It’s like someone has held up a mirror and they’re forcing me to see this for what it could be and not what we’re trying to force it to be. “Ren…I wish you were here.”
“No, you don’t. I bet you’ve been up every night with some beautiful Canadian girl riding your cock like a moose or whatever. That’s why you can’t sleep.”
“No. Almost, but no.”
“Well, get that pretty face out there and get yourself someone. Have fun!”There’s something off in her voice. It could be my imagination, me dreaming up what I want to hear. Or it’s hesitation.
“I tried, you know? At the bar tonight, during the industry afterparty. I met a bartended, we flirted for a bit, and I followed her outside. We were?—”
“Chase—”
“I couldn’t do it, Ren!” I yell into the phone. She doesn’t respond, so I keep going. “I kissed her and I swear to god I had every intention of banging her. I wanted to prove something to myself and I failed. I wanted to prove that I could forget about you like you want me to. That we could go on being friends with benefits. But I don’twantthat and I don’t want her.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” I’m off the bed and pacing now, Pongo trying to keep up with me. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I can’t hold it in anymore. “I get it. We’re different in so many ways, but that doesn’t have to mean we can’t try, does it? If you break it all down to just you and I, does anything else matter?”
“We talked about this, Chase.”
“No. No, we didn’t. Not really.” I didn’t want to do this over the phone. I didn’t even know I wanted to do this. “Renate, I…I’m so sorry. I want more.”
The line goes silent and I pull the phone away, checking to make sure the call didn’t disconnect. A shaky breath from her breaks both the silence and my heart simultaneously. I poured out part of my heart, a part I didn’t think even existed anymore, and now I’m holding my breath waiting to see if she shatters it again or takes a chance on those broken, fucked up pieces.
Before she can answer, there’s a knock on the door. I turn toward it and stare. I want an answer, but she needs time. “Uhm, R-Ren, I need to go. I’m…I won’t call again if that’s what you want. I’ll leave you alone and let you go on with your life. It’s up to you and I’ll respect whatever your decision is. No matter how much it hurts.”
I hang up the phone and turn it off before tossing it on the bed. Pongo follows me to the door, nudging me, but I’m ignoring him. I shouldn’t.
“Chase? Honey, what’s the matter?” Cynthia sounds like she’s underwater and I’m drowning. I can’t breathe.
When I look up at her again, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed and she’s draping a cold cloth over the back of my neck. It’s a trick she learned a few years ago when I had a freakout before an event.
“Hey, breathe and focus. You had another panic attack, a nasty one. I almost called the Doc.” She’s seen some of my worst, some I don’t even remember. “How long do you think you’ve been sitting here?”
“Uhm, a few minutes maybe?” I pat Pongo’s head, assuring him I’m okay.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been sitting there for almost thirty minutes. Do you want me to call Dr. Clay or would it be better to talk to me?”
I lean forward, feeling sick to my stomach, and put my face in my hands before I tell Cynthia everything I told Ren.
CHAPTER14
KILLER
VALERIE BROUSSARD
The early morningcacophony of the small cafe is deafening, that makes it the perfect spot. Trying to grade at the kitchen table didn’t work. Neither did my room, even with headphones and music on. The echoing marble and tables full of chatting people are much harder to ignore, which makes the grading take longer, but at least I’m too distracted by the world to think about Chase and his little phone call stunt.
I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want the hassle of giving my time and energy over to another person for them to mishandle. I’ve already lost enough of myself to one toxic, horrible relationship. I fought for my freedom, struggled to keep any piece of myself intact, grasped for air while clinging to the last strings of hope. I won’t do that again.
Chase might be nothing like Luis. What if he respects and accepts me?
Is a movie star and all his baggage worth the risk? The paparazzi will catch me. They’ll blast my extracurricular activities all over the tabloids, and Miley will fire me. Or worse, he’ll hold my job hostage with the hope he can blackmail me into sleeping with him. Gross.
I’m arguing with myself like Gollum deciding the fate of a hobbit. But I have too much of a past to jump into anything that even resembles a relationship. It’s too risky. I have my work, my clubs, and my family. I’m making excuses, but deep down, I’m worried someday I’ll step into another trap.
I can’t afford to make the same mistake again.
Luis and I were teenagers—young and clueless about life. We were supposed to spend our younger years meeting friends, trying new things, and learning about love through the eyes of innocence. Dating as a teenager has the same feeling as dousing yourself with gasoline and walking through a crowd while hoping nobody has a match. It’s hell. Especially when you’re not one of the popular kids.
