I’ve never seen him so emotionally raw. My skin prickles. This isn’t good.
“Hey, it’s okay. Come inside.” I take his hand to coax him through the door. “Let me clean that up for you.”
He reluctantly follows me inside to the bathroom. I rinse his hand under warm water and cover the scrapes in antiseptic cream. He watches me carefully. His tension fills the small room.
I want to calm him, but I don’t know how. When I try to touch his face, he moves back, just out of reach.
“Don’t…” He strides into the living room and tugs at his hair. “I should’ve gone home. From the start I knew I’d be the worst thing to ever happen to you, but I was weak. You make me so fucking weak.”
Panic crawls up into my throat as I watch him pace. He’s unraveling. Pulling apart faster than I can put him back together.
I put a hand on his chest to stop him. He looks at it like it’s a brand, burning into his skin. I drop my hand and try to keep my voice even. “Ethan, listen, whatever you’re feeling right now, we can deal with it together. Please, just…” I take a breath and try to calm myself. “Tell me how to fix this.” Then I have a horrible thought. “Can we fix it?”
He leans against the wall, brows furrowed, head back. “I don’t know.” His panic vibrates in the air, making all my hairs stand on end.
“How can I help you? Please—”
“Dammit, Cassie, I don’t fucking know, all right? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore. Since the moment I met you, I’ve been so turned around, I haven’t known which way is up. All I know is that I want to be with you, but—”
I walk over to him and take his face in my hands. My desperation matches his. “No. No buts. You are with me. Look. You’re right here.”
“I shouldn’t be.” He squeezes his eyes shut.
“You should. You’re with me, and I’m yours, and I … I love you.”
He snaps open his eyes to stare at me, and I realize this is the first time I’ve told him that. It’s strange that this is new information to him. I’ve felt it for a long time, but I guess I’ve been too proud, or too scared, or too stubborn to say it. But I have to tell him now because I’m losing him.
I watch for his reaction. Do I expect him to say it back? After all these months of compulsive passion, of course that’s what I expect. But he doesn’t say it. Instead, he drops his head like I’ve somehow opened Pandora’s box and doomed us both. “Fuck. Cassie … don’t…”
“It’s true,” I say, as the ache in my chest flares. “I love you, Ethan. You’re … amazing. But I know you’re scared. The last time you opened yourself up like this, your girlfriend cheated on you with your best friend. But you know I’d never do that. I love you. And I hope that under all your fear … you can find a way to … well, I hope that … you love me, too. Right?”
Please, Ethan. Tell me I’m right.
He shakes his head. “I can’t…”
I hold my tears back. He needs me to be strong, and I need him to be okay. We can do this. “You can’t … love me?”
I tense all my muscles so his answer can’t hurt me.
“Cassie, it doesn’t matter how I feel about you. I can’t be what you need.”
“You can. You are.”
“How can you say that?” he says, frustration making his voice hard. “I keep proving you wrong, time and again. You deserve someone else.”
“I don’t want anyone else. But … if you do…”
He shakes his head. “You know that’s bullshit.”
“I don’t understand. So, you want me, but don’t love me?” My voice cracks, and I hate how pathetic I sound.
His expression melts from anxiety into pity. I hate that look. He sees how desperate I am for him to tell me I’m wrong.
“You think I don’t love you?” he says as he steps away from the wall and draws up to his full height. “If I didn’t, do you think I’d be in hell right now? You think I like feeling like this? Like pushing you away isn’t ripping out parts of me? Fuck, Cassie, I know the right thing to do is to leave you alone. But when I think about doing that, it…” He grips his chest. “It fucking hurts. And I’m so sick of hurting. I thought you could make it better, but you only made it worse.” Everything he’s feeling is on his face. He can barely look me in the eyes, and it makes mine sting with tears. “You want me to say it? Yes, I love you. But you have no idea how many times I’ve wished I didn’t.”
He curls his hands into fists, and he looks frayed at the edges, like he’s going to split apart any second if he doesn’t touch me. I feel the same way.
“Loving you,” he says, “is the stupidest, most selfish thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t stop. God knows, I’ve tried.”
Before I have time to answer, he’s moving. Within three strides, he has his arms around me, crushing me against him as he claims my mouth. The initial shock of it is quickly replaced by a white-hot fever. It melts my muscles and settles in my bones.