Page 146 of Jesse's Girl
“Ada, wait! Just fucking talk to me, please!” He grabs my arm, pulling me back to him. “Why?”
My eyes well with tears I refuse to let fall, and my voice comes out wavering and tight. “Because, Jesse,”—I take a shaking breath—“kissing you makes my heart feel like it’s going to bottom out of my fucking ribcage.”
“Ada…”
“You got what you wanted, right? One last fuck.” I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth.
His expression falls. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Don’t do this. Please. Don’t run off on me.”
I shake my head. “I can’t stay here.”
“You don’t think I’m terrified too?” His eyes dart between mine. “That I’m not dreading getting on that plane tomorrow and leaving you behind? Not knowing when I’ll even see you again?”
His words squeeze the air from my lungs. Neither of us has said that part out loud—until now. And I hate him for saying it. I hate it for being true.
“Then let’s rip off the bandage now.” I twist out of his grasp and pull open the door, unable to draw this out any longer. “Don’t say goodbye to me. Tomorrow, I mean. I don’t wanna see you. I can’t. Just… just go.”
“Ada, Jesus Christ, don’t do this. Ada!”
Jesse’s voice fades behind me as I lurch across the hall and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and locking it.
He jiggles the knob moments later, then bangs on the door. “Ada! Come on!” His voice is thick and pleading. I can picture the twist of hurt in his expression and squeeze my eyes shut, wishing he’d leave.
I let moments pass and don’t answer.
“Fuck!” he grumbles before I hear his retreating footsteps.
Good. This is for the best.
So why do I feel like I’m dying?
The tears finally spill out and I make a quick grab for some tissues. The sticky reminder of what we shared pools between my legs, and I can’t get rid of it fast enough—although my heart sinks all the same, knowing I’m wiping away these last traces of Jesse. I clean myself up and wash my hands.
Leaving the solace of the bathroom, I launch down the empty hallway—half expecting to find him there waiting for me—and out into the warm night air. The music and laughter from the dance floor claws at my ears. I blink a few times, then make a beeline for the bar, swiping up my purse from where I’d left it earlier. Fishing out my phone, I call a cab.
“Two shots of gin, please,” I manage over the noise. All my senses are on alert for Jesse’s inevitable approach, but I refuse to turn around. I told him I didn’t want to see him. And I don’t. I don’t trust myself to look him in the eye without melting into a pathetic puddle at his feet, begging him not to leave like some genuflecting wretch in a Renaissance painting. As I slide a twenty to the wary bartender, I can feel Jesse watching me from wherever he is.
Stop me, I plead with him silently. Tell me I’m an asshole and stop me from leaving.
I down both shots, then feel the tap on my shoulder. Bracing myself, I turn to find my brother—smiling, his hair damp with sweat from dancing. I try to hide the way the air is sucked out of my chest—whether from disappointment or relief, I’m not sure, and I’m too tired to figure it out.
Marcus’ dopey grin vanishes when he registers my face. “Whoa. You okay?”
I give him the stink eye of a lifetime for even asking, and he takes a step back, like he’s worried I’ll break a bottle just to cut him with it.
“Okay, clearly not. What the fuck happened to you?”
“Jesse fucking happened to me.”
“Damn. Do I need to break his knees or what?”
I press my lips together and shake my head.
“Fuck, Ada, this is exactly what I was?—”
“Save it, Marcus,” I say, cutting him off. “I’m not ready for an ‘I told you so.’”
He studies me for a few beats as I swipe at the fresh wave of tears. “This is serious shit for you, isn’t it?”