Page 97 of A Dark Fall

When I finally look back at him, he has a sort of bewildered expression on his face as if I’ve spoken in Russian. Soon, the bewilderment turns to a scowl.

“Are you fucking serious?” he asks. I hold his eye until his scowl gets too difficult to hold onto and I have to look away. “Look at me, Alex,” he says, and then suddenly, he’s close again. “I said, look at me.” He takes hold of my chin and forces my head up. “You know it’s more than sex. You know that. You fuckingknowthat, Alex.”

I stare into his eyes. He looks so genuine. So confusingly genuine.

“I thought I did. But I’m so confused right now, Jake, that I’m beginning to think I never knew anything. Not really.” I shake my head out of his grip because it only adds to my feeling of powerlessness. It’s impossible to think straight this close to him.

I go to push past him, but he stops me, trapping me against the worktop between his arms. As he stares deep into my eyes, I feel as if he’s trying to tell me something. He looks hurt and sad and a little lost, and I feel guilty about it. Then I feel angry about it because I don’t know what he has to feel hurt about. Five minutes ago, he told me to stay away from him and to end it, and now he looks heartbroken I’d suggest this was all just a bit of fun for him.

Is this what he does to women—plays mind games with them?

“Alex, I don’t ever want you to think that. You’re more than that to me. You’ve always been more ...” He trails off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air between us.

“Then why have you kept me at a distance this whole time? Isn’t it because I was only temporary? I mean, why let her in at all when she’s not going to be about for long? Isn’t that what it’s been all along?” I stick my chin up, eyes hard.

His nostrils flare angrily, and he shakes his head. “No. That’s not it. Fuck, you deserve to know who I am. You deserve to know everything about me so you can decide. But I’m a coward. And I don’t want to lose you or hurt you. I never wanted that ...” He stops and runs another hand over his mouth before squeezing his eyes shut.

“You told me five minutes ago to end it, but now you’re saying you don’t want to lose me? That doesn’t make any bloody sense, Jake, and you know it ...”

I can practically hear the cogs in his mind churning as he squeezes his eyes closed with his fingers again. Suddenly, his shoulders drop, and when he opens his eyes again, he looks calmer, dark clouds in his eyes chased away.

“You’re right.” He nods. “Fuck it, ask me. Anything you want to know, and I’ll answer you. Tonight, I’ll answer any fucking question you want.” His voice cracks slightly as he licks his lips.

An odd wave of panic washes over me then. Inexplicable panic at the idea of him telling me things he was unwilling to tell me before. Tonight, when he wants me to end things.When I’m sure you won’t leave me when I do.

I shake my head. “No. I’m not playing twenty questions with you again, Jake. It wasn’t much fun for either of us last time, as I recall.”

As a show of determination, he pushes himself into me again, and again, I feel his hardness, obvious and urgent, pressing against my thigh. I stifle a moan. He could be inside me so easily. My dress has risen high up on my thighs, so he need only unzip his trousers, pull down his underwear, and he could be inside me. I moisten a little as his fingers dig into the upper skin of my bare thighs. God, I still want him. Despite everything, I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything. No matter what is happening in my mind or outside of our bodies, my need for him is a constant, unstoppable, living thing. My fingers itch to unbuckle his belt and pull him into the space between my legs.

“You say you don’t know me, and you’re right,” he says. “You need to know me.Really know me. You need to know who I am when I’m not with you. So do it now. Right now. Ask me.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. So, he’s prepared to tell me everything. Anything I want to know. After all his evasions and subterfuge, he’s prepared to finally open himself up. But not because I’m safe hands or because he trusts me. Because he thinks it’ll make me run. Maybe he thinks it will make me hate him. This man in front of me, who I’m in love with, wants to break my heart.

Vaguely, I wonder what I would ask him. What on earth could he tell me that would change my feelings for him? A wife, maybe? A family? Yes, that would do it. I’d still be in love with him, but there would be no working through that.

Suddenly, I don’t want to know anything. Suddenly, I want him to keep his secrets. Every single one. Why do I need to know what he’s like when he’s not with me anyway? What a stupid, pointless, needless thing to want to know.

I’m about to tell him something of that sort or ask him to forget the whole thing and fuck me instead when I feel a vibrating sensation against my inner thigh. His phone. He stares at me expectantly while the insistent vibration continues. It looks as if maybe he hasn’t even noticed it, but then he lets out a breath, reaches into his pocket, and pulls the phone out. He visibly recoils from whoever it is, then he swears quietly under his breath.

“I need to get this,” he says.

Of course he does. He always needs to get it. He turns his back on me and moves away, out into the hallway.

“You’d better have a good fucking reason for this,” he growls. As a good reason—I presume—is explained to him, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose yet again. “What the fuck are you on about? And how many times have I told you never to fucking go there?” Silence. “Yeah, well, that’s never gonna happen, is it? Where is he?” Silence. “About forty-five minutes. None of your fucking business.” A sigh. “Just wait fucking there. I’ll be there shortly.”

He’s leaving. My heart drops as he comes back into the kitchen looking tired and angry. I know some of that is my fault, but I also blame some of it on the person on the phone.

“You’re leaving,” I say. It’s not a question.

He nods. “I’m sorry. I have to.” He looks as if he wants to say something more, but of course, he doesn’t. I suppose my window of opportunity to ask him anything is closed. I chance it anyway.

“Any chance you’ll tell me why?”

He lets out another deep breath. He looks so lost, so conflicted, as if he has so much going on in his head that I couldn’t possibly begin to understand it at all. Who knows—maybe I wouldn’t. Which means I can’t help him. Which means I’m useless to him.

“Not right now, but I will,” he says, his voice soft. “I’ll try and come back tonight, otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow. We can talk then. Properly.” He nods decisively.

“I have plans tomorrow.”