Page 23 of Lovesick

Then, there was a knock on my door.

And I knew. Somehow, I just…knew.

Even if it seemed like a dream.

I didn’t get up right away. I sat still on the couch, wrapped in my blanket, clutching a mug of cold tea like it was the one thing keeping me protected from the outside world. My heart pounded. Hard. Loud.

Another knock. Firmer this time. Still not forceful. Hesitant.

Finally, I managed to get up and walk down the hallway to the front door. I studied it, wishing I could see right through it to find out if I was right about who was standing there. I wanted it to be Dean. In the most twisted way, I wanted him to stand there with bloodshot eyes and trembling lips. With sorrowful eyes, and maybe a bouquet of my favorite flowers in his hand, ready to apologize for all the shit he put me through.

On the other hand, I hoped it was just my neighbor, maybe asking if I was okay because she hadn’t seen me in days. Because she usually did. And even though we rarely spoke when we met, I knew she cared. Maybe not enough, though.

Maybe I was just being delusional and none of those options were right. Maybe it hadn’t even knocked, and I only imagined it.

But when I opened the door, Dean was standing there, looking out of place in the hallway of my building. His suit was rumpled. His tie loose. And in his hands was a bouquet of roses—red, fresh, painfully beautiful. They were my second favorite, but I wouldn’t hold that against him.

Because how would he even know about my love for Peonies? He never asked me things. Only demanded and took. Never asked. Ever.

But…he was here.

He didn’t speak at first, just stood there, his face tight with something between guilt and panic. Like he was scared I wouldn’t open the door, and even more scared that I had.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice low and rough. “I shouldn’t be here, I know. But I needed to make sure you’re okay.”

I didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. I just stared at him. At the roses. At the man who had gutted me with words he probably didn’t even think twice about saying.

He held the roses out, but I didn’t take them, so he pulled them back and dropped his gaze, sighing heavily. Then, after a while, he looked up again and said, “I messed up. I know I did. I was cruel. I told myself it was easier to make it mean nothing than admit that it ever meant something at all.” He exhaled, jaw clenched. “You were never supposed to get to me. That wasn’t the deal. I don’t…do feelings. Not with anyone. Especially not with someone who works for me.”

The reminder sliced through me like a sharp knife.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay,” I shot back, tears stinging my eyes.

He flinched, pain flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Is this a joke?” I crossed my arms and straightened up to stand taller. To try and seem unfazed by him standing there. But as hard as I tried…I still felt small and defeated.

“What—” Dean shook his head, his brow furrowing deeply. “It’s not a joke, Emilia. I was worried. I’m glad you’re—”

“I’m not okay and it’s all your fault!” My whole body was shaking, and the finger pointing at him trembled the most. I wanted to fall to my knees and cry into my hands. Wanted to let out all the emotions I only allowed myself to see the past week. Wanted him to see them, to see how broken I was because of him. But my feet were glued to the floor beneath me.

Dean looked perplexed. Shocked that I shouted at him. That I outed those words. But it shouldn’t have surprised him. And, slowly, he accepted it. He nodded once, his jaw ticking. “I know. And I’m sorry, Emilia. That’s why I’m here, and I hope you’ll hear me out. Please.”

I blinked fast, trying to get the tears to fall. But they didn’t. They only blurred my vision more and more.

“Please, Emilia,” he whispered.

I crossed my arms and lifted my head, chin high up in the air. I deserved his apology, but I wasn’t so sure he deserved to explain himself. But, God, did I want to listen. I swallowed hard. “Fine. Talk.”

His expression changed. A mix of relief and hope flashed in his eyes as he ran his free hand through his hair. “The way I treated you was wrong. I thought if I kept it simple, kept it physical, it would be fine. And then it wasn’t. I’m an asshole. Always have been, but women had never gotten under my skin. Not like you have, Emilia.”

I wanted to believe him. As much as his words caused goosebumps all over my skin, I couldn’t accept his apology. Not yet. My heart betrayed me again, beating fast as he spoke. If my feelings had been messy before, they were getting even messier now.

Dean continued. “And instead of facing that like a fucking adult, I lashed out. I tried to erase it. Erase you.” A pause. His voice cracked, just barely. “But I couldn’t.”

I hated that those words hit me. That some small part of me still wanted to believe them.

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