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Now Charlie and Violet were friends. Only friends. And body wanted to revolt. He wanted to feel her lips on his, know what it would be like to wake up next to her every day, to open his chest and let her make a home with him. Forever.
But he had said they were friends. Only friends.
He never realized how logic flew out the door when love got involved. This couldn’t last forever. But how could he continue his existence feeling like this?
Charlie had never felt this before. Not with anyone. And now he understood why wars were fought over this feeling, why people wrote songs and screamed about love at every moment.
But it would fade. It had to, or else he was about to make so many mistakes.
They didn’t talk for the rest of the drive back to the house. Charlie had to bite down on words that threatened to escape him, and all he could do when in the comfort of his own home was lock the door so he wouldn’t run to her.
Charlie didn’t sleep much that night. When he did, he was dreaming about what Violet had said in the car, what he could have had, but didn’t.
It was torture.
His run the next morning didn’t help. How did people go on without completely losing themselves to this god-awful emotion?
They didn’t. And then they got hurt.
I like to believe love is a choice. Violet had said. You choose to love someone, even when you don’t.
He remembered her soft voice, and how confidently she had said it. What if he simply … chose to do this forever? What if he did throw caution to the wind and tried, really tried, to choose someone? He could choose to love her when she was cursing about a repair went wrong, and when she shut down after getting help, and when she chewed loudly, and when she was mad about work and literally every moment she was there.
It seemed so fucking easy.
Then, Charlie found himself back home. His heart hammered from his run, and his breaths were short and quick. Reality crept back in, and he knew he was being an idiot. He told himself he would never do this. He would never put himself in a position where he would get hurt like his mom did.
What if he hurt Violet again?
He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let her feel any more pain than he had. Part of love was the fun stuff. But the more important part was making sure you weren’t the cause of their pain.
And he had already done that. He had done it for six fucking years.
He regretted every single day.
So, Charlie pushed everything down. He walked into the house, changed, showered, and made coffee.
“Good run?” Violet asked as she came downstairs. She looked so stunning, no matter what she wore. Charlie allowed himself one second to drink her in before he tore his eyes away.
“Uh, yeah," Charlie said. “Good yoga?”
“It was fine," she said. “So, what’s today’s fruit in our oatmeal? We have strawberries, apples, cranberries, and I think some blueberries.”
The last thing on his damn mind was food.
“Surprise me," he said.
She paused, and Charlie wondered if she would choose to surprise him with something other than fruit. His logic was hanging on by a string, and he’d be happy to snap for her.
No. This feeling will fade. Give it time.
“The blueberries are about to go bad," she said after a moment. She handed him a bowl. “So, let’s use those. I’ll be at the table.”
He nodded, watching her walk to the dining room. His eyes of course trailed down to her ass in her leggings.
No. No. You’re not doing this.
But he wanted to.
