Unraveled (Enemies to Lovers / 18+)

27

ethan
PRESENT DAY

I don't know what I'm doing.

I don't know what I'm doing.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with Regan, the girl that second-handedly ripped my heart out of my chest and smothered it to the ground like it meant absolutely nothing to her to hurt someone even if it was for her own selfish gain.

She ruined me. She destroyed me. She didn't give a fuck at all.

At least, that's what I always told myself. Maybe to make her out to be the villain, to make my own guilt less painful, to soften the agonizing blow of Sam leaving.

Is it possible that she's not this person? She's completely different from what I've painted her to be in my head?

I mean, right now, in the early morning hours of our slumber in her bed after we had sex that was so soft and vulnerable, I feel connected to her in a way that has me questioning it all. We kissed for what felt like hours last night and it never led into anything more. Tongues and teeth and lingering touches over and over and over again until my lips and jaw ache from the movements.

It was intended to be comforting and while it was in the moment, it's left me entirely confused.

I don't want to be confused, if that means anything at all. There's something inside of me begging to let our past go because it was conjured up by false pretenses and fabricated dramatizations of the other person. Sure, there's some things that need to be addressed and likely need to be resolved, but those issues that once plagued me don't feel like they matter anymore. And that thought alone feels entirely wrong.

How could someone who looks so peaceful when she sleeps do something so cruel?

Why do I keep touching her? Why do I keep running my fingers over her arm like I care? Why do I pull her body close to mine to stop her from being cold? From feeling alone?

And why does the sound of my phone ringing on my bedside table make my body sink into an instinctive depression that only feels avoidable if I stay here in this bed with her?

Confused or not, I'd rather ride out these feelings of uncertainty with her against me. Me around her. It would make my decision a lot easier.

In efforts not to wake her, I reach over and silence the ringing but notice that it's work calling. And it's after eight, meaning I'm fair game. Carefully, I ease myself out from the warmth of her bed but fully anticipate going back the second I hang up from whatever nonsense finds me on the other end of the line. I even move back into my room and close the door halfway to ensure she doesn't hear me when I tiredly say, "Hello?"

"Hey, Ethan. Sorry to bother you," the familiar voice of my colleague sounds defeated. Ashton Majors.

If he was that sorry, he wouldn't call.

"What's up?"

He sighs even more defeatedly. I know the legal department isn't exactly exhilarating, but his negativity drags me down even more than the initial phone call.

And then the next words come out, shoving me down to a low-low that I haven't felt in some time.

"Three tellers from the Grand Rapids branch just came forward and want to file a claim against Andrew Galle."

Andrew Galle is a long-time executive at V&R. Thirty years under his belt, but for what? I don't know. Maybe being Matthew Reyes's close friend?

I've heard many stories through employees at happy hours and other work events. I've heard girls say that they make sure they're never alone with him, to always operate in pairs at the very least when he's doing one of his branch walks, as he likes to put it. It's a surprise to me that nothing ever sticks to him but then I remember his relationship with Anthony's dad, and it all makes sense.