Seth's bail had been posted and he'd been released.
As I throw open our apartment and find him in the living room, my heart soars. He's here. He's safe. Everything is okay. The hours I spent hyperventilating behind a steering wheel seem so silly now.
Then my eyes land on the gun, black gloves, and envelope resting on the island.
"You weren't supposed to be here for this."
Seth's words muffle in my head. Something inside me screams to look up, to face him, but I can't tear my eyes from the items.
He's going back to work for Calvin.
I reach for a stool, my knees nearly buckling.
"Don't," I whisper. "Don't do this."
The walls close in. My heartbeat's in my throat, pulsing with the threat of a sob. Reality tips on its axis. I need the connection of his sightline to keep me steady, otherwise panic will short-circuit my entire system.
Peeling my gaze from the evidence of what he's about to do, I find Seth focused on the floor. He won't look at me. Not even when I say, "Do you know what he did to me today?" My voice is low, evidence of the lingering cracks Calvin and Lindsay's actions have made.
That gets his reaction. He finally looks up, revealing tired eyes with puffy bags underneath. But most prominent is the concern blazing from them. It accompanies the rage, which filters through his hand as it lowers to white-knuckle the countertop.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
He rakes a shaky hand through his hair, his brows dipping in alarm. "I'm fucking serious, Ellie. Are you okay?"
No, I'm not. But I will be.
"He trapped me in our hotel room. He held me at gun point, then had Lindsay knock me out and watch me to make sure I didn't interfere when he posted your bail or whatever trick he used to get you out. Would you be okay after that?"
His fury ignites. It comes with the spastic shake of his head and narrowing of his eyes.
Good. I want him to feel that anger. The same anger that's been consuming me since Calvin decided to step back into our lives and the fear left.
I place my palms on the island. "Is that really the man you want to work for? Someone who hurts the people you care about. Someone who forces you to leave them behind so they're left to drive back to the city without a license?" Because I have to believe it was him that made that call, not Seth. The Seth I know would never abandon me like that.
"Of course not." He slams his fist against the countertop and I'm marveled it doesn't crack under the pressure. "I want to kill him for the shit he did to you."
"Then don't go to him." My voice is an elevated plea.
He matches it. "I have to."
"You only think you do." I step around the island, desperate to reach him. "What happened to being tired of Calvin's bullshit and lies? What happened to no longer being that man? What happened to the life you wanted here?"
The life we deserve–the one we've earned. Where we find jobs we love, in an apartment that's become a home. Nothing but laughter and intimacy to get us through the hurtles.
"That life's not an option anymore. Calvin's promised to make sure of that if I don't meet up with him tonight." He swallows, losing steam, then takes a deep breath. "I won't let him hurt you again."
There he is. The Seth who just wants to protect me, same as I do with him.
It has me closing the remaining space between us. "Then I can go to my mother for help. Calvin's a businessman. I go to her and make a deal, offer something, my time, weekends with them to maintain a good public image, anything, in return for money. We'll buy your freedom and include Marsha's as part of the deal."
"Not a chance in hell. You're not sacrificing your distance from them for me." He reaches for his items, but I shift to block his path. He glares at me. "It won't work anyway. Look, I'll just do whatever the hell Calvin needs me to tonight and be done with it."
"Until he needs you again."
"So what?" He lifts both his hands to his hairline. They smash against his scalp, stretching his skin. "This is my life; it was fucking stupid to think it could be anything else."
"It can be. We can make it possible."
His hands fall and he shakes his head, throwing the fury from his expression so guilt can make its way in. When he speaks, his voice is no longer elevated. Just desolate. "But what am I doing to yours in the process?"
Dread creeps down my spine—cold and ominous. My skin tingles. "I don't get where you're going with this."
"You were doing just fine before me." He's focused on my bookshelf, avoiding my reaction, like he can't stomach the acceptance he might find.
But he won't find what has him so tentative. My fingers touch the base of his chin, pulling his focus up so he's forced to witness that fact. "I'm doing fine now."
"No, you're not." With a frustrated sigh, he reaches for me. His fingers dip into my neck, careless and desperate. "How can you not see that? You don't have a job because I pushed you to stand up to your dickhead of a boss. Your best friend is being sucked into my world because you didn't feel comfortable telling her about my shit. You were hurt today because I couldn't resist clocking your step-father in the face and landed myself in jail. And now you're considering bargaining with your mother and re-entering her life because I was too idiotic to make the right choices when I was a teenager. You wouldn't be dealing with any of this if I hadn't shown up."
He closes his eyes, failing to hide the shame I'd just seen trapped in them. "I'm destroying your life."
