Darker Water (26 page)

If I thought he only wanted to hang out or
have sex again, I’d have said no. Because I was in a lot of trouble
and needed to figure stuff out. After Anna tried to mess things up,
I was okay. When Carson came home, I was okay. But as soon as I
accused him of lying to me, everything started to collapse. By the
time I knew what had happened, it was too late to make it better or
go back to the way it had been.

How many times did I say it had nothing to do
with him sleeping with someone else and I was only mad because he
lied? At least five. I started to see a problem around the second
time. By the fourth, I knew it was total bullshit. It
was
about him sleeping with someone else. I was lying while accusing
him
of doing it. Then everything got so confused—what I was
saying and feeling—that I stopped being able to think.

When he told me to take off my clothes, it
would have been really, really smart to walk away, but I didn’t. Or
couldn’t, whichever it was. Because I knew I wasn’t going to get
many more chances to be with him before he figured it out, if he
hadn’t already. Seriously, it takes a special kind of stupid to be
that blind to yourself.

It had taken me this long to figure out
something so incredibly obvious, I should have it tattooed on my
ass as a warning to all:
If you’re close enough to read this,
you should run away as fast as you can.

I couldn’t separate sex from love. The
emotions showed up whether I wanted them to or not. It was
embarrassing that I hadn’t noticed until now, because my feelings
for Carson were way stronger than they’d been for any of the frogs,
and this wasn’t even love. So if this was just the beginning and
there was more to come, I was in deep shit. Because I was just
stupid enough to want them. To want
more
of them. Right now
they felt unfinished—the emotional equivalent to what I always felt
after having sex with the frogs and never felt after being with
Carson.

It wasn’t fair to him to pretend things
weren’t what they were. I should get out before everything got any
worse.

And, of course, I was standing in front of my
building, waiting for the last person on earth I should be waiting
for. Maybe if he hadn’t sounded so upset I could’ve said no. Maybe.
Probably. Maybe.

Shit.

He pulled up and opened my door from the
inside. I tossed my bag in the back, slid in, and focused on my
seatbelt, keeping my mouth shut. The car didn’t move. When I looked
up, he was staring at me. What had happened to him in the last
hour? He was just as gorgeous, but he was paler. There was an
innocence to his expression, a pained innocence. However confused I
was suddenly seemed trivial. All I wanted to do was throttle
whatever had put that look on his face.

I touched his cheek. “Can you tell me what’s
wrong?”

He took my hand and used it to pull me
forward, leaning closer at the same time, until we met. A gentle
brush of lips, then he was kissing me. Not the usual, hot,
pre-ripping our clothes off kissing—this was careful, gentle,
asking not demanding. Because I didn’t understand what was going
on, I stayed where he needed me, was gentle in return, and waited
until he trusted me with more.

His hand became a more insistent pull at the
back of my neck, his mouth opening mine wider, his tongue delving
deeper. I’m pretty sure I moaned before I could stop myself.

He pulled away but kept his hand on me. “I
wanna take you home. Can you stay over?”

I just nodded.

“You don’t have to, Lane. If you don’t want
to, I’ll—”

“I want to.” Too much and maybe for some of
the wrong reasons, I wanted to.

He looked down, maybe in embarrassment, maybe
something else. I didn’t know. All of this was new to me—I never
worried about Carson. Carson didn’t need or want anyone’s concern
and things didn’t bother him the way they bothered everyone
else.

But right now he seemed to be struggling for
the right words. “Thanks.” He let me go and straightened so he
could drive.

“No problem.” Another lie.

We didn’t get halfway up the first flight of
stairs in his building before he pushed me against the wall, kissed
me, and grinded his hips against mine. A breath later, he stepped
back, took my hand again and started walking. It happened two more
times before we got to his door. His hands had been everywhere on
me, always releasing me a minute after he started, as if he
couldn’t decide what to do. As if he wanted to use my body to stop
thinking about whatever the hell was going on.

That was the way Carson communicated. His
emotions were encapsulated in his touch, the way he moved his body,
the intensity of his kiss. I knew him well enough to understand he
needed me, but I didn’t know him well enough to know why.

