“Is that how I make you feel?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m sorry…you’re not, Christine. I’ve never thought you are.”
She gives me a sad smile. “Then just stay for a bit longer. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I lean towards her and turn to face her.
“Christine…”
“Mmm?” she says, her eyes closed.
I can’t do it. It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue, but my mouth is sealed, my throat burning up. My heart is rebelling.
“You too, Ryan O’Connor,” she murmurs, half asleep, saving me from any more embarrassment.
I watch her fall asleep with a smile on her lips, relaxed and happy. I brush the hair away from her face and trace her profile: eyes, nose, cheekbones, mouth. I run my finger along her lips, and I’m suddenly overcome by an unbearable longing that I have to push down right away, or I’ll a huge mistake before anything can even happen between us.
I watch her for a while longer, trying to gather up the courage to leave with no regrets. But I can’t – it’s too difficult, this time.
I don’t want to leave her. I want to hope, to dream for just a little bit more, before I go back to reality and regain control of my thoughts and my feelings – because they can’t come out.
It can’t happen again.
I can’t turn back.
I can’t be that Ryan anymore.
The Ryan that someone else took away, the one that is being reconstructed piece by piece. But they’re pieces that I can’t fit together, not by myself or with anyone’s help.
Not even with hers.
Not even Christine can help me get back on my feet.
Not even Christine could love me, if she saw me for who I really was, day after day. If she really knew me, knew the kind of man I am and what lengths I would go to just to protect what I have: to protect myself from everyone, from everything.
From her.