Of course he'd blame this all on himself. It's what he does. But life is messy and obstacles will always need to be overcome. Doesn't mean he gets to own them all. Nor does he get to take responsibility for the decisions I make to defeat them.
My blood pulses as I wait for him to open his eyes. I won't speak what I have to without his full attention, because he needs to hear what I have to say—actually hear it. It takes a total of ten seconds for his curiosity to get the best of him. Yes, I count. And when I see that devastating brown emerge, I speak to him with utmost certainty.
"The choices I make, they're mine." He opens his mouth in a rebuttal, but I don't give him the chance. "I quit my job because I deserved better and I'll find something else. I didn't tell Marsha about you because I thought keeping her in the dark was the best option. You were in jail because you stood up for me. And yes, I was hurt today but that's on Calvin, not you. I was only able to hold my own because you taught me how."
I lift my hands to my neck, covering his. I need him to feel the heat of our exchange, embrace how much he matters to me. "As for being sucked back into my mother's world, I'd make that choice a hundred times over if it meant getting you out from under Calvin."
We're so close now. I feel the trace of his breath on my lips and see the mystification clouding his eyes. "And why the hell would you?"
I don't second guess my next words. They've been dancing along my tongue, waiting for the opportune moment to escape. Now's as good as any.
"Because I love you."
For one tiny, miniscule second, I'm stupid enough to believe he's going to accept it. His face alights with reverence, dazzling me with so much astonishment that it steals my breath. But then it transitions. Agony streaks over his expression, like my loving him causes him actual, physical pain.
He tears his hands from my neck and takes a step back, negating my precious confession with two simple, violent words. "You shouldn't."
I've always known physical and emotional pain were tethered together by some imaginary line. But I've only endured the proof of this through the physical. What my mom did to me hurt me emotionally. It crippled me before I came out the other side. But this, it's the first time I've felt it in reverse. With him looking at me with so much disgust, I feel the emotional lash against my chest as a physical blow. Something inside me cracks and the ache of it reverberates through every bone in my body.
It's devastating.
"It doesn't exactly come with an on/off switch."
Hot tears sting the back of my eyes, threatening to spill down my cheeks. I grit my teeth and clench my fists, trying to tense my body so it doesn't feel the agony pulsing from the wound Seth's made in my chest. I need to get out of this room. I need to get away from him.
I stalk down the hallway to my room, desperate for space, but it's only a brief reprieve before he says, "Ellie, wait. Shit." He grabs my arm before I breach my doorway. "Will you just hold on a second?"
He spins me around. Thankfully the liquid hasn't spilled from my eyes yet. "Why? I just told you I love you only to have you shove it back like its toxic."
His eyes glisten with apologies. "It's not. I am."
It suddenly clicks. This isn't about me; it's about him. He still doesn't see himself as worthy of love. What I've accepted as fact is still an unreachable fantasy for him. After all our soft conversations and intimate breakthroughs, he still views himself as the same boy who couldn't make his father love him. The same one who grew up only to end up hurting people because it's all he's capable of.
It makes me furious.
"Fuck that." I'm no longer restrained by the fear of him regressing if I speak freely. "You can believe that, but I don't."
He stares at me, his body slumped, his eyes tense with self-deprecation. "You should."
"Can you just stop?" My hands tremble in frustration because I'm just so tired of this.
"No. Not until you open your eyes and realize the truth. I'm not good for you. You may think I can change, but this is always gonna be who I am. I'm always gonna find a way to fuck up so you're forced to ruin your life as you clean up my mistakes. I'm always gonna find a way to let you down and hurt you. That's just the way it is." He's possessed by so much misery, it threatens to swallow and consume us both. "So trust me when I tell you that loving me is the worst thing that could ever happen to you."
I reach forward and grab the base of his chin. "Look at me." I'm done being subtle; I'm through with tiptoeing around this issue. "Sure, you make mistakes. But everyone does."
I lift my free hand to skim the coarse stubble covering the soft flesh of his cheeks. Just like him, I love both juxtaposing elements. "When I look at you, I see everything you don't. I see a man who's done everything in his power to bring me happiness, which you have. You push me to fight for what I want in life and you defend me against everyone who tries to keep that from happening. You even put your own life on hold so I can figure out the next path for mine. You're passionate and protective and you give a shit."
My fingertips dip into his cheek, willing him to understand me. "So let's get one thing straight. I didn't fall in love with a man hell bent on ruining my life. I fell in love with you because you are so good to me, for me." My eyes close and I lift onto my tip-toes, my forehead tilting to press against his. "Just stop trying to find a way to ruin it. Please."
