“A run?” asks Ginny. “It’s the middle of the night.”
He says nothing, and won’t even glance at me as he goes, but I feel a small knot of dread in my stomach and I resent its presence. I haven’t done anything wrong, and he wouldn’t have to hear about my ex-boyfriend if he’d just admit we’re together.
He runs for over an hour. I feel the upper windows shake when he closes the front door, and I slip from the room, grateful that our guests are gone and that Ginny falls asleep so quickly.
He’s in the shower already. I sit on the bed and wait. He doesn’t look surprised to find me there when he emerges. But he doesn’t necessarily look happy to find me there either.
“You can’t blame me for that,” I say quietly.
His jaw grinds. “I know. But I just don’t need to hear that shit.”
“You know, you wouldn’t have to hear that shit if we just told them what’s going on.”
He walks to the foot of the bed in nothing but a towel. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” he says, dropping the towel. “I just don’t want to talk.”
He pushes me on my back, his movements rougher than normal. He moves over my skin, claiming me again and again with fingers and tongue and teeth, something urgent and desperate driving him.
“I’m close,” I gasp, and then watch, stunned and heavy with anticipation, as he reaches into his nightstand drawer and pulls out a condom.
He opens it and meets my eye for the first time all night.
And he stops.
Freezes. “We can’t,” he says through clenched teeth.
“What the hell, James?” I snap, my disappointment too bitter to conceal. “Why not?”
“It’s just not a good idea,” he says, throwing the condom toward the trash.
“You didn’t need the condom anyway. I’m on the Pill. But why is it a bad idea?”
He closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face. “We only have a few weeks left here,” he sighs. “I think we just shouldn’t … get carried away.”
There are a hundred questions I’d like to ask in response, but I say nothing. I lay there with my stomach roiling, knowing that the answer he just gave provides all the information I really need.
Chapter 41
We don’t discuss it. Things continue on just as they have, superficially. But instead of a quiet joy I have to struggle to conceal, it’s now a sharp pain in my center, a constant sadness and the exhaustion that accompanies pretending it’s not there.
We have the house to ourselves on Thursday morning. We lay together with our bare legs entwined, my head on his chest, him on his side, absentmindedly playing with my hair while we talk. I no longer enjoy this time with him. Instead I spend it acutely aware that it is fleeting, trying to memorize all the things I won’t be able to take with me.
“I’m going to miss this when I get back to school,” I tell him. I’m not sure why I say it. I suppose because I want to hear him agree, to say it back to me. But instead he hesitates, and then changes the subject.
“Brian says you requested tomorrow off,” he says.
I feel ill and I deserve to feel ill. I know where things stand. I shouldn’t be trying to extract words and emotions from him that he doesn’t feel.
“Yeah,” I say. “I did it a while ago. Ryan’s band is playing and someone messed up my schedule last time so I couldn’t go.”
He freezes beneath me. “You’re still going to that?”
“Ryan is a good friend,” I reply. “And his band is great. You should come. It’ll be fun.”
“Right. So I can stand around watching you lust after your ex-boyfriend? No thanks.”
I laugh and lean on my forearms to look at him. “You sound jealous, James.”
“I am jealous,” he says. “You told me flat-out you couldn’t resist him on stage.”
“That was before I was with you,” I reply, wondering even as I say it if I’m actually ‘with’ James.
“Why don’t we just go out of town for the weekend?” he asks. “We could go to DC.”
“You can’t possibly be that worried about Ryan,” I say. “I had ample opportunity to hook up with him the last time he was here and I didn’t, so why would I now?”
“It’s not all about keeping you from Ryan,” he says. “I just want an entire weekend where I get you to myself. I’m tired of sneaking around all the time.”
“So why are we sneaking around then?”
“You know why,” he says quietly. “We live with Allison’s brother. And we both know Ginny would blame you if this got out.”
If this got out. His assumption that there will never be anything to tell. His assumption that this will end.
I slide away from him.
“What’s the matter?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I reply, going to the bathroom and locking the door behind me. I splash water over my face and force myself to at least look blank rather than hurt, but when I come out, he’s the one who looks disturbed.
“You missed a call,” he says, handing me my phone. “Why is Edward Ferris still calling you?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I stopped listening to the voicemails. He was … a little unhinged the last time we spoke.”
“And when was that?”
“Why are you acting like I’ve done something wrong?”
“I’m not. I just want to know when you spoke to him.”
I shrug. “A few weeks ago. I told you about it. The time he told me he had a job and wanted me to come to the Hamptons. That was the last time.”
“Did you save the voicemails?” he asks.
“I have the last several, just because I haven’t deleted them,” I say. “Honestly just seeing his name on my phone makes me feel sick. I guess you’re going to tell me it’s immature to avoid it.”
“No,” he says, pulling me to sit beside him. “But it pisses me off that he’s doing this to you. And I think you should be monitoring what he’s saying.”
“You can listen if you want,” I tell him. “But delete them when you’re done. I don’t want to hear them. And I don’t want to know.”
He nods and gets dressed, carrying my phone outside. If it’s a fling, why is he this bothered by Edward? I go into the kitchen, watching him on the deck as he listens. It was stupid of me to think he’d want more than a fling. Why would he? He was stuck with Allison all year and now he’s getting ready to finish school and get a real job. Why on earth would he want to saddle himself with some long-distance girlfriend who’s only 19?
Maybe he’s dying to get back to school, to shrug off his clingy housemate and start fresh. And suddenly I’m not sure I can endure the next few weeks knowing that’s the case. I steel myself to ask him point blank, but waver when he walks back inside. His body is rigid, his hand holding the phone in such a tight grip I’m surprised it doesn’t snap.
“You need to call the police, Elle,” he says, his voice oddly quiet.