“I thought—I thought things were going really well.”
Rhys’s voice was small and scared. He had truly believed that he could fix me. Turn me into someone he could have a happily ever after with.
And you let him. You let him believe that because you needed to believe it so badly. You did this to him.
I dropped to a crouch and buried my face in my hands. I couldn’t stand to see him hurt. I’d avoided telling him things because I couldn’t stand to see him hurt. But all I did was hurt him anyway.
“I wish I could be like Max,” I whispered. “Someone you rescued and who got to live with you and love you and wasn’t supposed to talk. And then you could find someone way better to marry.”
“What the fuck, Matt!” Rhys grabbed my elbows and yanked me up. “How the fuck can you say that to me? You want to be my fucking dog? The fuck does that make me, your master?”
I blinked at him. That would be so much easier. Rhys must’ve seen it on my face because his eyes narrowed at me.
“God, sometimes I want to slap the shit outta you!”
“You should do it,” I said.
He surged toward me, and for a second I thought he was going to do it. But he grabbed my shoulders and snarled in my face. “No one. Fucking. Touches you.”
He took a deep breath and when he spoke again his voice was choked.
“You know I would never do that. You know that, Matt. So what the fuck are you doing right now? You want to make me hit you so you have an excuse to leave? So that I have a reason to let you leave? Not fucking happening.”
He was glaring at me, his eyes fathomless in the dark, the moonlight turning his hair to a wild halo.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered, stomach roiling. “All I know is that you deserve someone so much better than me, and I feel like shit all the time because I’m ruining your life.”
Rhys started to cry.
“Matt, get in the house.”
For a moment I thought I might bolt. Might actually run away from Rhys and this cottage and our dog and everything. But Rhys was crying and I’d sworn I’d try not to hurt him anymore. I walked to the house and opened the door. Max stood just inside, like he’d been waiting. Like maybe he’d been worried we weren’t coming back.
Rhys unclipped Max’s leash and hung it up. He took off his shoes and left them by the door. I was afraid to take off my shoes. Afraid that then I wouldn’t be able to leave, when I knew that I should.
“Take off your fucking shoes.”
I took off my shoes.
We stood, facing off halfway between the door and the living room. Rhys reached out a hand, palm up. In the half light he looked exhausted, defeated.
Hopeless.
“I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried everything I can think of to show you how much I love you.” His voice broke. “To prove to you that I’ll never leave you. That you’re everything to me. I—fuck, I’ll do anything. I would do fucking anything in the world if it would convince you that I’m not going anywhere. Just—what can I do? Tell me! Tell me and I’ll do it! Anything, please. Just tell me what would make you believe that I will love you forever! Tell me what would make you believe that I want you and only you. Please, Matty.”
Tears were streaming down Rhys’s face and his voice was choked and he was reaching out to me like a supplicant. Something crumbled to dust inside me.
I wanted to make it better. I wanted to lie and tell him something. Anything. Give him a task to perform, a feat to undertake. Give him anything to hold on to. But I couldn’t.
“I-I-I don’t know.”
Rhys stumbled forward and collapsed into me. He pulled me to him and squeezed me like a rag doll as he cried.
I was too wrung out even for tears. Just a husk with nothing living in me at all. But Rhys sobbed and clung to me, and I squeezed him back as tightly as I could. He clutched me like I was something to hold on to. Like I wasn’t just a shambles of dark basements and dusty corners and spider infested attics full of things I shouldn’t want and would never get.
I breathed in his smell. It always reminded me of walking in the sunshine. Fresh and alive. I sank my fingers into the smooth, heavy strands of his hair. In the morning light, in our bed, it was always lit up like gold.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. My words felt like clunky things I couldn’t quite navigate. “I know you love me. I do believe you. I just don’t know how to . . . I don’t know why I feel so horrible.”