Page 147 of Jesse's Girl

Immediately enraged, I swat his arm. “Yes! Yes, this is serious shit,” I mimic him, “you dickbag!”

“Jesus, Ada! Take it easy!”

“He’s gonna be on the other side of the world tomorrow, Marcus! So no,” I say, squinting with disdain, “I’m not gonna take it fucking easy.”

“Okay…” My brother looks like he’s trying to figure out how to approach a volatile wild animal.

I push down a sob, clinging in vain to the last shreds of my dignity. I refuse to have a public tantrum at a wedding—kidding myself that I’m not currently mid-tantrum, of course.

“Shit,” Marcus whispers, then runs a hand through his hair. “You love him, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” I suck in another jagged breath as the reality washes over me once more. I might never see Jesse again.

“I didn’t realize—” Marcus says, cutting himself off when he follows my gaze over his shoulder to where my cab is pulling into the long, gravel driveway.

I try to steady myself, wiping under my eyes. “Tell Kai and Nadine congrats or whatever,” I mutter as I push past him. “I’m going home.”

The booze hits my system in the cab, a dull buzzing sensation settling in at the base of my skull. Tears slide over my hot cheeks as I stare out the window into the black nothingness, suddenly and profoundly exhausted.

My driver casts uneasy glances at me through the rearview mirror but doesn’t poke the hornet’s nest.

Smart man.

I blink away my tears and text Katie.

Me

Gonna need some top tier bestie commiseration tomorrow… The wedding was rough.

Katie

Noooooooooo! Shit. I take it seeing Jesse didn’t go great?

In response, I send her a GIF of Artax dying in the Swamp of Sadness from The Neverending Story then turn my phone to silent mode and shut off the screen.

When I stumble through the door to my apartment, it hits me all over again. Something about the privacy and silence here is like a kick to my stomach, although you’d think I’d be used to it after a week. But after what happened tonight… It’s like the wound has torn right open again.

I knew this would happen.

The sooner he’s gone, the better.

I punt my discarded shoes across the kitchen floor.

I barely have enough energy to halfheartedly brush my teeth before I tear off my constricting dress and toss it into the laundry hamper along with my still-wet panties. I don’t bother to shower or even take off my makeup, though I know I should do both. Instead, I yank on a tank top and pajama shorts and fall into bed. Curling into the fetal position, I pull the covers over my head.

Through the haze of gin and tears, Jesse’s words thunder back: “Tonight, we can be everything.”

I can almost feel it again—his voice rumbling against my cheek. I jerk my head to the side, rolling over like I can get away from the memory—like it isn’t trapped inside my heart, indelibly inked into my very being.

And he’d made me give in—pressured me into being with him one last time. Coerced me into sex.

Bullshit! my conscience screams, the lie so glaring that I can’t even buy my own crap. All he’d done was speak the plain truth—that he can read me like a fucking book. That he knows how I feel. That I’ve fallen hard. That I want him. That I love him.

I love him.

I love him and I shoved him away—literally—and told him to go. God, I don’t want him to go.

The weight on my chest threatens to shatter my ribs into little spears of bone that pierce my heart, one by one. I try to inhale, but the air is hot and jittery, my lungs fighting both for and against the oxygen. I pull the blanket away from my mouth and try to draw a deeper breath, but the room feels suffocating. My pulse hammers and nausea swirls in my gut; I’m frantic. Shivering. This is what I imagine freezing to death must feel like, except I’m somehow too hot. I’m so tired, and yet so painfully, acutely awake.