Who You Are

Chapter 11

I hated him.

I'd decided. He was inconsiderate at best. An absolute asshole at worst.

And I wasn't feeling forgiving.

He hadn't come back last night. I mean, he had at some point, but it was after I'd fallen asleep. And I only knew that because there was coffee made this morning when I woke up. No sign of him, though.

I didn't know what to do with that. When he left, at first, it had been deflating, but then it felt like the best thing he could've done. I'd been impulsive, kissing him like that. It was good that he'd gone—we didn't have to stare at each other, be around each other, and face the truth of what we did. What it meant. Or didn't mean.  

But then...

Then I replayed it.

Them. The kisses.

My stomach swirled at the memory. The feel of his mouth. Soft lips. Coarse beard. Strong hands. The firm press and pull of them. The shape of them on my waist. The way his fingers had spread on my back.

Maybe he didn't want it. Maybe he didn't want it from me.

But he had taken it.

I'd wanted him to. He'd wanted to.

So, what the fuck was wrong with him?

He didn't have to punish me for something we both did. And I'd spent the day at work planning exactly how I was going to tell him off.

It would never happen again, that was for sure. Which...he may not have wanted it to happen again anyway, but my already wounded ego was trying not to think of it like that. It would hurt for him to hear. I'd make sure it would.

He had no problem hurting me. The least I could do was return the favor.

So, I practically stomped up to the apartment, and took a deep breath before opening the door, readying myself to deliver my speech, detailing all the ways him leaving and not coming back, then not waiting this morning to even talk about it, was one of the shittiest things someone had ever done to me.

Not quite up there with what Bryan had done, but certainly second best.

The apartment was empty. And all the adrenaline that had been coursing through me, preparing me for this moment, raced out like a flash flood, spilling across the floor.

The kisses came back again, sweet and warm and insistent. Desperate. Tugging at my chest so hard I thought I'd fall over, even now.

I was tempted to. It would be easy to let myself sink to the floor and feel the full weight of the hurt. The full meaning of his absence. The full depth of my own stupidity.

I hadn't been thinking when I'd kissed him. But I knew what it meant when he kissed me back.

At least I thought I did.

He'd left me to question everything. Myself, most of all. And after what had happened with Bryan—the fact that Mark knew all of it—I hated him for making me feel this way again.

But I wouldn't sink to the floor. Not this time. I'd get on with it, and I'd get over it. He could hide all he wanted. At this point, he wasn't even worth another drop of my energy.

I changed. I threw my laundry in a basket. Grabbed the bathroom towels, too.

All those things I was planning to say to him—no more. He didn't want to face me? He wouldn't have to. But our friendship? Consider it over.

I tossed the dish towels in the basket too, then grabbed detergent from the hall closet, my keys from the table where I'd tossed them, and slid on my outside shoes. His bag was sitting on the floor, where it had taken up space since he'd come to stay here. I stared at it for a second and considered giving it a kick. He was lucky I hadn't thrown it out the window.