Page 150 of New Growth
Huh.
“Right,” I said, my voice flat. “I forgot only your opinion matters in this. Fuck what I want.”
El didn’t flinch. “You’re trying to rush the process, E. We just got to the point where you let me hold you without flinching. I’m not going to push you past what you’re ready for just because you feel like being reckless. Shit like this makes you have an unhealthy relationship with sex, Elliot.”
“You asked me if I wanted this not even an hour ago!” I snapped turning to face him.
“That was before I realized how serious it was,” he said, standing now. “Last night, I thought it was the alcohol. But today? You were shaking the second I got on top of you. Is that how you think I should let this happen? That’s the kind of man you think I am, Ellie?”
I stared at him, swallowing everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.
“I should go,” I murmured as I finished getting dressed.
“No, E. Come on. We should talk about it some more—”
“Why?” I cut in. “Your mind’s made up. And I’m not gonna beg you to fuck me, so what’s the point?”
“Ellie—”
“I need to go home. I have to get to work.”
“Can we talk more later, then? Tonight?”
I nodded once. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, Ellie.”
I didn’t respond. I just grabbed my things and left, quietly calling for an Uber.
I wasn’t mad at him—not really. I was mad at myself. Mad at this body that still remembered things I’d spent years trying to forget. This body that tightened up and tensed when it should’ve softened. That refused to let me be touched without flinching.
I wanted to move on. God, more than anything. I wanted to let go of the weight I didn’t ask to carry. I wanted to kiss him and not feel my pulse spike. I wanted to lie beneath him without bracing myself. I wanted to want it—and not just in my mind, but in my skin, too. In my bones.
Because I did want him. And he was so patient, and so careful with me. But I hated that I needed that patience in the first place. Hated that I couldn’t just be normal. That I couldn’t just say yes and mean it without my body betraying me. I was tired.
Tired of being haunted.
Tired of how slow healing was.
Tired of El looking at me like I was always just one breath away from shattering.
I didn’t want to be handled—I wanted to be wanted. Desired. Taken apart in the best ways, not just pieced back together. I wanted the freedom to enjoy being touched. To feel safe in his hands and in my own skin. I wanted to choose intimacy without fear sneaking in uninvited.
When the ride arrived, I sunk into the backseat, letting the tears stream freely but quietly.
?
After an hour of crying to Mariah the Scientist in the shower, then another thirty minutes of a mini crash-out over Elliot confiscating my flask, I finally made it to EL’evations. My head was pounding, eyes still puffy, but I’d pulled it together enough to walk through the door like I had a handle on life. I didn’t, but like Ma always said appearances mattered.
Hope was already on edge, phone clutched in one hand, those sharp-ass acrylics tapping against the screen like they had a grudge. Her eyes snapped to me the second I walked in.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” she muttered.
I slipped past her without looking directly at her and dropped my bag at my station. “I’m not even late.”
She acted like she didn’t hear me. “So? Did you talk to him?”
“El?” I asked, mostly to buy time—even though we both knew damn well who she meant.
