Climbing in before the water has a chance to heat up, my teeth chatter immediately as the cold water sprays my body. I wrap my arms around my torso tightly as the water warms, making no effort to move or clean myself. My mind spins, replaying tonight. It seems that’s all I’m ever able to do when I’m not around him—replay everything and torture myself.

I can still feel his body pressed against me, his lips sealed to mine. God, how I wanted so much more. I’m fucking sick of the war between my heart and my mind. It’s exhausting and I don’t want to do it anymore. My life was good—it wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. I had, for the most part, gotten over Stone. I was dating, living my life, and then I came here and it was all for fucking nothing.

I’m back to feeling just how I did five years ago, and I fucking hate it. My job is amazing, the university is incredible… I don’t want to give that up, but fuck! Am I ever going to get over him? Is the sight of him ever not going to make me die a little inside? Whenever I’m in his vicinity, I lose all sense of rationale. His stupid fucking leather and spice aroma is like fucking catnip. The deep, dark shade of his eyes is hypnotizing—I look into them and forget why I need to keep my distance. I forget the hurt he caused me.

My mind will never let me forget the pain. It’ll never let me see past that. But my heart? That shit yearns for him. Like a piece of mine is gone and only he can mend it. His soul sings a siren song, and I’m unable to stay away. It’s fucking pathetic.

The water starts to get cold again, and I finally wash myself before getting out. After slipping on some boxers, I turn off the light and then slide into bed under the covers. Sleep is out of the question. My mind is too loud to even try.

He was almost mine.

But it’s that almost that breaks my heart every time.

I wonder if his late night-lying awake-unable to sleep thoughts ever lead him back to me the way mine do with him. And if he lies in the dark, mind spinning, trying to remember how I taste or how I feel, if it hurts him the way it does me.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand beside me, and it pulls me out of my thoughts. Somehow, without even looking, I already know who it is. Against my better judgment, I grab the phone and look at the screen, confirming what I already knew. I could just ignore it. Deny it. That’s what I should do. That’s what a stronger man would do.