Do I operate under the philosophy that people can’t change, instead succumbing to their natural instincts—which, in Henry’s case, means being happily single? Are his eyes going to wander for the rest of his life? In a year is he going to be downing alcohol, drunk at a bar, dreaming about being alone or with someone far more interesting than me?

I want to believe him. I want to believe I heard conviction behind his plea. I want to believe Neil was kidding, the joke lacking any trace of truth or accuracy… but it’s hard to be certain. Henry repeated himself multiple times until the weekend at his parents’ house; he didn’t want a relationship and nothing and no one was going to change his mind.

Am I truly that special of a person he’d alter his entire personality and lifestyle, just so he could be with me?

That’s what hurts the most, I think, because I can’t figure out the kind of guy Henry wants to be.

Is he content with me—only me—for as long as we’re together, whether that’s six months or sixty years?

Or will he constantly be wondering what if, envisioning himself with other women, flirting with them when I’m away for a handful of seconds and wishing he had his freedom back?

I groan, smothering my face with a pillow from my couch.

Dammit.

Maybe I was too harsh on him. Maybe it’s a silly misunderstanding. Maybe he wasn’t talking about the lingerie his former fling of the week used to wear and which outfit was his favorite. Maybe my ears deceived me.

I wish the universe would give me some sort of sign about what I’m supposed to do.

This freaking sucks.

A knock on my front door causes me to freeze and panic. The knock comes again, louder this time. I don’t breathe, fearful to learn who’s on the other side, and what I might say and do when confronted with the person I’m trying my best to avoid.

“Em. It’s Nic. Open up.”

I drag my body off the couch, slinking toward the foyer, limbs heavy, invisible weights attached to my muscles and causing my shoulders to droop and hunch. I turn the knob and open the door, squinting at the bright light burning my retinas. Days without going outside makes me feel off-kilter by the intrusion.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, voice weak from not being used and the frequent crying.

God, the crying. When did I let myself get so enamored by someone else that they took full control over my happiness?

The day I started messaging JD, I think.

Perhaps before.

Perhaps it’s always been Henry, my emotions constantly flip-flopping whenever he’s around.

Nicole powers into my house. “This stops now,” she says firmly.