“And then we came here to live. We moved around in those days, stayed a year or two at a distant relative’s home, had our own apartment for a while. Then we lived with family friends after we lost that place when the rent went up. And, as I told you, I met Brock and fell in love when I was a teen.” I sniffed.
“Mama wanted me to go back—‘come home, it’s time,’ she’d said. But I couldn’t because it wasn’t home. I’m no more Bosnian now than I am German or Canadian. Brock was here, and Mama was so mad that I’d give up the chance to live with my own family. But I was so dumb and young and in love that nothing else mattered. So I hurt my Mama and stayed here instead. Brock and I were going to be together. I was counting on that until…” My voice faded as emotions seized me once again.
“Until he died.”
“Yes. People seem to do that around me.” That darkness rose up, and it was blinding.
“What, do you think you’re cursed or something?”
I took a deep breath and let it out in a shivery hiss. “I should have been the one driving him home that night. That was the plan. We’d gone to a party and there was drinking. But I was tired. We argued and I told him I was going home to sleep. I was sober. I could have driven him. Instead, he got a ride home later with a friend who’d been drinking too much. I…I wasn’t there for him.”
He shook his head. “That’s not logical to blame yourself for something that you could not have predicted. No one can know the future.”
“But I know my future. It’s change. Always change. Once anything starts to become permanent, I get nervous…itchy.” I stifled a sob and sniffed back my tears like a toddler. They clogged my throat just as quickly. “I lived with Brock’s family for a while after he died. I was depressed, but somehow I finished high school. I didn’t want to leave to go to college, until his mom said I must. That it would be the best thing for me to get on with my life. So I did…but moving on meant moving again.” I sighed heavily. “There’s a legend in my family. Baba—that’s what we called my grandma—used to say we had Gypsy roots. The Roma are wanderers. They have no home, and sometimes I feel this connection to that part of myself. Like I was never meant to be pinned down in one spot. That these things in my life happened to teach me that.”
He scoffed. “It’s easier to move on and forget the past when things are painful. Or at least try to forget it.”
I looked at him, wondering about that strange and accurate insight, so rare from him. Did he speak from experience? “So you still think I’m running away?”
“I think that sometimes a person can believe something about themselves so much that it becomes the truth.”
My eyes narrowed at him. “Like being unworthy. A person can believe himself unworthy.”
William blinked. “I guess you’re right.”
“Maybe we’re more alike than you think.” My mouth quirked into a semblance of a smile. “Despite the fact that I’m neurotypical.”
“I don’t hold that against you,” he said with a sly smile.
In spite of the tears, I laughed. “Thank goodness.”
He softly stroked my hair. “Maybe permanence is what scares you.”
I shrugged. “Maybe.” But if so, why did I feel empty inside? I was definitely lacking the usual excitement I felt just before moving on.
“I want you to stay, Jenna. I want you to be with me.”
I raised a brow and looked up into his face. “You mean like, sex and stuff?”
“More than just that. We could…have a relationship.”
I smiled. “My relationships don’t last long, either. Doug was three months. That’s about average.” I looked away, disconcerted by the way William seemed to be studying my face without looking at my eyes.
“Are you always the one doing the breaking up?”
I thought about it for a moment, running through a quick inventory of past boyfriends. In every case, I had been the one to call things off. My jaw dropped. “Wow…”
“What?”
“I have been the one to break things off every time.”
“After three months?”
I shrugged. “More or less.” He turned away, but not before I saw the frown on his face. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “I’d rather not be with you if it’s only going to last that long. I think in the end it would be too hard.”
I swallowed, pulling away from him. He had a point. “You’re an all-or-nothing sort of guy?”
“I’m all about absolutes.”
My brows creased as I thought about it. Had I crushed those guys’ hearts? I’d never let it get serious enough, and most of the times they’d shrugged it off and moved on. But I had a feeling that no matter what I told William and no matter how much I tried to prepare him for it, he wouldn’t recover easily from me leaving.
He was right about this, and I had to stop pushing for it. He wanted something more than I could give him…and I couldn’t demand that he expect anything less than what he wanted.
He wanted me. And as amazing and wonderful as that made me feel, I could not give him what he wanted. That was my failing, not his.
I was stuck in this endless cycle of momentary gratification. Of chasing the next shiny thing, following the wind. Of…running away.
Chapter 24
William
I’m feeling melancholy as I drive her home tonight, unable to shake the feelings we’d stirred up—a curious mix of happiness and sadness, of hopes and losses and strong desire.
This heaviness never seems to go away. Every time I look at her, the weight increases, twists and even makes me a little breathless. It’s like I’m already losing something, and she’s still right here. Not to mention, she was never mine to lose.
But I can’t help it. I want her to be mine. And in those moments when I brought her to climax with my hands and mouth and tongue, she became my work of art. She became mine. For those few minutes when she surrendered herself to me, I’d readily claimed her. It felt powerful. And addictive.
The car is no longer moving, and neither is Jenna. She’s looking out the window at her apartment building with her hands still in her lap. I keep my hands on the steering wheel at the ten o’clock and two o’clock positions as if I’m still driving. I’m staring straight out the windshield. I have no idea how to say the words I want to say.