28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Mia

I’m going to do it. Tonight, after dinner, I’m going to tell him that I can go home. I’ve been thinking about telling him that I’m in no rush and can stay a little while longer—for safety purposes.

There doesn’t seem to be any harm in me staying. I don’t know why I’m so nervous to tell him. Perhaps I’m hoping he will be upset at the possibility of me leaving, maybe not want me to go.

I can’t deny my feelings for him. In these seven weeks that I’ve been here, he’s somehow managed to burrow his way deep into my heart, grumpiness and all—I love him.

It defies logic or reason. There’s just something there, this magnetic pull between us that I can’t describe.

I look at him across the dinner table and my heart skips a beat. He seems a bit sad tonight. He’s always so tense when he gets home from work. I hate that for him. I wish he could admit how unhappy he is at his job. His true passion is woodworking, and he’s so talented.

Maybe I should start with telling him what I’ve been working on in my free time. I can’t bear to see him come home from work another day carrying this load of stress.

“I’ve been working on something,” I tell him from across the table.

“Oh yeah?” he asks as he chews his food. “What’s that?”

“I created a logo and a marketing plan for your woodwork,” I say, kind of excited now to show him what I’ve come up with.

His fork falls onto his plate, the contact sending a loud clatter throughout the room. “Why would you do that?”

“You just love it so much. It makes you happy. And I hate how unhappy you are when you’re at work. I thought maybe you should consider…”

“Who said I wasn’t happy at work? I don’t remember saying that,” he states.

“It’s just that ever since you’ve been back at work, you come home stressed. And the way you talked about your work, you didn’t seem happy about it,” I reply, my voice shaky with nerves.

“You know, sometimes a job is just a job. Not everyone gets to do something that they love, but that doesn’t give you the right to go around judging others careers. This is typical. Is anything I do ever good enough?”

My body trembles as I try to figure out what I said that is so wrong. I thought he would be excited about this. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe I am overstepping.

“I’m sorry. I guess I misjudged the situation. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I say softly.

“You didn’t mean to offend me when you took it upon yourself to tell me how to live my life when you’ve known me for all of two months. And what happens when I make the career change and can’t afford to live in this house anymore. Would you still find me very appealing?”

He pushes his chair away from the table and storms out of the room. Tears run down my cheeks as I try to register what just happened.

He never did ask me to get involved with his life. I just got so inspired by his passion and skills that I thought he would like what I came up with. Now I feel so stupid.

I stuck my nose in his business when he never asked me to. I suddenly get this strong feeling that I’m just getting in the way. Maybe he doesn’t want me here anymore but he feels bad because of my situation.

I stand up from the table and search the house until I find him sitting in his office on the brown leather couch with a glass of whiskey. He seems to be concentrating awfully hard on his whiskey glass as he turns it around and stares at it from different angles.

“Hi,” I say hesitantly as I walk into his office.

He looks up at me and sits up straight. “Hi.”

Too afraid to come all the way into the room, I opt to lean against the doorframe. I wring my fingers together as my brain spins to come up with what to say.

“So, umm, I talked to my brother the other day,” I tell him as butterflies continue to dance in my stomach. “He told me that Don has been home for a couple of weeks now. The guy he hired to follow him has confirmed that he’s been going to work, and it should be safe enough for me to come home.”

His jaw tenses at my words but he doesn’t look at me. “I see.”

“Well, I was considering staying another couple of weeks just to give it some more time to see if he makes a move, but I am clear to go home any time now.”

“I’m sure you’re relieved,” he says as he clutches his glass, his eyes dark as they hold mine.

“I guess I was just wondering, since this is your house and all, what you thought about me staying a bit longer or,” I trail off, not sure how to finish my sentence.

A bitter laugh escapes him. “You can stay or go. This is your decision.”

It’s like a knife directly through my heart. I know he’s angry, but I didn’t think he would be so cruel. “After all we’ve been through, you don’t care whether I stay or go?”

He stands up and walks towards me, each step heavy and deliberate. “I told you from the beginning, I don’t do relationships. This was always temporary, so don’t talk to me like I’m the bad guy here.”

With that, he walks away leaving me stunned and broken in his office.

I pack my bags through the blur of my tears. There’s no point in me staying here another minute if that is how he is going to treat our time together. I thought there was something more. Did I make all of that up in my head?

First, I date a guy who turns into a stalker that I have to hide from. Then I move on to someone who is emotionally unavailable, who even warned me that he was, and I still thought there was a chance for us.

I can no longer trust my instincts with men ever again.

Once my suitcases are stuffed to the brim, I close them up and start to take them downstairs one by one to my car.

I don’t even care if I’m overreacting. I’m leaving now. An ultimate low point would be to cry myself to sleep in his home like some poor pathetic woman.

As I carry down my last suitcase, he’s standing by the front door with his arms crossed. His eyes hold the same distance and anger that I saw the first time we met like nothing has changed. Maybe I did imagine all of those moments where I thought we were connecting on a level that I’ve never experienced before.

I stop at the door and look up at him knowing my face must look horrific.

“You’re going,” his deep voice states coldly.

“Like you said, this was always temporary.” I throw his words back in his face. “Thank you for keeping me safe these last two months. I appreciate all of the effort you put into that and will always be grateful. Goodbye, Eric.”

His hands, which are not at his sides, are balled into fists. The skin is turning red from how hard he seems to be squeezing, but he makes no move towards me. No hug goodbye. He just stays frozen.

A harsh laugh escapes me as I grab my suitcase and walk out the door. Of course, he can’t even muster up a simple you’re welcome. I throw my suitcases into my trunk and hop in my car without looking back, tears now streaming down my cheeks.

As I drive away, a sudden feeling of emptiness takes up my insides. I’ve never felt this before. It’s like he ripped out my heart as a souvenir, leaving it back at his house while I drive away with nothing but hollowness and regret.