Being Me (Inside Out #2)(31)

“That’s who you are, Chris, and I like who you are and that means I need to be those things, too.”

“Sara—”

“Please let me finish before I can’t.” My knees wobble and I lean against the wall. “I’ve let fear of failure hold me back for all kinds of reasons that are too complicated to explain at this moment, and I’m not sure I really understand fully myself, but I’m trying. I don’t want to let it hold me back now, so I’m just going to say what’s on my mind without even taking a breath here. I know I said I’m not about white picket fences, and I’m not, and never will be, but I can’t imagine being without you, either. What that means to me is that I need to go where you need me to go. And don’t tell me you don’t need anything but me. I wish that were true and it means a lot when you say it, but you have a way you deal with life, a place you go to escape. Everything from the painting, the club, the way you are in general, tells me that. I don’t want someone else to be there when you need those things. I want it to be me. I want you to trust me not to run.” I stop talking and the dead space afterward is unbearable and I can barely contain an urge to fill it with more words. “Chris, damn it, say something. I’m dying here.”

“And what if you can’t handle it?” No denial of what I’ve said.

There is a sudden, crushing pressure in my chest. This is what he is scared of, what he fears. That I can’t handle all that he is. “We both need to know if I can. I don’t want us to unravel and have to wonder if it’s because I didn’t try.”

“You can’t.”

“Okay,” I say hoarsely, and the pressure intensifies painfully. “Then I guess that’s that.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you already know I’m not what you need. I know I’m not what you need. Let’s not drag this out any longer than we have to. I’m going to pack, and—”

“No. You are not going to pack. You are not going to leave. Not after the storage unit incident.”

My insecurity sends my hand to my throat. Had he meant to break it off with me but the storage incident stopped him? “You don’t owe me a safe place to stay. I don’t need charity protection, Chris.”

“That’s not what I meant. Damn it, Sara, I don’t want you to leave.”

I hurt. He is all about pain and now I am, too. “Want, need. Right, wrong. They all just make me one big mess and I am tired of being one big mess, Chris. We, this, us—it’s all going to destroy me if we go on like this.”

“You are going to destroy me if you leave me, Sara.”

More pain. His pain this time. It radiates through his words and insinuates itself deep in my soul, like he has. And in that moment, I believe he needs me as I do him. “I don’t want to leave,” I whisper.

“Then don’t.” His voice is a soft plea, exposing the rare vulnerable side of him I find so impossible to resist. “I’ll come home tonight and we’ll figure this out together.”

“No,” I say quickly. “Don’t do that. That you want to is enough. I’ll be here when you get home. I promise. I’ll be here.”

“I can fly back there tomorrow morning.”

“No, please. Don’t. What you’re doing there is too important and I work late tonight anyway.”

“I’m coming home.” A distant voice calls his name and he adds, “I have to go. I may not be able to call you again but I’ll see you when I get there.”

“I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I?”

“Not a chance.”

We say a short good-bye forced on us by someone calling him again, and when I hear the phone go dead, I let my head fall backward to the wooden surface of the door behind me. I am far too happy that Chris is putting himself through hell to see me tonight, and he is far too willing to let it happen. What are we doing to each other? And why can’t either of us stop?

? ? ?

After pulling myself together, I step out of the bathroom and a prickling of awareness brings me to a halt. My gaze lifts, seeking the source. My throat tightens at the sight of Mark standing in profile to me at the counter to the right of the register, talking with Ava. I can’t see his face, but Ava does not look happy, even less so when Mark leans in closer, intimately close to her ear, to finish whatever he is saying. There is more to their relationship than I had thought and I wonder if I know any of these people at all.

Ava’s eyes lift and find mine, and I realize I’m not only staring, but have been caught. I tear my attention away and rush to my table, feeling Mark’s gaze on me, intense and heavy. I wonder if everyone else here understands that the power charging the air is him claiming the room simply by existing, or if they just feel the unidentified crackle I did upon exiting the bathroom.

I gather my things at my table, preparing to explain why I’m here instead of at the gallery. It should surprise me that Mark doesn’t approach me at my table but it doesn’t. Of course, he’s building the tension, ensuring I squirm for his enjoyment. It’s a familiar method of control to me, or rather, used on me, that fits Mark like a glove. It used to fit me as well, but not anymore. I’ve come a long way toward understanding and even seeing the positive in Mark today. Understanding doesn’t mean liking all that I see, though, and I don’t right now.