Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 134387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 672(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 672(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
And I realize that he’s right.
I am shaking. I have probably been shaking this whole time without my knowledge.
But it’s not the cold.
It’s him.
It’s from the sight of him, all sweaty and so familiar in his dark gray sweatpants, hanging low on his pelvis, and his bare feet. His dirty blond hair that appears dark brown right now, matted across his forehead.
I bet he was trying to kill himself again, by working out too hard.
When I still don’t move, he steps away from the door and holds it open, his biceps flexing. “Would you just get inside?”
“Right. Sorry,” I mumble, trying again to act unemotional.
Just get your shit together, Salem.
Wiping my hands down my cargo pants, I duck my head and step inside, careful, extremely careful, not to touch him.
When he shuts the door, I turn around to face him and repeat, “You’re leaving.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
His eyes go back and forth between mine for a second before he replies, “Because that was always the plan. Because I was always supposed to leave.”
Plan.
Yeah, he’s obsessed with planning.
“What about your therapist?” I ask, again all calm like.
“What about her?”
“Isn’t she supposed to have a say in when you leave?”
He stares at me for a beat. “No one has a say in when I leave.”
Right.
Not even me. Not that I ever had it but still.
He sighs again.
Although I don’t think it helps with loosening him up at all. His body, his muscles are as tight as ever. They’re almost straining from whatever is going on inside of him.
“Besides, I can find another therapist,” he says, standing tall and straight. “In LA.”
“And your team?” I swallow. “Are they fine with you coming back so soon?”
“I was always going to go back one day. So yeah.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my lips from trembling and my eyes from filling up. “But one day, right? Not right now.”
“One day. Today. Right now. What’s the difference?”
He asks the question calmly.
Very, very calmly and I bet he doesn’t even have to go to all the lengths that I’m going to. To appear this way.
Because suddenly it hits me.
He’s acting like the old Arrow. The one who used to be unruffled and determined.
Like the snow and the bite of his love that disappeared the next day, the new Arrow – my Arrow – is gone. In his place is the Arrow that I fell in love with but had no clue about who he was.
It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
A sour taste.
Like I’m drinking my own tears.
“Is it because of me?”
At this, I see a flinch.
I see the bare muscles of his stomach tightening and standing up in stark relief like I’ve punched him.
But his face shows no effect.
“What makes you think it’s because of you?” he asks in a rough tone.
“Because I love you.”
I suck in a breath at my declaration.
At my stupid, stupid declaration.
God.
No wonder he’s leaving. I just can’t stop saying it.
I just can’t stop telling him how much I love him.
When I came here I thought that I’d simply imply it. But turns out it’s super easy to say it now that the secret is out, and it’s super hard for him to hear.
Because his abs tighten up again.
So I clear my throat and amend the statement. “I mean, because I told you that I love you.”
“And?”
“And you’re leaving two days later,” I almost snap out at him, my hands fisted and my legs wide.
He notices it.
He notices my battle stance and something about that makes him sigh again.
This time though, the sigh works and he loosens up a little.
Making me wonder if this is what he wanted.
To provoke me so I’d lose my calm and become the crazy, dramatic Salem that he knows.
“Again, what difference does it make? I was going to leave anyway,” he says.
It makes a difference because I don’t want you to go, you asshole.
I wish I could say it to him.
I really, really wish that I could say it, scream it at his face and shake him.
But I can’t.
“If you think,” I begin, licking my lips, “that I’m going to throw myself at you again or declare my love to you randomly walking down the hallway or something then you’re wrong. I got the message. I got it, okay? You don’t want my love. You don’t need it. You don’t know what to do with it. So you don’t have to leave town, the whole freaking state, just because I told you my feelings.”
Okay, I didn’t mean to go off there at the end. I shouldn’t have raised my voice and bent my neck and clenched my teeth.
But I did.
Because how can he just stand there and be all unaffected when I’m going to pieces over here. When I’m shattering and there’s this epic pain in my chest and I don’t know if it will ever go away.