Page 90 of Far

Connor

Mary looks up from her laptop, rubbing her temples with her index and middle fingers. Her face contorts in concentration, and her eyes scan lines of text.

At this time, we would usually sit on the couch in her apartment and watch her dating shows. I miss our Sundays. The best feeling was her relaxing in my arms.

Since I picked her up drunk, we haven’t gone back to our normal routine. I still place water bottles on her desk, and she drinks them, cutting back on the caffeine. But that’s all.

My fingers itch with the desire to touch her, to fuck Chris out of her system once and for all, but I know it’s not that simple.

Not mixing pleasure with business. An excuse. A piss-poor one at that. But I couldn’t tell her the truth. Couldn’t say that the sight of her with another man made me see red. That I stayed away to avoid doing something I’d regret.

But if she mentions Chris’ name or compares me to that piece of shit one more time, I don’t know what will happen. I am deluding myself. Perhaps I really am nothing more than another version of Chris, preying upon her vulnerabilities.

In the end it was me leaving her. Not him.

Fuck. I don’t want her to hate me. I shouldn’t have started anything, knowing she’s still hurting. She even thought I slept with other women, that she was just one of many. If only she knew how wrong she was and is about that.

If only she knew the truth, knew she’s the only one for me.

I leave Mary out of my sight for one moment, and she gets drunk, thinking about Chris and comparing me to him. And Tom’s hands on her.

What am I supposed to do now? After knowing what it’s like having her close, I can’t just leave. If only she would let me in and see how perfect she is for me. She’s the only one who has ever gotten under my skin like this. The only one who makes me feel so out of control. She’s stuck in my head like a goddamn virus.

I wish I could make you see how perfect you are for me and how I would do anything, be anything, for you.

A notification pops up on my monitor. With a few quick keystrokes, I open the email, skimming its contents.

“Fucking hell.”

I turn my attention back to the monitor, watching Mary through the lens of her office surveillance camera.

She hasn’t slept properly in weeks. Her once vibrant blue eyes are now sunken and rimmed with dark circles, and she lost weight.

I did that to her. Twice now, and I hate myself for it. I never wanted to see her cry like that again. I wanted to go after her, take her, and never let her go. But what would she do if she found out the truth? Would it hurt her even more?

She sits up straighter, grabs her phone from the desk, and starts typing. The three dots appear in my chat with her, then disappear and appear again. Stops. Starts again.

After a few attempts, she gives up with a huff. Dropping her phone onto the desk, resting her forehead against the heels of her palms.

Don’t hide, Blue. I can’t read you when I don’t see your eyes. Know what you’re thinking. Feeling.

With a sharp inhale, I slam the laptop shut. Darkness envelops the room, but I keep seeing her. Blue eyes. Glossy lips. The curve of her neck as she throws her head back and gasps my name.

My phone buzzes. A message from the boys’ group chat. Brandon has posted a photo of his latest culinary creation.

Brandon: Check out the new burger I created! Two beef patties, bacon, cheese, a fried egg, and sriracha mayo.

Bash: Sounds pretty basic to me.

Brandon: The secret is the preparation.

Bash: Who are you trying to impress?

Elijah: Finally making moves on Naomi?

Brandon: Fuck off, both of you.

Connor: Bet it tastes as good as it looks.

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