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Clark's kiss had never set me on fire. Not even that first time.
And maybe I could have lived with that. Because I didn’t know what it could be like.
What was I supposed to do now that I’d been enlightened?
How was I expected to go back to the way it was before?
What if I couldn’t?
As I reached for my apartment key, my hand trembled slightly. The events of the past few days had been a lot. They’d unraveled my sense of self, however fragile it had been before.
The memory of Ari’s glittering green gaze staring at me in the darkened hallway was haunting me, taunting me with his seductive promises.
I wanted to go back to him.
I wanted more.
Right as I inserted the key into the lock, a voice emerged from the shadowy entryway of my building. "Blake."
I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat.
"Clark? What are you doing here?" My voice wavered, caught somewhere between astonishment and confusion as I slowly turned to look at him. After days of either silence or one word answers, his appearance now was a little shocking.
My boyfriend stepped out of the shadows, his dark hair disheveled and his green eyes reflecting hints of exhaustion. His usually immaculate suit was wrinkled, his tie askew.
More guilt flooded me as I studied him, my constant companion the last few days it seemed. While Clark was undeniably handsome, he seemed like a cheap replica as he stood there. Like Ari was the original and everyone else that existed could never compare.
"You've been ignoring me," he snapped, his voice sharp and frustrated. "Of course I was going to come check what's wrong."
I frowned, not understanding what he was saying, even as I winced at the rawness in his voice. We stared at each other for a long minute, the awkwardness there feeling like a cavernous gulf I didn’t know how to cross over. Finally, he reached out toward me, his expression softening. "Come here, sweetheart. I need to hold you."
Instinctively, I stepped into his embrace, just like I’d been doing since I was sixteen, allowing him to envelop me in his arms. But even as I leaned into his familiar warmth, everything felt wrong. There was a void there now, one that Clark's presence couldn’t fill. The contrast between his touch and Ari's was stark, and the wrong sensation gnawed at the edges of my consciousness.
"Can I come in?" he finally murmured, his voice harried and exhausted. "I've been waiting here since seven for you to get home. I just kind of panicked today when you didn't answer again. And…I hopped on a plane. I've got to be back in New York for a meeting tomorrow at eleven."
I was so confused. He was the one who hadn’t been answering me! I was struck though, by what a big deal it was for him to be here. Clark was a creature of habit. Everything in his life was organized and in its place. We’d always been opposites like that, and my disorganization had always driven him crazy.
“Yeah, of course. Let’s go inside and we can talk more,” I quickly said, feeling like I needed to appease him.
Please him.
Like I always felt when it came to my life in New York.
I opened the door and flicked on the light. It spilled out onto the shadowed entry where we were standing.
He took a step forward and then stopped, a frown on his lips as he cast a curious gaze over me, evidently noticing the hockey jersey I wore for the first time. "You were at the game tonight? I didn't know you liked hockey."
I grappled with what should have been an easy response.
"I...uh," I finally stammered. "Charlotte had some tickets, and she insisted I come along. I figured, why not?" My attempt at casual indifference felt hollow, even to my own ears.
Clark's gaze bore into me, his green eyes searching mine, as if he sensed there was more to the story. I must have been better at hiding things than I thought, though, because he stepped inside without asking any more questions.
"Welcome to my humble abode," I said with a flourish, a feeble attempt at lightness, as we walked into the small apartment. It was a far cry from the cluttered, colorful space I had in New York City, but I wasn’t living alone anymore, so I couldn’t decorate how I wanted. Everything about the place was mundane…fine. But it definitely didn't feel like home.
But then again, nothing had felt like home since my parents died.
I went down the hallway to let Waldo out of my bedroom, giving myself a minute to love on him before I went back out there. When I returned to the living room, Waldo pattering next to me, Clark was staring at the furniture like it had personally offended him. It was similar to how he’d always looked at my New York place. Both were a stark departure from the luxurious lifestyle he was accustomed to—thatI’donce been accustomed to—but there wasn’t a price on the freedom living without it meant for me.