Inside his apartment, he started taking off
my clothes, more methodically than he ever had before. Shirt and
bra were easy. He slid to his knees to unzip my boots and take them
off, followed by my pants, his lips slowly trailing over my naked
skin. His thumbs hooked through each side of my panties and pulled
them down slowly, his mouth just behind the cotton. Soft kisses and
caresses on my belly, my hips, his eyes staying closed.

His touch was as amazing as it always was,
but this wasn’t sexual. This was a need beyond the physical, for
companionship, or...

Love
. As much as he didn’t want it, he
needed it more. But it wasn’t the same thing as what I was feeling,
and this wasn’t the time to deal with my shit. It was the time to
give him whatever he needed from me. Not to bring more drama
in.

I ran my hands through his hair as he pressed
his cheek to my belly and wrapped his arms around my legs.

“Stand up for me,” I whispered, afraid of
speaking louder. He did what I asked and stood still while I
undressed him, kissing his chest, rising onto my toes to kiss his
lips. Holding his hands, I walked backwards into the bedroom, never
breaking eye contact, stopping when I bumped into the bed.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he
said with the same calm and quiet I had, lowering his chin and
looking at our feet. “I’ve never lied to you. I wouldn’t do that.
But I haven’t told you about all the bad shit in me.”

“There’s nothing bad in you.” I brushed his
hair back.

“Yeah, there is. And I should’ve told you
about it.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters.” He shook his head but didn’t
lift it to look at me. “I shouldn’t have brought you here and I
shouldn’t have taken your clothes off.” He spoke faster, his
shoulders shrugging the tiniest bit, his hands fidgety and unsure
until I stilled them with my own. “Because I think… I think I
should let you go. I think I should’ve done that a long time ago,
but I didn’t. So I think I should probably do that now because if
you’re here then you’re not where someone good can find you. Where
someone good can
love
you.” He swallowed. “That’s what you
should have—someone good who can love you.” Then he looked into my
eyes. “I want you to have that.”

“Well...” I sighed, fighting back tears that
he would probably misunderstand. That might make him feel worse, as
if he’d done something to me. He needed me to be strong. “You might
be right. But I’m naked now, and it’s cold, so I was hoping I could
borrow some of your covers for a little while.”

As small as his grin was, it was beautiful. I
sat down on the bed and scooted higher, motioning for him to join
me. He crawled up to me. “I know you probably want to jump on top
of me like you always do, but I was thinking we could wait a little
while.” Just that would’ve been a big indicator. We were in bed and
naked, and he wanted to wait.

He laid down on his side and pulled me into
him, my back to his chest, kissing my neck lightly. We were both
quiet for a long time, and then he squeezed me just a little
tighter.

“If it could be anyone,” he whispered, “it
would be you.”

I wasn’t fast enough to hold in the whimper,
stop the motion of my stomach as it clenched. At least he couldn’t
see my tears. I forced my breath to be steady, my body to stay
relaxed even though all I wanted to do was curl up and sob.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Whispering the
words didn’t make them sting any less.

“S’okay,” was all I could manage.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
I
hadn’t known. Not really, not for sure. I hadn’t known until that
moment. I’d thought I knew what it felt like, because I’d been
through it before. A few times. But it turned out I hadn’t, not
even close, never like this. Everything before now hadn’t been
real. It had felt real at the time, and I’d spent the last six
months convincing myself it didn’t exist. That it was all fake,
something people talked themselves into believing.

But I wouldn’t have talked myself into this
because I didn’t want it. Because it was going to ruin everything.
How fucking ironic—I’d been looking for love for the last eight
years. And when I finally stopped wanting and believing in it, it
found me.

I didn’t have feelings for Carson—I was in
love with him.

And what’s worse than falling in love when
you don’t want to? Falling in love with someone who can’t love you
back.

