What kind of love did we have?
It’s undoubtedly not unrequited, but it’s probably some sort of impossible love since the universe keeps pulling us apart. Though in spite of everything, there’s always that flimsy string connecting us, tormenting us. I don’t comprehend if the torture is because we remain hopeful that this love is enough or because it’s an unattainable dream.
The sleek furniture, majestic view of the city, and the expensive art on the walls remind me how different we are.
“This place is as boring as the last one,” I complain, masking the disappointment. He still hides part of who he is, even from himself. “If you ever decide to move, I’ll go house hunting with you.”
He shakes his head. “Some days I wonder if you don’t approve of me or my life choices.”
“It shouldn’t matter,” I respond. “You should be yourself. Approve of yourself first. Though I admire who you’ve become professionally. Your life, like mine, is still a work in progress. This place, though. The apartment isn’t you.”
A spark lights in his eyes. “What is me?”
That’s a complicated question, but I have the right answer. “Luna Harbor. A comfortable house with a big ass kitchen. It’ll have a deck where you’ll have patio furniture from some fancy store where the wealthy and snobbish like to shop. You’ll have a covered fireplace on that deck. No, it’s a patio. Every night you’ll go outside to spend an hour or two reading with a glass of single malt.”
Ethan is in front of the glass window staring at the horizon, probably picturing this house or just entertaining me because he’s trying to keep my mind away from today. It’s hard to guess what he’s thinking when I can’t see his face.
“What’s on the inside of the house?” he finally asks.
“The living room has comfortable, inviting couches where your guests will feel at home. There’s a worn-down leather chair that you found in an antique store next to the fireplace. That’s where you sit when you don’t want to be on the patio. The dog likes to lay right beside you while you’re reading,” I continue. “There’s a music room. Though, you have a music studio somewhere on your property. The bedrooms are upstairs.”
He turns around. His hypnotizing gaze locks with mine.
I continue saying, “This house is classy and elegant. The house has enough of you that it feels like home. The coffee table in the living room is a housewarming present from me. When you enter that place, it’s like you step into another world.”
My eyes travel down Ethan’s body. I entertain the possibilities of being in that house with him. It’d be nice to sit next to him while we both read and relax after a long day. It wouldn’t be just reading, though. At some point, I’d reach out to him and take his lips. I’d push my tongue deep inside his mouth, kissing him hard.
It’d be the prelude to a long, satisfying night of lovemaking. I’d start by taking his shirt off, licking his well-sculpted chest all the way down to…
I stop myself because my mind is already pinning him on the couch, balls deep inside him. So much for keeping this platonic. Will I still be undressing and fucking him with my mind in ten or fifteen years?
Probably.
Is he doing the same? Because so far, neither one of us has broken eye contact. The embers of lust burn bright inside his eyes.
We’re probably horny. Neither one of us has had sex in a long time. I don’t plan on being his fuck buddy. We probably never were, but I have nothing to give him, and he clearly has nothing to offer.
“I couldn’t live in Luna Harbor,” he says, breaking the silence and eye contact. “How am I supposed to go to work? It’s a two-hour trip one way. I’d have to use the helicopter, and it adds up.”
The idea of offering to pay for it sounds perfect in my head, because wouldn’t this be the ideal life for us? But there’s no us. There’s no house in Luna Harbor. There’s no hope for a future where we share a home and we live happily ever after.
That will never be us.
“See, that’s one thing that is all you. HANNETH,” I say, focusing on this conversation and planning my escape. Staying with him doesn’t help me. His presence crowds my head with ideas, images, and impossible situations that depress me.
“Hannah created it too,” he reminds me.
“There’s, of course, a part of Hannah in there, but you made it into something you love and enjoy. That’s what your house should look like.”
“Like my office?”
I glare at him. “No, like there’s a piece of your heart in there.”
“Like the house we rented after we left The Coop,” he says as if he’s reading my mind.
There it is again. Another piece of our history that’s bitter with a side of sweet. It was good until the Sinners became a reality. But was it really good? Because we were both hiding from the world and denying the underlying issues that became our worst enemies.
I’m about to say I better go to my counselor when his landline phone rings. I groan but answer before he can react. “Ethan Killion’s home, how can I help you?”
“Put him on the phone,” a female voice demands.
I stare at the phone and then place it close to my ear. “Excuse me?”
“I need to speak to him now,” she repeats with such a petulant tone. I’m tempted to hang up the phone, but with people like her, it is best to fuck with them. I’m that kind of sensible with people.
Clearing my throat, I inquire, “May I ask what this is in reference to?”
“This is his mother.” As she says the word “mother,” my stomach twists. My gut tells me to hang up or give the phone to Ethan.
I don’t listen. I’m stubborn that way.
“He’s unavailable at the moment. Would you like me to take a message, Mrs. Mother?”
Ethan stares at me and rubs his temples. I mouth, your mom.
I know, he mouths with concern.
If he thinks I'm going to come out for him, he’s wrong. That’s his business. However, I don’t have to be nice to her.
“He’s not answering his phone.” Her aggravated voice is louder when she says, “This is an emergency.”
“Ma’am, he’s not available,” I repeat with a lazy tone. I’m channeling my inner DMV agent at the end of the month when everyone has to renew their car plates or their driver’s licenses. There’s no rush. “If you leave a message, I’ll make sure to let him know when he’s back.”
“Who is this? His assistant?”
“Sure.”
“Can you wire me money? Also, tell him that he needs to increase my monthly allowance. I can’t live in New York with what he’s giving me now.”
“Have you considered moving to another state? Something cheaper?”
“Stop!” Ethan whispers.
I smirk. Poor guy, he might have a stroke before I end the call.
“I heard that Alabama has better weather, and you could live in a big house by the ocean.”
“A big house?” Her voice switches from angry to excited.
“Sure, as Mr. Killion’s assistant, I could look into that for you.”