Page 79 of It's Always Been You
“I . . .” Words fail me. Why do I do it? The truth is, I have no idea. All I know is that when my mind is on fire and I’m itching to step out of my body, my mind, my life, my reality—this helps. It dulls the pain. Helps me focus on something else.
Temporarily, of course. The feelings always come back, though. Sometimes with a vengeance . . .
“I don’t know,” I admit.
He doesn’t respond, and his silence says it all:You’re not getting out of this conversation this time. Not unless you leave.
And I would never leave.
He must know that. In fact, he must be using my Achilles heel—my desire to be with him—to his advantage. It’s the only way I can rationalize how he gets me to spill all of my darkest, most shameful secrets. Either that, or he’s hypnotized me—because the confession comes tumbling out of me like gravity’s at work, compelling me to tell him by the law of nature itself.
“Because when I’m feeling everything, this helps me feel . . . nothing.”
His thumb strokes the rawest scar. “There are healthier ways to manage your emotions, baby.” He shifts closer to me when I hang my head and nod, because I know he’s right. But this is an old crutch—one I’ve leaned on since I was a teenager. I’ve never tried to stop. “I can help you.”
“How?” I lift my face to look at him.
He pulls my chin forward with his finger and presses a tender kiss to my lips. “We’ll find you a therapist. Someone who’s not me. Someone you can tr—”
“No, thanks,” I spit, turning away.
He frowns. “What have you got against therapists?”
“Nothing.” I laugh at his bemused tone. Hoping to distract him, I shift so I’m facing him again, then throw my leg over his lap and push him back against the couch. “There’s only one shrink I like, and he’s pretty good at numbing the pain.”
He rolls his eyes but smirks when I try to kiss him. To my dismay, he resists and shifts me off his lap, then rises from the couch. Pouting, I spring upand follow him to the kitchen. Sometimes, he sends me home before we can get too carried away, and I wonder if this is going to be one of those times. I can’t work out a pattern, so it’s confusing and painful, especially when I’m walking home all alone, feeling like a used napkin even when he hasn’t even touched me . . .
Brandon moves to the sink and looks out the window. “It’s getting late,” he says, staring at his own reflection. His signature way of saying,Go home, Evie.
I wrap my arms around him from behind and press my cheek to his shoulder blade. “I love you.”
His shoulders relax, and he spins around. Taking my face in his hands, we stare into each others’ eyes for a moment, saying everything and nothing at the same time. He’s giving me that soft, dreamy look he sometimes gets just before kissing me, and my heart jumps like it’s been electrocuted. Smiling bashfully, I study him, chewing on my lip while I revel in the burning, static energy pulsing between us. It’s more pronounced now than ever before, while the world is sleeping and the recessed kitchen lighting is illuminating his handsome features.
He smiles back, but there’s an unmistakable, carnal hunger lurking deep within the fathoms of those ocean eyes. It still baffles me that Brandon wants me in the same way that I want him. When he looks at me like that—like I’m both the object of his affection and something he wants to devour—everything feels right in the world.
“Let me stay,” I plead, knowing he wants to send me away. He’s in one of those strange, broody, unpredictable moods. I just don’t know why.
His eyes flash with indecision. “We can’t.”
“Why?”
He wipes a hand through his hair. “Because Maggie is waiting up for you, and”—he pauses, then frowns—“because we both know it’s not a good idea.”
“But you want me to stay.”
His expression darkens. “Don’t.”
“Don’t speak the truth?”
“This—” He hesitates and releases me. “It’s already too much for you, and for me.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff, crossing my arms. He’s acting like he hasn’t bedded at least a thousand women before me. “You do this all the time.”
He scowls. “Not withyou. And I’m trying—”
I wait.
“I don’t want . . .” His face flames bright red. “It’s wrong.”
