and...” She sighs, and I can’t shake the feeling there’s something important she’s not telling me.
I throw the blankets off me and swing my legs off the bed. “Erin...”
She picks up her clothes from the floor and starts pulling them on. The windows are fogged over. She tugs on her pants and long sweater and sits on the bed next to me to wear her boots.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I whisper.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
I sit there and rub my hand over my face. I guess my optimism was premature. Erin doesn’t look happy with me. Why would she be? I’m a hot mess, alternating between fucking her into the wall and having panic attacks. Who would want someone like that in their lives?
“I... need some time,” she says.
I nod, the splinter of pain back in my chest. “Yeah. No problem.”
“I mean, you just came back.” She waves her hands; I’ve never seen her so nervous before. “And... we had lots of sex.”
“Lots of hot sex,” I correct, and I see color rise to her cheeks.
“Whatever.”
Yeah, well. I’ve had enough bad sex over the past few years to know when it’s great. When it’s special.
That she’s special to me.
“We didn’t manage to talk much, though.” She wipes her palms on her pants. “Didn’t tell each other everything.”
Is that what’s still bothering her? “We can talk—”
“I really have to go.” She shoots up from the bed, and I watch her with my mouth hanging open as she grabs her jacket and purse and heads toward the door. “God, Tyler... I can’t, I... Sorry. I just need some time to think, okay?”
Before I even get my dumbfounded thoughts to regroup and formulate an answer, she’s gone, the door closing behind her.
Shit. She’s gone again.
I slam my fist into the mattress. Jumping to my feet, I slap my hand on the table, kick away the chair. I swipe my books off the shelf, so they scatter on the floor.
Fucked up again. Didn’t tell her everything she needs to know to trust me.
I stop, panting. But I still can. If she’ll listen. She heard the worst already and didn’t run away screaming. Saw the scars, touched them. She knows. What is left is details, minor facts.
Or maybe she’s concerned that I’m fucked up in the head? Can’t blame her, not after seeing me in such a state not once but twice. She said I should see a doctor.
It doesn’t matter what Uncle Jerry thought of doctors. He was wrong on so many levels. If a doctor can help me sort myself, why not?
I’ll let her inside all the fucking way. Drop the last defenses. If she wants to rip my heart out, then I stand no chance in the world—and I don’t care.
***
Deciding I need to make changes is good. Making the changes is a pain in the ass. Then again, what else is new?
I refuse to look too closely at the aching void in my chest where hope burned this morning. Since the moment Erin walked out of my apartment, my thoughts turned dark and bruised, and I have to force myself to get up, shower, dress and leave.
She just needs some time to think. She didn’t say she doesn’t want to see you again.
I scratch at the stubble on my cheeks. I need to shave. I need a haircut. I need to get my life in order. Not just my books and socks and sheets. I need to delve deeper, fix the writhing mess that’s underneath it all.
