ETHAN: It’s not you. It’s me.
ME: That’s what you say when it’s the other person’s fault.
ETHAN: Except it is me.
ETHAN: You’re not the one at fault here. I am. I fully admit that if we stay living together for much longer, I’m going to want to do more than just kiss you.
I drew in a sharp breath. That wasn’t what I’d wanted to hear—or was it? I don’t know. Did I need a full idea of how he felt about me? It wouldn’t validate me in any way. It wouldn’t change who I was as a person.
Yet, here I was.
Desperate to know.
Desperate to ask.
ME: Why?
ETHAN: Because I can’t stop thinking about you, Ava. And the more I think about you, the more I want you.
Ho.
Lee.
Shit.
Whatever I was expecting him to say—it wasn’t that.
ME: It’s sexual. That’s all it is. It’s just a physical attraction.
ME: Nobody has to know. What if something happening gets it out of your system?
Oh, my God, what am I doing?
ETHAN: Do you have any idea what you’re saying?
ETHAN: You’re essentially asking me to walk into your bedroom right now and fuck you.
ME: It’s all hypothetical.
ETHAN: No, it’s not, and you know it.
ME: Fine. Whatever. There’s clearly something unsaid between us. You can’t tell me it’s the worst idea.
ETHAN: It’s not the best one either. What do you propose we do? Take this too far? Sleep together until I ultimately leave town again?
ETHAN: You’re not a one-night stand, Ava. You’re not the girl you fuck and leave.
ME: What does that even mean?
ETHAN: It means you’re the girl—however infuriating you can be—that you take home to your parents, knowing you’re gonna marry her.
What was happening right now? Was he drunk? A carb-high? Did someone slip weed into that pizza? What was going on?
This was weird, weird shit.
Yet I couldn’t breathe. My heart was thumping and my mouth was dry, and I couldn’t give a shit about the scandal that was unfolding on my laptop screen.
All I cared about was hearing more.
Listening to all the things he shouldn’t be saying. Savoring every last word that never should have reached my ears—or my eyes.
Feeding my stupid addiction to this man.
Feeding my stupid, stupid heart that was reckless enough to love him.
ETHAN: And I can’t do that to you. You’re worth more than a quick roll in the hay.
ME: What if I said I didn’t care?
ETHAN: You do care.
ME: How do you know? You can’t tell me how to feel.
ETHAN: I can’t, and I never would. But I saw how you looked at me yesterday after we talked.
ME: I didn’t look at you.
ETHAN: Exactly. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Doesn’t matter if you think it’s all sexual—that’s what people say when they don’t have any other reason for the way they feel.
ME: Fine. Whatever.
ETHAN: Now you’re mad.
ME: No, I’m fine.
ETHAN: No woman has ever used the word fine when she’s actually been fine.
ME: Look, it’s simple. If you want to move out, move out. I’m not going to try and stop you. It’s your decision. You have every right to do whatever you want.
ME: I’m single because this world is filled with guys who tell girls shit they think they want to hear then backtrack. I’m not single because I’m unaware of my worth.
ME: Don’t tell me I’m the kind of girl worth marrying. I already know that. I don’t need you to validate it. I’m also woman enough to know that having sex with a guy without any promise of a relationship doesn’t make me any less of a person. Even if I did choose to live my life with one-night stands, it doesn’t mean I’m not worth marrying. Everyone is worth marrying. Even serial killers get married and they’re straight up psychotic sociopaths who are way worse than women who decide to take control of their sexuality.
ME: But if you’re going to live here still, cut this shit out right now. Keep whatever feelings you have to yourself if you’re not going to do anything about it.
ME: Because you’re right. There is something here that goes deeper than just a physical attraction, but I’m not going to lie in bed and dig myself a hole of denial in the hopes I’ll get to China and get over it like you apparently are.
ME: So if you’re not going to do anything about this, if you’re going to put me on this ‘marry, don’t fuck’ pedestal when I’m perfectly capable of knowing what I want and making an informed decision, do me a favor. Just be my roommate. Do your laundry and wash your dishes and contribute to everything fairly. And for God’s sake, shut the fuck up, okay? Just shut up. Because I don’t want to hear it.
My eyes stung with frustration, and I slammed my phone on the bed next to me with the screen down. I wasn’t interested in what he had to say anymore.
How dare he? How dare he tell me what I was worth? How dare he insinuate the things he had?
I could have had twenty one-night stands opposed to the grand total of zero I had to my name, and it wouldn’t have made me any less of a woman. Any less of a person.
My worth was not defined by my sexual history.
My worth was not defined by anyone but me.
I got to decide that. Not some asshole with a dick between his legs. The only time an asshole with a dick between their legs got to decide a woman’s worth was when he was the asshole with an actual dick between her legs.
Spoiler alert: her worth was through the roof.
So why the fuck did I have tears in my ears? Was it the subtle rejection? The knowledge that this was it—this was really, really it? There was absolutely, categorically, it. There was no way that Ethan and I would be together. Ever.
It was stupid. I knew that. I’d known it for years.
Why did he have to go and text me tonight? We’d left on good terms. Awkward ones, but good. We’d eaten together. There was cold pizza for breakfast and enough fajita fillings that we could both eat them for lunch.
Why did he have to go and fuck it all up?
Why did he have to kiss me in the first place?
Why hadn’t I pushed him away?
I was over it. I was so over all of this. All I wanted was to curl into a ball and scream my frustrations out into a pillow. Cry into my sheets. Get rid of the anger in the easiest way I knew how.
But I couldn’t.
Because he was out there. He’d hear me. He’d know he got to me. He’d know he hurt me.
And I was never, ever going to give him that power.
As far as Ethan Hawkins was concerned, it was the only power I had left.
I got out of bed, knocking my phone to the floor, and grabbed the makeup wipes from the top of my dresser. I scrubbed furiously at my eyes, removing the remnants of the light coat I’d put on before I went to meet the girls for lunch today.
My skin was red and blotchy thanks to the anger I held in the knots of my stomach. Bags under my eyes gave away my tiredness, and there was a distinct sadness in my eyes themselves.
I needed a good, long sleep.
“Ava?” Ethan’s voice was muffled by my door. “Are you still awake?”
“No,” I shot back. “This is my voicemail. Leave a message after the beep. Beeeeeep.”