I drag a hand over my mouth, trying to get a grip.
Yeah. That’s not normal.
I know I fucked up.
I told her we didn’t belong together.
Said it like it was fact.
Like it was something I could control.
I was wrong.
Dead fucking wrong.
Because the more I look at her, the more certain I get.
This isn’t temporary.
This isn’t some passing distraction.
This is something that’s already rooted too deep to pull out.
I want her.
Not just in my bed. Not just for a night.
I want her in my space.
In my life.
In my head the way she already is.
I want her looking at me the way she used to.
I want her hands on me like she doesn’t second guess it.
I want—her.
Mine.
The thought hits hard. Possessive. Immediate.
And instead of pushing it away?
I lean into it.
Because fighting it hasn’t worked so far.
But she’s careful now. Guarded.
Like she’s already decided I’m a risk she can’t afford.
And I get it.
I gave her every reason to think that.
I tried to stay away.