"Yeah." I unlock the door and open it for her.
She bends to grab something from the concrete—a tiny silver gift bag—then she steps into the apartment.
I follow, closing and locking the door behind us.
The place is sparse. Empty. Not a speck of dust in sight. Cleaning is somewhere between reading and filing taxes on the list of things that might help me forget her.
It didn't work.
Nothing works.
She still owns my thoughts.
She still keeps me up all night.
I have no idea how to make it stop. Maybe this is it. Maybe I need one last taste so I can forget her.
She turns to me. Holds up the gift bag. "This, um, this was for your birthday. If you don't want it—"
"Thanks."
Her smile is sad. Weary. She looks as tired as I feel.
I take the bag, set it on the counter, move into the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"
"Water."
"Sure."
"You still keep the place dry?"
I grab two glasses from the cabinet and fill them with water. "Yeah. I can't imagine having booze here."
"For Bree?"
I nod.
She smooths her dress. Rocks from one foot to another. Plays with her short hair.
I move to her. Offer her a glass.
She nods thanks and drinks with greedy sips. "Thanks. I was only waiting for an hour or two. But I didn't know how long it would be so I didn't want to hydrate."
I motion to the bathroom.
She shakes her head. "No, I walked over to a coffee shop halfway through that. I, uh…" She moves forward. Sets her glass on the counter. Keeps her back to me. "Walker, I… I get it if you hate me, if you never want to see me again. But wait until I explain to judge." She lets out a heavy exhale and pulls her arms over her chest. "If you still hate me, I'll leave. And I won't contact you again."
I move toward her. Set my glass next to hers.
She takes a deep breath. "I really am sorry."
My fingers skim her shoulders. "I know." I know she's sorry. I know I convinced her to stay quiet. I know she hurts as much as I do.
But that doesn't help clarify any of this.
I hate her and I need her are still tearing my heart in half.
It shouldn't matter.