I held her, knowing how wrong it was, how
fucking selfish I was being, but I couldn’t let go. It would be too
cold if she weren’t pressed against me, too empty if she was
somewhere I couldn’t reach her. So I kept my arms around her all
night long, running my lips across her shoulder, harder each time I
felt her body jerk as she pretended she wasn’t crying. Pretended I
hadn’t made her cry.

When her breathing slowed and evened out, I
knew she’d fallen asleep. I focused on her skin and her heat so I
wouldn’t think about how wrong everything had gone and how fast it
had happened and how many lives besides my own I was fucking
up.

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know if I’d whispered it
or just moved my lips. It didn’t matter—either way I’d made sure
she couldn’t hear it. Coward.

When I woke up, she was using my chest as a
pillow and my arm was around her, holding her like I was afraid
she’d slip away while I was sleeping. Her eyes were open, and I
knew she’d been up a while, just like I knew I’d fucked everything
up for both of us.

Her eyes were wide and sad and ashamed. She
didn’t cry but her voice cracked when she spoke. “I don’t think I
can make it stop.”

I looked away, knowing and fearing what she
meant. I didn’t want to let go of her when she sat up. I wanted to
pull her down and tuck her back into my arm, so I wouldn’t have to
see her expression. As if that could make things like they’d been
before…before she became the only thing that made me happy and feel
whole. Before I brought her into my fucked-up life.

“Carson, I’m—”

“Don’t say it.” I shook my head, avoiding her
eyes. “Don’t think it. Don’t feel it. It’s not real, right? It’s
just your mind playing with you.”

“I know you didn’t sign up for this, and I’m
really sorry I couldn’t do it. I wanted to, and for a while I
thought I was, but I was wrong.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll go
if you want me to.”

Did I? No. Should I? Yes. If I let this go on
any longer, I’d end up hurting her just like every other asshole
had. I’d already let it go on too long, taken too much from her.
But I owed her some kind of explanation, to let her know how
incredible she was and that if there was any chance for us, I would
take it. I just didn’t know how to tell her.

I started with a deep breath. Right. I needed
to do this because it wasn’t fair for her not to know. “I like you
a lot. A lot. More than—” Chicken-shit—I was just as afraid of
telling her as I was of her not knowing. “A lot. But I can’t be
with you that way. You can’t feel anything for me.” Because I
couldn’t let myself feel anything for her.

“I didn’t want this,” she said. “I was afraid
of it happening. I warned you it might but you said...” She ran her
lip through her teeth, looking so miserable and confused. “Why were
you so sure it wouldn’t? Why are you so sure it won’t work
now?”

I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Except
that I didn’t want this to end. To not see her anymore, not be with
her? No, that couldn’t happen. Maybe we could figure out a way to
make her feelings stop. Maybe if she understood what I might do to
her…

“Okay.” I got out of bed, needing the
distance before I told her. “It won’t work because if we were
together, I would be the worst parts of every guy you’ve ever
dated. I would cheat and lie and make you think it was your fault.
I would want all your attention and give you none of mine.”

My eyes were stuck on the wall behind her
because I was too weak to tell her and look at her at the same
time. “And I wouldn’t hide it, which would mean that everybody
would see what I was doing to you, and they’d feel sorry for you.
They’d talk about you as much, probably more, than they’d talk
about me. Because it’s easy to figure out someone is an asshole.
There’s not a lot to it. It would take a lot more words and
wondering to understand why you let me treat you like that, why you
didn’t leave me, why you thought so little of yourself that you
kept pretending everything was okay.”

I had to tell her all of it because there’s
no coming back from the truth. She’d know, and it would make her
stop caring about me. Maybe we could go back to the way we were and
maybe we couldn’t, but anything was better than this, than being
this afraid of myself and what I might do to her. At least she’d be
safe.

“When I was little, I was more terrified of
growing up than I was of my father. I prayed I’d be like Peter
Pan—never grow up and become a man, because of what they had to do.
Men had to teach the people they loved how to behave. They
had
to. It was extra confusing because one day something
would be forgiven with a smack to the back of the head and another
day I’d be punished for it. You know, punished with…um…” I
swallowed. “With whatever he could find that wouldn’t break when
he…um…”