He left. He just left, without another word.
Corey has taken away my tray, and has tried to make conversation but my heart’s not in it.
My heart’s broken.
I knew this would happen if I let myself feel things for Riot. Fall for him. Then I stopped fighting it, fell head over heels, and now…
This is my fault. Corey was right.
“You were right,” I tell him as he bustles around my bedroom, straightening my furniture, putting dirty clothes into the laundry basket.
“About?”
“Riot. About meeting with an escort, about thinking this was the answer.”
“But you did it, Pax. You got better.”
Leaning back on my pillows, I think about that. He’s right. Again.
“You should rest, girl.”
“Still. I shouldn’t have kept meeting him. That was a mistake. It’s just that he’s so...nice.”
“And handsome,” Corey helpfully adds.
“Thoughtful.”
“And damn hot.”
“Shut up, Corey.” I swallow hard. “Stop being right for a minute.”
He sighs. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know.” My eyes burn with unshed tears. “Sit with me and watch a movie. Eat chocolates. Talk about the weather.”
Talk about anything and anyone but Riot.
“Sure thing. Can we watch The Fringe?”
“Again?”
“We haven’t watched it in ages.”
“You mean two weeks.”
“What can I say? Peter Bishop is hot.”
That makes me snicker, and although the tears finally fall, sliding down my cheeks, I know it could have been worse. My best friend is here, and I have chocolate and warm blankets to hide under.
It will have to be enough.
***
The days pass. I get better. The pain in my heart, in my mind, doesn’t. Not yet. I guess it will take time. I find myself pulling up the agency’s number on my cell phone, time and again.
I don’t press it. I don’t call.
Why did he get up and leave like that? He’d been so nice to me that night and day. Always so gentle, so wonderful. What did I do to push him away?