Page 82 of Chasing After You
Resentful that I had to prove myself over and over again whenhe’dleftme. That I had to stay on a leash to be lovable. That I had to pretend not to want things that I desperately fucking wanted.
I wantedhim.
Not just close. Not just here.
I wantedallof him. The softness and the vulnerability and the dark, sad, scared parts he thought no one could love. I wanted his complete surrender, his fear, histrust.
But I couldn’t have that and keep him too. At least, not now.
So I buried it.
I buried it deep.
I curled an arm around his waist and gently pulled him a little closer, feeling his body melt into mine like it had been crafted perfectly to fit my shape.
“I’ll be better,” I whispered into his hair, unsure if it was a vow or a lie, “for you.”
Because if I couldn’t be good for him… I’d lose him.
And I couldn’t survive that again. In all truth… I wasn’t sure he’d survive it either.
* * *
Josh was still sleeping when I slipped out of bed.
I got out of bed silently, letting the warmth of his body fade from mine as I pulled on a shirt and padded barefoot through the house. The quiet here felt different this morning. It didn’t feel lonely—never that, not with him here—but maybefragile. Like the whole place was holding its breath, waiting to see if I’d fucking ruin everything.
I went to the kitchen, flicked the light on, and stood at the counter with both hands pressed flat to the cool marble. My reflection caught in the microwave door—under eyes bruised under the weight of another sleepless night, jaw clenched like I was expecting a fight.
I hated that I’d scared him.
But part of me… no, not part of me—all of me understoodwhyI had.
The truth was, I didn’t understand people. Not really. I could mimic it—conversations, small talk, appropriate reactions. But I didn’tfeelthings the way I was supposed to.
Josh was the only thing I felt I got right. Well, at least most of the time.
When he smiled, something in me sang. When he looked disappointed, my bones splintered.
I leaned my head forward, resting my forehead on my arm, and squeezed my eyes shut.
Is that what love is for someone like me? Control? Possession?
I didn’t know how to love without it. I wanted to keep him safe, keep him happy—but more than that, I needed to keep himmine.
I wanted to be the only one who knew how to calm him when he was spiraling out of control, the only one he turned to when the world got too loud, and the only one who ever made him feel chosen.
And that want—thatneed—was relentless.
It gnawed at me, even after the promises I’d made, after the contrition I’d faked well enough to half-believe it myself.
Because beneath it all, the truth remained.
I didn’tregretloving him like this.
I only regret getting called out for it.
I straightened slowly, rolling my neck until it cracked. I thought about the words he’d said:You can’t ever do that to me again.
