Page 91 of Habits

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

I repeat this motion over and over again until my lungs start working at a normal speed, until my heartbeat returns to its steady beat and my skin isn’t a nervous, wet mess.

When I’m sure I won’t throw up my guts, I relax my fingers and collapse onto my ass. Sighing, I rub my face, spent.

I have to get my shit in order and figure out what …

I don’t get to finish my thought because the door slowly opens and a messy, dark head peeks through the crack.

“Hey, why are you up?” Her voice is low, husky. She rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“Just …” I swallow, not sure what to say.

Jeanette opens the door wider, stepping into the bathroom. She slipped on one of my shirts, but I could bet you there is nothing underneath it, and just the thought of it makes me want to have her again.

Strong.

Overpowering.

Irrepressible.

That’s how deep my need is for her.

But every coin has two sides, and on the other side, matching that desire for her is fear. The fear of the power she’ll hold against me if I give in to it.

If I give in to her.

“You should go home,” I blurt out finally.

Jeanette stops in her tracks, a frown marring her forehead.

“Now?”

“It’s getting late.”

I feel like a complete dick, but I can’t help myself. I need her gone. Far, far away from me. Away from this house. Away from this goddamned town because if she stays here, if she’s close …

Those dark gray eyes look at me carefully. There are confusion and irritation written on her face, battling for which one will win. Which face she’ll show to me.

We’re all wearing masks.That’s what she told me once.

Finally, she nods, her eyes looking somewhere over my shoulder. “You’re right.”

Look at me.

“It is getting late.”

Look at me, Princess.

She gives me one final nod and turns on the heels of her feet.

I start to get up, my hand outstretched, but she’s already out, the door closed firmly behind her. A physical barrier she erected between us to add to the emotional wall she has around herself.

You’re the one who put up the wall first.

I fall back down on my ass, my hands clench into fists, and I pound on the hard tiles, welcoming the pain.

Jeanette never comes back inside. I can hear her shuffle around the room, picking up her stuff and getting dressed, and then as silently as she came, she leaves my house.

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