The surprise. And, right on its heels, the anxiety. She taps Damian’s arm and says something to him.
He looks up. Sees me. Straightens up. I see my name on his lips although I can’t hear it. Clarke. His features tighten, and he starts to stand up.
Were I able to think it through more objectively, I’d be able to see the ridiculous irony of our situation. Repeated patterns, spiraling down into a dark pit. But I’m far from being able to recognize irony or be anything close to objective. I’m shaking helplessly. It takes effort to rein in the deep flood of emotion rising inside me.
Damian takes a step around the table. Toward me. I should wait for him. I’m an adult. And adults in relationships are supposed to talk to each other.
But I can’t. He’s stripped me bare of almost everything—everything that’s ever protected me from pain—and I can’t give him the very last thing. I can’t sacrifice everything on his altar.
So I run.
Literally.
I turn on my heel, push out the door, and run down the sidewalk toward my car.
It feels better to move. To exert effort. To know the rush of the wind on my face and the hard pavement beneath my shoes. People are looking at me strangely, but I don’t care. I can reach my car. I can drive it home.
And then...?
I have no idea.
My car is less than half a block away when I’m aware that Damian followed me. He’s chasing me. Running after me. He’s catching up.
“Clarke!” His voice is hoarse and breathless behind me. “Damn it, Clarke, wait!”
I keep running until I reach my car. Then I lean against it, bending over slightly and heaving to catch my breath. I entertain a brief thought of scrambling behind the wheel and peeling away from him as he stands on the sidewalk, but I don’t do it.
He chased me down. I have to talk to him now.
“Baby, what the hell?” he demands, coming to a stop right in front of me. He’s panting as much as I am. His face is damp and flushed, and he reaches out to hold on to my upper arms with urgent hands. “Why are you running?”
“Because I wanted to go home.” It’s the only answer I have.
“I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but Giselle and I were just talking. There’s nothing going on between us. Surely you know that.”
“I know.” My voice wobbles pitifully.
“There’s not! It’s like you and Steve. Just like you and Steve. We’re friends, but there’s never been anything else.”
I believe what he’s saying. Every word. “I know.”
“Then what’s the matter? You don’t have anything to be jealous about. I swear you don’t.”
“Don’t I?”
“No!” He makes an impatient growling sound and lets go of me with one hand so he can rub his face. “Damn it, Clarke. How can you think I’d even look at another woman?”
“I don’t think you’d look at her. I know you wouldn’t.”
“Then why are you about to cry?”
“You were... you were talking to her!” I’m too emotional to be articulate, so the words just burst out.
That obviously surprises him. He drops his other hand, so he’s not touching me now. It still feels like heat and intensity are radiating off his big body. “What?”
“You were talking to her. Telling her what’s wrong. Letting her...”
I can’t get the rest of it said. Not without bursting into tears.
I never for a moment suspected he’d cheat on me. Not with Giselle or anyone else. Not while we’re in this relationship. That was never what broke me.
But he was confiding in her. Opening up. In a way he still refuses to do with me.
And it’s so obvious to me why that is. His relationship with Giselle is real. It’s friendship. Strong and genuine.
And what I have with him—whatever weird nebulous thing we’ve tumbled into for the past five months—simply isn’t real.
Damian looks torn. Absolutely helpless. He raises both hands and rubs roughly at his scalp, leaving his hair wildly mussed. “Baby, I really don’t know what you want from me.”
Of course he doesn’t. He’s doing the best he can. It’s not his job to meet my every need and fulfill my every desire.
At least it shouldn’t be.
“I know.” I’ve been saying that a lot, but I can’t form any other words.
He waits for a few seconds, searching my face. Then he looks away and forces out, “Maybe it’s just as well we... we get this out. All of it. The truth is I don’t think I