Page 62 of Control (Everyday Heroes 3.50)
No. Fuck you.
“Then don’t. Do me a favor and let this be it. Save me from...just let this be it.” My voice breaks along with every other part of me when I step up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Goodbye, Reznor.”
And when I walk down the sidewalk, this time he doesn’t follow.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Desi
“Grant says Reznor’s been trying to get hold of you.”
“Stay out of it, Emerson.” I sigh into the phone as I pound my fist on the table when my computer doesn’t do what I need it to do.
Nothing like attempting to design your own website when you’re computer illiterate so you can keep yourself busy.
“He lives like forty feet or whatever it is away from you...what did you do? Close all your blinds so you can’t see his house?”
I glance over to my blinds that are just that and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I asked you to stay out of this, Em. Please. I need to do this my way.”
She must hear the desperation in my voice because the line falls silent. “It doesn’t have to be this way. It—”
“Yes, it does.”
I hang up the phone, not wanting to hear it anymore.
This is what I need to do.
This is how I have to do it.
This is how I protect myself from getting hurt further.
I have to shut him out.
Just like all the times he’s come knocking on the door this week. Like how on Sunday when I came home from a girls’ night out, I didn’t say thank you after noticing he’d taken my delivery of bagged dog food, carried it to the back of the house, and put it in storage
bins like he’d watched me do before. Or how on Monday, my lawn was mowed and the hedges had been trimmed. Or better yet, on Tuesday, how he pulled my trash cans out to the curb for me so I wouldn’t have to struggle with them since they were so full and heavy.
All the things I don’t need to remember him doing. The thoughtful things I wish he wouldn’t do so I’m not reminded of what a great guy he is...and how much I’m going to miss him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Desi
“Pussy, I’m really over you and your nails clawing me,” I say to the drowned-looking cat whose fur is flattened by water, making her body look a third of what it does when it’s dry.
And there’s something about the moment, about the damn cat, that brings up the memory of the first time I learned Reznor was my neighbor. This cat was the catalyst bringing us together.
The thought makes my heart lurch. Panic consumes me as I take the wet cat and put her in a crate, and without thinking of anything else, run out the back door as fast as I can. The gate to the side yard sticks, and I struggle with it momentarily before I shove it open.
My fist pounds on Reznor’s door.
Pure panic. It’s the kind that tells you that if you don’t act now, you’re going to miss out.
Knock-knock.
The kind that says, I’m sorry, but I really do need just one more night with you. Not just for the sex. More because I need to tell you how I feel about you.
My hand stutters at the revelation. Because I do have feelings for him.
