Finding It (Losing It, #3)(43)

Now wonder he kept rejecting me.

Not for the first time, I had to wonder why. Why did this great guy give two flying f*cks about me? I think he cared more about what happened to me than I did.

It didn’t matter where I was or how many planes or trains I’d taken to get there, the darkness always caught up to me. Not because of bad luck or karma or anything like that. Disaster followed me because I was the disaster. I was a walking, talking hurricane, and my idea of living was taking everyone down with me.

I looked up into the mirror. It was circled by rusting metal, and the low yellow light overhead glowed in the reflection. And there in the center was a girl with pale hair and pink lips. Beauty Queen material. That was what my mother had always said growing up. She wanted me to be the next Marilyn Monroe. She’d tell me that on mornings when she was drunk and retired to bed because of a “headache.” But beauty was a poison. A lie. It was a facade, and nothing more.

When I looked in the mirror, all I could see were the things they tried not to see. The bags under my eyes. The smudged mascara and sunken cheeks. The too-thin arms and the lines around my mouth from frowning. But those imperfections had nothing on the ragged soul that resided underneath.

That was the thing I couldn’t change. I could paint over it with makeup. Distract myself with parties and guys and traveling. But you can’t run from who you are … not forever.

And here in this small café in this small German town with possibly the most perfect guy in the world … it had finally caught up to me.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Kelsey?”

Jesus. How was I supposed to face him when we both knew he was better off without me? We should just scrap this whole weeklong trip, and go our separate ways. He could continue going wherever he was going. I could go back to Texas and find out if they had rehabs for self-destructive bitches.

“Just a minute.”

He didn’t listen, because a few seconds later the knob was turning, and the door that I hadn’t locked was swinging open.

I rushed to wipe at the mascara under my eyes, and grabbed a paper towel to pretend like I’d been washing my hands.

“Hey,” Hunt said.

“Jesus. Impatient much? If you have to go that bad, I’ll get out of your way.”

I was almost past him when he caught my elbow and turned me toward him.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend that you’re okay when you’re not.”

Funny thing, that. You have to know what’s real to stop pretending, and I lost sight of that a long time ago.

“I’m not pre—”

“Kelsey.”

Fuck.

His eyes. His goddamn eyes drilled into the very core of me.

“Why do you care?” I was horrified to hear the hitch in my breath.

“Why wouldn’t I care, princess?”

“Because I’m horrible. All I do is screw things up. Including you. You should be running as fast as you can in the other direction.”

“But then who would carry you when you fake-twist your ankle?”

I choked on a laugh, which turned into a sob, and I covered my face with my hands before he could see me fall apart. “See? Horrible.”

He pried my hands away, so I just turned my face down.

“You’re not horrible, Kelsey. You are vibrant and beautiful, and you burn. Burn so vividly. Fires can damage, but they’re also beautiful and vital and they can purify and give the chance to start fresh. You’re not horrible. Not at all.”

I wanted to listen to him, wanted to believe the things that he was saying, but my brain could only seem to zero in on the fact that he knew I was destructive, too. I’d spent my whole life wanting to be something more, to be noticed, to burn like Kerouac’s roman candles, but I’d never stopped to think about the harm I could do.

“I think I should go home,” I said.

His hands on my elbows pulled me in closer, and he said, “I don’t know what to do to convince you.”

“There’s nothing,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do.”

I gave him a sad smile, and the hands on my elbows slipped around to the small of my back, and his lips claimed mine in a scorching kiss.

Except that. You can do that.

I resisted for a second, trying to pull back, but his arms wrapped all the way around my waist, crushing me to his chest, and a few seconds of resistance was all I had in me. I clutched at his back, my fingers scrabbling to hold on to him. His tongue slid between my lips, gliding alongside my own.

This was burning. The heat, the fire between us blazed, and I couldn’t be close enough to him. I let one hand trail down to his lower back, and slipped it beneath his shirt to press into his heated skin. At the contact, his kiss turned frenzied, and I felt the cool porcelain of the sink bump against my lower back. I dug my fingernails into his skin, and a rumbling groan poured from his mouth. The arms around my waist slid to my hips, and he lifted me up and onto the sink.

“I should stop,” he whispered against my mouth.

I hooked my legs around his waist and pulled him into me. I found that spot at the corner of his jaw just below his ear that I knew affected him and pressed a light kiss there. Then I grazed the sensitive skin with my teeth, and heard his hissing breath above me.