Undeniable

“Are you sure? I always feel as if I’m dying when Chace and I have a fight.” She sighs. “It’s already been two weeks, and I haven’t heard you laugh even once. I’m worried. I know how long it took you to get over it the last time."

“The last time I lost a child and almost died.” I mumble, annoyed. “Now I’m an adult who had sex with someone she should have avoided. It happens. I’ll get over it.”

Are you sure you don’t want to come over?” May asks. “I’ll send a car. You can drink margaritas while I eat ice cream and envy you.”

I smile at the image. “No, I’m fine. I swear.”

“I still think you shouldn’t have left like you did.” She says quietly.

How can I argue when sometimes I feel the same way? When I feel as if I should have waited, and taken whatever crumbs Jackson decided to offer me. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I whisper, hating the sudden catch in my voice and the sting of tears in my eyes.

“Okay, I love you,” May says, “See you soon.”

I don’t remember falling asleep on the couch, but when I wake up, it’s dark. I look around, searching for the source of the sound that woke me up, not sure if I heard it in a dream or in reality.

The sound comes again, and through my bleary mind I realize that it’s the buzzer.

You’re buzzing the wrong apartment, whoever you are. I sink back onto the couch and will the sound to disappear. Maybe they’ll call whomever they’re here to see. Maybe they'll go away. Maybe they’ll leave me alone to suffer my misery in peace.

When I don’t hear the buzzing again, I breathe with relief and get up, ready to go to my room and spend the rest of the night in sleep, where at least I can escape from the turmoil of emotions I feel.

The knock on my door almost makes me scream, but It’s the words that follow freeze me in place.

“Olivia.”

It’s Jackson. His voice is unmistakable. Disbelief momentarily robs me of my senses. It can’t be.

“Olivia.” The knocking starts again, how soon until someone from one of the other apartments decides to see what the disturbance is about? I panic, unsure whether I want to see him. He sounds angry, and I have no desire to face whatever censure I'm sure I’ll find in his eyes.

Go away, I mutter to myself, Go away Jackson, please let me get over you.

When the knocking doesn’t stop, I know I have no choice but to open the door. I have a fleeting thought about combing my hair, washing the sleep from my face, or maybe changing out of the pajamas I’m wearing to something more presentable, but it only lasts a moment before I realize that it doesn’t matter.

I open the door, and my breath catches in my throat. I feel lightheaded as I fill my eyes with the sight of his perfection. His black hair is a little windblown and unruly, but it makes him look even sexier. He’s wearing a pale blue shirt rolled up at the sleeves and tucked into a pair of black pants. As usual, he looks good enough to eat.

Chastising myself for staring, I step back to allow him inside, keeping my eyes on his chest, away from the intensity of the glare on his face. He stalks into my apartment, looking beautiful, dangerous, and angry.

“Why did you leave?” He accuses without preamble.

I sigh. Thinking how seven years ago, I would have given anything for him to follow me and ask me this same question, what a huge difference that would have made.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I say softly.

“Why did you leave?” he repeats. The words are not as angry as before, but sound controlled, as if there is so much more he would like to say, but he’s keeping a tight rein on it.

I shrug. “I finished my job.”

“I wasn’t finished with you.”

I fold my arms across my chest and look up at him, the small defensive posture giving me a little boldness, even though I know it’s nothing against his strength. “What else do you want with me, Jackson?”

He stares at me silently for a long moment, and then he turns away and paces a few steps. “You left without saying goodbye, not to me, not to Blythe, and not even to Constance. You may well have given her a slap in the face.”

I sigh, “I had to go Jackson.”

“Why?” The word bursts out of him. “Was it because you couldn’t stomach the fact that you let me touch you? That you enjoyed being with me? Do you hate me so much?”

“Don’t you?” I whisper. “Don't you hate me that much?”