Page 155 of Seeing Grayscale

I fucking whimper again.God damn him.

It’s taking everything in me not to fold. This is what I want, after all. But what does that say about me? If I just let him get what he wants without any consequences? It shows that I can be hurt, tossed aside, and forgotten, and all it takes is a few texts, and I’m obtainable again.

I’m worth more.

I’m worth more than this.

You said that no dick in the world is worth risking your life for. You also said you didn’t mean it, but we both know that you did.

The problem is, you still mean it. You won’t risk a damn thing if it means choosing me. And I want someone who will choose me.

Until you can prove that person is you, I have nothing to say.

He types for a long time after that. So long that I’m expecting a fucking novel.

What I get are two sentences that change everything.

Hunter: From the minute I saw you, I chose you, Gray. Tell me where you are and I’ll prove it.

FIFTY-NINE

I’msweating.

Profusely.

Whoever invented grey suits needs to be fired.

Right now.

Oh fuckinggod.

I get off the bus, shaking like a limp, dying leaf. I googled this spot because it’s out in the open. People are everywhere. And if anything goes wrong, I can jump on another bus to flee. I’m still in the downtown area, with brick buildings looming everywhere, and it’s close enough to Abel’s clinic that I can run there.

Escape routes and witnesses.

Glancing at the pit stains forming in my suit jacket, I swallow hard and cross the street to the empty water fountain. A few benches are scattered, and pedestrians in their winter coats walk by. I sit on a bench, my knee bouncing and my thumb between my lips. I tear at the skin, the nail, whatever I can grab. Pain shoots through the digit, but it’s serving as a temporary distraction and staving off the impending vomit.

What if I just puke all over his fancy loafers the minute he shows up?

Hunter said it’d take him about thirty minutes to get here, so I have a few minutes left to collect myself. I decided to keep the fact that I’m staying with his physician a secret for now. I’m also bracing for more heartbreak. He says he’s going to prove that he’s choosing me, but I’ll remain skeptical. The way my heart is pounding, though, is proving that regardless of my skepticism, I’m hoping.

I’m hoping and wishing andprayingthat he’s real.

That we have a chance.

The minutes tick by as I watch people come and go. Some enter shops, others grab piping hot coffee from the cafe a few stores down. So many people are unaware of the potential carnage that’s about to happen.

What if I die?

What if I can’t take the pain of losing him again and just keel over right here on the sidewalk? Will they stop and look? Or will they fall into the evil category and walk past my suffering like usual?

I’m spiraling.

Scared shitless.

Sick with yearning.

Please don’t break my heart again. Please.

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