Page 68 of The Love of My Next Life
“I’m so sorry, Lennon,” he whispers. The pain in his voice makes the tears welling in my eyes fall down my cheeks. “I’m so fucked up. I keep hurting everyone. But I can’t stand knowing I hurt you.”
I try to swallow back a sob, but I fail, and instead, my body shakes with it.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says again. “Please tell me how I can fix this.”
In spite of myself, I roll over and face him. In the moonlight and the glow from my alarm clock, I can just make out the cut on his lip and the bruising on his jaw.
How was that only a few hours ago? We were just on the beach this afternoon.
“Please, Lennon,” he pleads, reaching out and pushing a piece of hair behind my ear. My tears fall harder. “I’m begging. I can’t lose you. I keep fucking everything else up, but I can’t lose you.Please, Lennon.”
“Why?” I say, and he clasps his eyes shut. “Why go to her? Why were you in that car? After everything today...”
I trail off. I know I sound pathetic. It’s not like we were dating. He never promised me anything, but I can’t stop.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. It’s not what I want to hear. “I wish I had an answer, but I don’t.”
“That’s not good enough, Macon.” I shake my head and the pillowcase scratches my wet cheeks.
“I know. Don’t you think I know that? I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to hurt you. But since you’ve got Eric—”
“Don’t you dare,” I interrupt. “I don’thaveEric. I didn’t go to Eric today. After the beach with you, I went home. I picked out an outfit I thought you’d like. I went to dinner at your house, excited to see you, only to find you hours later fucking Sam in her car!”
My voice is so angry, rasping in the loudest whisper I can manage, and it hurts my throat.
“We didn’t fuck,” he defends. “I swear to god. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
I laugh out loud, sardonic and hollow.
“Oh, but making out and letting her hump you in the passenger seat is okay?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s not okay. You’re right. And I’m so fucking sorry.”
He reaches out and takes my hand. I don’t pull away, and I hate myself a little bit for that.
“Why did you go to her, Macon?”
I see the moment he gives. His face falls slack and his eyes close. He takes a deep breath.
“I was buying some pills from her,” he confesses into the darkness. My heart breaks. I don’t mention that buying shouldn’t involve sex and touching and kissing and whatever it was they were doing in that car.
“You have to stop taking those,” I say, instead. “My mom...She didn’t...I couldn’t...”
“I know.” He scoots closer and pulls me to his chest. I bury my face in his shirt and take a deep inhale. “Let me make it up to you. Please, Lennon.” He pulls back and tips my chin up. “I can’t lose you.”
I don’t stop him when he brings his lips to mine. When I taste tears, I don’t question who they belong to. I don’t move away when he wraps his arms around me. I don’t pull back when he slips his tongue into my mouth.
I kiss him back.
I kiss him back, and I cry, and I let him hold me, and another part of me breaks. I pull him closer and push away the screaming in my head.
He presses his forehead to mine, our rapid breaths mingling.
“It’ll never happen again,” he says. I shake my head. “I’ll fix it.”
“You can’t,” I tell him honestly. “I don’t think I can trust you.”
“I’ll fix it,” he says again. He kisses me sweetly, his soft lips slowly gliding over mine. “I promise. I’ll make it up to you.”
