Her throat works like she’s swallowing glass. “Maybe that’s the problem,” she whispers. “I’ve spent so long proving everyone wrong that I don’t even know what proving me right looks like.”
I slide my hands up her arms, slow and steady, until I can frame her face between my palms. Her eyes are wet, wide, and wild.
“You don’t need to have all the answers right now. We can figure it out together.” And fuck, I will do anything to make sure we can.
Her bottom lip trembles, and for a second I think she’s going to pull away.
“I don’t know if I can,” she says finally, and it guts me because I know she means it. “What if staying just means I end up breaking you with me?”
“You won’t,” I say without hesitation. “And even if you did, I’d still choose you. Every broken, brilliant part of you.”
Her laugh is small and hesitant. “I don’t deserve that.”
“You don’t have to deserve it,” I say. “You just have to let me love you while you figure out how to love yourself.”
She presses her forehead to mine like she’s trying to fuse us together, piece by trembling piece, until her mouth is on me.
Desperate, hungry, messy.
When she pulls back, her eyes are glassy but sharp. I can see the guilt carved into every line of her face.
“Last night,” she whispers, her throat tight. “I hate the way I came here. Drunk and desperate with the idea that if I could just get you inside me, it would fix everything I was feeling.”
“Honey—”
She shakes her head, her eyes glassy, but unflinching.
“I thought if I forced it—if I forcedyou— then maybe I’d finally feel something besides empty, but that wasn’t fair. Not to you, not to us.” Her hand slides down my chest, her voice trembling but sure. “I'm sorry for showing up like that.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I say, catching her hand and bringing it to my lips. “You were hurting. You came to me. That's what I want you to do.”
“But not like that,” she insists. “Not when I'm using you as a band-aid for everything else falling apart.”
I hold her gaze, searching for the right words. “Then we'll do better. Both of us. We'll talk more. You'll tell me when things are too much, and I'll—” I pause, thinking about how I've been keeping my own stress bottled up. “I'll do the same.”
She nods slowly, and I can see the weight lifting slightly from her shoulders.
“Can I stay?” she asks quietly. “Help you finish this?”
“I'd like that.”
We return to the wallpaper, working in comfortable silence now. Our hands brush every now and again as we smooth out the seams. The tension between us has shifted, transformed into something that we can work with.
By the time we finish the last strip, the room is transformed. The walls glow with that perfect Queen Blanca blue, and I can already picture Ella's face when she sees it.
Honey steps back, surveying our work with a satisfied smile. “She's going to love it.”
“We make a good team,” I say, slipping my arm around her waist.
She leans into me, her body fitting perfectly against mine, and for a moment everything feels right again, but as I press a kiss to the top of her head, I can feel how tightly she’s holding herself together. She’s one wrong word away from shattering completely, and I’m going to make sure she doesn’t have a chance to break while she’s in my arms. Not today. Not ever.
I’m not stupid, though. Paint and promises don’t fix the cracks, and as we stand in this room that we made for someone else, I can’t shake the thought that I might not be enough to hold this beautiful, broken girl together anymore.
I stare at the picture of Zach on my phone. Just one tap of the little green button and I know he’d answer. He told me he was busy tonight with back-to-back meetings, but I know if I tried, he’d answer the phone and pretend to be happy to hear from me.
Don’t do it.
I force myself to put the phone down, and try to work through some of the documents my father sent home with me. I will not becomethatgirlfriend. The clingy one who needs constant attention and shows up drunk and sobbing at her boyfriend’s door because she can’t handle a bad day.