We're back from dinner. And he's already peeling the clothes from my body before I've shut my door behind us. There's an urgency in him tonight. Like he's been waiting too long to do this –or he's not sure he'll get to do this again.

"Em," he breathes.

"Jay," I smile beneath our lips. I know he hates when I first-name him.

"I love you."

HOLY FUCK.

HOLY.

ACTUAL.

FUCK.

The words flow from his lips like honey dripping from a hive. Flawless. Organic. Pure. My entire body tenses in his arms and my mind just goes black for a minute before visions of barn proposal pics and white dresses dance in my head. All I see is us standing there, 18 years old, and breaking up. Crying. Then all the sudden we are two wrinkly old people making out in some back woods diner, surrounded by snow, and popping champagne.

There are no words. Not only because 1. I do not know what to say, 2. He's in clear violation of our agreement, or 3. My mouth is currently competing with parchment for driest thing ever. BUT because 4. No words I could possibly string together into an even semi-coherent sentiment would begin to describe the mix of elation, fear, and guilt currently churning in my gut *heart* right now.

"Judging from your silence you either didn't hear me or want to pretend you didn't hear me." Brooks's low voice brings me back to the bed.

"Brooks," I whisper. So close I can feel my own breath between our skins.

FFS. Why now? Seriously, I assumed one of us would eventually cave and try to ruin a good thing, but WHY?

"You happen to decide you love me on Valentine's Day? The fear of being eternally alone finally got to you?" I try to tease.

"Must be it. But the fear is quickly subsiding."

"Ha-ha. See, you've already changed your mind." I tease.

"Is that what you believe? That I'll just change my mind?"

"You haven't shown any sign of wanting anything different. Anything more. These past few months..." I let my voice die because I know this isn't true.

"You miss a lot, huh?" Brooks's words sound like venom.

I think of Thanksgiving when he ditched his family to visit me. Thanksgiving! Arguably the most family-ish holiday. I think of the Benefit and the way his eyes turned all red and blotchy when I found him in the garden. I think of disappearing. Then there's NYE and his raging jealously that anyone else should ever want me.

"Six months." Brooks nods. "We aren't just –you know –playing around anymore. At least I didn't think so!"

"Brooks," I begin again.

"I want the fucking fence, Ems. I want the house and the marriage and all that shit we hate –I want it with you."

Fucker.

"Excuse me for thinking you felt the same way." Brooks turns away from me.

I sigh. Hard. What else can I do?

"You don't ...feel the same way, do you?" He asks, like a light bulb is finally clicking.

Goddamn Brooks's face looks so sad and puppy-doggish. Like I'm taking his boy toys away on Christmas morning. It seems genuine. Why won't I let myself believe him? Oh yea, because I've recently set up shop as a masochistic fuck.

"It's not that I don't want it to –or that I don't even feel the same way maybe –it's just that... You just sprung this on me, Jay! This isn't what we were doing." I begin.

"Right." Brooks sighs. "I forgot what we were doing. Which is whatever YOU want!"

"Oh you're fucking kidding me, right? Don't act like I do whatever–" He cuts me off.

"You'll just let yourself fuck me. Text me. Call me. Fuck me some more. But that's it. As long as you can sleep at night." He's almost screaming at me, his voice crackling.

"That's not fucking fair." I argue. Shit.

"You're right. It's not. It's fucking not."

"Where was this Brooks years ago? Where was he when I wanted all these things then? WHERE?!" I shout.

"NOT AROUND!" Brooks shouts at me. "OK? Is that what you want me to say? Is it what you need to hear? I was a kid, a fucking idiot. I needed these last ten years to GROW UP. AND I DID!"

"YOU LEFT. I grew up too! WITHOUT YOU!" I shout back.

"WE BOTH GREW UP, EM!" Brooks shakes his head. "We both did. And the last ten years happened. Everything in them. And I wouldn't take it back because it's led us here. TOGETHER NOW!"

Brooks runs his fingers through his hair. I watch the tattoos move under his muscles. I admire the darkness in his eyes, the depth. Watching him is like watching perfection.

"But we aren't together now," I say, shaking my head.

He sits up and moves from the bed. I watch him start collecting his clothes, his bag.

"Are you leaving? Now?!" I can't keep my voice calm. I sit upright in my bed, the flamingo lights smacking against the headboard as I do so.

"I can't stay here, Em."

"What are you talking about? It's 1 AM!" I say, exasperated.

"I can't be here. With you," he says, avoiding my eyes. "Not right now."

"So you're just going to leave? Walk out just like that?" I ask.

"Yes. I am," Brooks shrugs. He has flipped a switch, as volatile as the weather.

"Brooks, you're being ridiculous. I didn't mean for this to ruin our night," I sigh, rolling my eyes.

"Don't worry, it hasn't ruined the night. It's ruined it ALL." He tears at the zipper on his duffle.

His words cut like a knife deep into my skin. I'm going to bleed everywhere. All over him. My heart races as I start to panic. I'm watching him collect his shit from my studio. I'm watching him dress. Soon I'll be watching him leave. And I don't want that.

But I don't stop him.

I move to the edge of the bed, his baggy T-shirt hanging loosely off my shoulder. His eyes are alive with fire again. But it's a different fire than the one I saw in the nightclub on New Years.

"Jay," I barely whisper. It's all I can manage.

He looks at me one last time before turning for the door. I watch him walk across the room, shirtless. The twitching muscle in his back will be the last thing I see.

The door slams shut. It's a loud sound followed by a static silence. And I know. I know I just ruined everything. Whatever it was or could have been I ruined it.

I'm left with myself, who to be honest I don't really care for much right now, and my questions.

Why? Why didn't you tell him you felt the same, you dumb bitch? Are you an idiot? Yes. Why aren't you up off your ass already running after him? Legit what is wrong with you, Em?

It dawns on me. This whole time I've been preoccupied with my feelings and making sure I'm not hurt that I didn't even once consider what this all meant to him.

Nothing, I think. But I know that's not true.

Suddenly the years apart are indistinguishable from the months we just spent together. The years of only checking in on his life via social media –the countless times I've pored over his pictures –the amount of sanity I've lost to the nights I spent falling asleep thinking about him. It's all unreal. It's like we broke up two days ago.

He isn't the tough lax bro incapable of serious feelings that his façade would lead you to believe. He's more.

Before I can help it, I find myself crying.

I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs. My fingers play with the hem of the T-shirt. His T-shirt.

I pull it over my head and bring it close to my chest. It smells like salt and the sun.

It smells like him.