“Oh, you’ll answer,” Desmond said, ever confident.
I smiled. “Night.”
“Night, babe.” He clicked off.
Desmond was a good guy. Decent and kind. Funny and handsome. I should’ve been glowing after that phone call, dancing around my apartment in an unchecked display of glee because such a pretty-damn-close-to-perfect man was interested in me. And yet, the happy bubble that had formed in my chest as I’d joked and laughed with Desmond was dissipating rapidly in the face of the immense guilt I felt for leading him on.
Sure, technically I was single. There was nothing — no one — holding me back from dating Desmond. But I knew that while I could give him my body and maybe, if enough time passed and we really grew to care for one another, even a piece of my heart, he’d never get all of me. I’d given away the innermost bits of myself eight years ago, and I’d never collected the missing parts.
And Desmond was the kind of man who went all in. He gave everything — his body, his mind, his heart. He’d give me his soul in good faith, not knowing that mine had already found its mate and that I could never return the favor.
But what did you do when you’d lost your soulmate, and there was no chance of ever having him again? Did you move on, even with the knowledge that nothing would ever be quite as good? Did you try to fill the empty holes inside yourself with the misshapen parts that someone else could offer?
And, if you did these things, could you bear to look yourself in the eyes at the end of the day, knowing that you’d allowed someone to love you, to bind himself to you, in a way you could never reciprocate?
Or was it simply better to isolate yourself — to grow old alone, rather than subject an undeserving man to your own emotional inadequacies?
I didn’t know the answers to these questions.
All I did know, was that no matter how much I wanted Sebastian Covington — and Ididwant him, whether it was today, yesterday, eight years ago, or eighty years from now — I couldn’t ever have him again.
So for now, I’d carve out my own little slice of happiness.
I’d skip the tough questions I hadn’t quite figured out the answers to yet.
I’d ignore the bleeding crater in the left side of my chest.
I’d write my column and laugh over margaritas with Fae.
I’d fill my apartment with pretty things, and maybe even get a pet.
I’d live in the light.