Seconds pass as we both breathe the same air. Then finally, he says, "You're always going to be too good for me." It's spoken like a painful truth I haven't yet come to terms with. One that's unalterable.
He's wrong.
I shake my head. "I'm not. And if you stay, one day I'm going to make you accept that, too." I open my eyes and pull back, wishing that day was now. "You're so much better than what Calvin wants you to do tonight."
"I'm not."
"You are. It's why I love you."
Silence saturates the hallway. My chest tightens as we stare at each other, coiled with so much passion I fear I might snap. In the universe, there's only the two of us for this split second. Just a girl dying for the man she loves to realize why it's okay. It should be so simple. But it's not. Nothing worth it ever is.
Incredulity brushes his face, undercoated with an immense shade of gratitude. A multitude of emotions are trapped beneath the surface. Desire, affection, regret—they're all warped together.
Before I can decipher their meaning, his left hand cups the back of my tender head, his right hand grabs the backs of my thighs, and he lifts me, crushing his lips against mine. His motions are frantic and primal as my back hits the doorframe of my room. He's suddenly ravenous.
His fingers trace the bump on my scalp and when he whispers, "I'm sorry," against my mouth, our fight is forgotten. Because I understand. This is how he can let himself love me—through actions, not words. And right now all I can process is his skin on mine.
He thrusts against me, eager for our reunion. My hips grind against him, craving it, too. We're desperate. Electricity sparks inside me, consuming me in our current. This is when we shine.
We become a melody of sweeping fingers, soft groans, and panting breaths. Clothes are discarded, bodies are bared. Hearts are surrendered.
On the side of my bed, I settle onto his lap, a leg on either side of his waist. Then he pushes inside and I hum from the pleasure. After this strenuous day, it's every wish I've ever had granted in one single, blissful thrust.
Oh God.
His lips fasten to my neck, his hands grip my back, and I swear. They fly from my mouth as he reaches deeper and deeper, edging me toward the heavens.
I feel him everywhere, inside and out. He's between my legs, he's against my mouth, he's caressing my breasts, and stroking my soul. It's a perfect symphony.
He begs me to grind slower. I plead with him to sink deeper. And throughout, we burn brighter than the North Star.
However, stars burn out. Most already have. From earth, it takes lightyears to see what's already happened. Instead of focusing on that reality, we get swept away in the splendor of what's in front of us, what we see. We're too mesmerized by the image to acknowledge it's already gone.
It's what happens now as he says, "I don't deserve you," against the column of my neck. It's so quiet I don't hear the finality in his tone. I'm too caught up in the beauty of our union, in the masterpiece we create when we're fused together like this.
I don't notice the way he clings to my body, like he can't bear to part an inch. Or the way he cherishes my lips, like it's the last taste he'll ever enjoy. Or the way he loses himself in the contact of my eyes, like he's ingraining them into the deepest recesses of his memory.
I somehow miss the indications that every touch he makes whispers of goodbye.
I wake with moonlight creeping through my curtains, offering barely enough visibility to see the furniture in my room. It's silent in the apartment; no hushed vibrations from the television in the living room.
My hand stretches through my sheets only to be met with empty space. Rubbing my eyes, I push through my haze and step out of bed. The overhead light blinds me when I flip it on but slowly becomes tolerable as my pupils adjust. Then I step out of my room.
Everything is black. No glare from the television, no sliver of light from the bathroom or cracked refrigerator. The apartment is empty. Still, I search every room for Seth. Just in case.
It's not until I reach the kitchen and find a post-it note stuck to the island, his key, and a stack of bills resting next to it that I allow myself to process what's happened.
My pulse is a deafening throb in my ears, accelerated and hysterical. I read the note, again and again, until it blurs through the liquid tears. I blink it back to read it one more time, begging the words to miraculously change.
You deserve better. Now you can find it.
Hearts are built to endure. They survive and strengthen after each beating the world inflicts. But against the right person, they shatter under a single touch, a single breath—a single parting note. Somehow all that strength comes undone.
It happens with me.
The anger strikes first. It sweeps through my body and out through my hand as I slam it against the granite countertop. The bright yellow post-it peeks out from under my clenched fist. It's glaring at me, an everlasting reminder that Seth's gone. I take it between my fingers and crush it, hoping it helps settle the avalanche of grief coming next.
It doesn't.
My knees buckle beneath me. Hunched over the island, I release a strained sob. It comes from somewhere deep within my chest. Somewhere that's now dark and empty.
How can something hollow feel so heavy?
Under its weight, I sink to the floor, crumpling like the post-it still in my palm. I'm frail and powerless against its crushing strength. The salty tears burn my eyes, desperate to overflow. And with my back pressed against the island, I cry for the first time in nine years.