I’d reached across the bed. For her. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair. I didn’t know how she was having this effect on me, but I knew one thing—staying away from her wasn’t working. I’d taken the cold turkey approach when I realized I couldn’t get her out of my mind—I’d avoided anywhere I’d seen her before. Which wasn’t difficult really, considering I’d only really seen her at the bar where we’d met. Still, it didn’t stop me from glancing at the door each night as I sat in front of the game, a strange part of me hopeful that she’d come back and bang on the door and tell me she wanted… What? She wanted what? A guy who was so damaged he’d never be able to love her the way she deserved to be loved? A life of misery as she realized who I really was? No. It was better this way. Even though it didn’t feel like it.
