Page 24 of Into the Dark
When he wipes a bit of chocolate from my lip with his thumb and sucks it clean off his finger it makes my heart flutter dangerously. Jake doesn’t seem to be affected in the same way because he just reaches over and slices me another piece of cake. When he tries to give me a fourth larger piece I put my hand up to stop him. I’m full of cake. He looks like he might argue with me about it, but he doesn’t. He reaches across to hand me the Coke again, which I take from him gladly. As I drink, he uses the fork to help himself to a piece of cake too, popping a loaded forkful into his mouth before chewing in that neat, efficient Jake way he has of eating. It makes me smile.
So I’ve missed the way he eats too.
No, not just a person. Just him.
“It’s good,” he says with his mouth still half-full. “I’ll leave the rest for you for later.” He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth as he swallows.
“No—finish it if you want. I’m full.”
He shakes his head and puts the cloche back over the plate before turning around to face me. “How do you feel now?” he asks, frowning slightly. His gaze roams the whole of my face.
“Much better.” I give him my most reassuring smile. “Thank you.”
He frowns harder. “For what?”
“Well, for the chocolate cake and cola, and for picking me up off the floor.” I say it as a joke, but his eyes are dark.
“Yeah, I’m a real fucking hero, Alex,” he mutters, bitter and sad, dropping his gaze to his hands.
My heart constricts. “Please don’t do that.”
He closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh.
Okay, I can’t bear this anymore. Reaching forward, I cover his hand with mine and link my fingers through his. For a moment I think he might pull away from me, and I’m not quite prepared for how much that will hurt, but he doesn’t. Very, very gently I feel him squeeze our grip. He’s still so warm, and his hands feel exactly as I remember them, strong and perfect in mine. It seems like it takes an effort for him to look around at me. When he does, he looks sad and sorry and very tired. Like he’s been carrying something far too heavy for far too long. I want to help him carry it.
We’re both silent for a long time, our hands wrapped tightly together. My voice is loud in the silence when I speak.
“I’m really glad you came tonight. I’m glad I got to see you.”
He looks around at me. “You could have seen me whenever you wanted, Alex. You knew where I was.”
“You make it sound simple,” I say. I mean, he’s right, of course. I did know where was. And I wanted to see him, hear his voice, be close to him, but it wasn’t that easy. How would seeing him have helped me get over him? Because that’s what I was trying to do. I could barely think about him—how could I see him? In my weaker moments I thought about driving past his apartment, but I was always terrified I’d see him with another girl. Or worse: Vicky. It was around this time I wished I’d taken a photo of him. Something I could look at, if only to confirm he was real. As though the ache of my loss wasn’t enough of a reminder.
Now, everything feels different. As it always did when he was close. All his secrets and lies and subterfuges pale in comparison to the man. To the heat of him beside me. To the scent of him ribboning around us. To the rise and fall of his breathing. My head is still a mess. But all those things Rob forced me to confront downstairs, all those thoughts that followed as I ran after him, they’re still loud. And true. I can’t live without him.
I love you. I need you. Nothing else matters.
I take a deep breath, organize my thoughts, and open my mouth.
“I should go,” he says. “Let you get some rest, yeah. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
As his heat disappears from my side, that same riot of panic rushes through my body. The one from downstairs. The one from the kitchen that day. He doesn’t look at me as he brushes a hand through his hair and over his beard, casting a glance about the room as if he’s looking for something.
I can’t let him leave me again. I won’t. I can’t think straight though. The panic is too loud again. My throat is dry again.
He picks up his jacket from the chair by the door and pulls it on. “Goodbye, Alex. Take care of yourself, yeah,” he says, finally dragging his eyes to me. He does it in the sort of way he might look at a chore he’d happily avoid for the rest of his life.
My panic turns to shock turns to anger. Take care of myself? “That’s it? Take care of myself? Are you kidding me? You’re leaving with that? That’s your goodbye? Take bloody care!” My voice is far too high, and the panic in it makes it rattle slightly.
He lets out a loud breath and drops his head back, but he doesn’t turn back around. He doesn’t look at me. “Sorry. Is there something else you’d rather I said?”
This momentarily stumps me. “No. There isn’t. I’d just rather you didn’t leave me.”
“I’m not leaving you, Alex. You already left me, remember?”
God, that hurts. It’s true, I did leave him, but he’s making it sound simple again. When it isn’t. “Don’t you think that’s a little…simplistic? I didn’t leave you, Jake. That’s not quite what happened.”
“It isn’t?”