Oh, Jesus, where do I even begin explaining this without filling her in on every fucked-up detail of my past? I’m snookered. Because the reality is, I can’t. And what I’m dealing with now—what we’re both dealing with—is set to end this. “The sex is just sex.” Just sex? It’s never just fucking sex with Ava. It’s earthmoving every time. “I can’t get close enough to you. The control is because I’m frightened to death that something will happen to you.” Because everyone I’ve ever loved has been stolen from me. “That you’ll be taken away from me. I’ve waited too long for you, Ava,” I go on, finding words in my bedlam, letting them roll out. “I’ll do anything to keep you safe. I’ve lived a life with little control or care. Believe me, I need you.” She needs to take my word for it. She has to. “Please. Please don’t leave me.” She must see the despair as I approach her cautiously. There must be a small part of her that wants to help me. But she steps away again, avoiding me. “I’ll never recover.”

“Do you think this is going to be any easier for me?” she yells, her eyes overflowing, tears rolling down her cheeks. No. I don’t think it’ll be easier for her. If anything, it’ll be harder, because I would put my life on the fact that she won’t find numbness in alcohol like I will.

“If I could change how I’ve handled things, I would.”

“But you can’t. The damage is done.”

“The damage will be worse if you leave me.” So much worse. There’s still a chance this can be repaired. If I walk out of this room, there will be no going back for me.

“Get out!”

“No.” I will not give up. “Ava, please, I’m begging you.”

She looks away.

“Ava, look at me.”

“Goodbye, Jesse.”

I will not let her do this. “Please.”

“I said, goodbye.” She swallows, and the shift in her persona is like a punch to my gut. And I see it. Resolve. I see the end.

I’m not enough for her. And I absolutely cannot risk spilling my agony, my entire fucked-up story, for her to reject me. I can’t confess my love for her to throw it back in my face. It would destroy the idea of her. It would make me hate her, and I have no energy to hate.

She’s taken away my choices.

It really is the end.

Numb and beaten, I turn and walk away, my despair fading, my anger returning. I pass Sam and Kate in the hall. I don’t look at them.

“Jesse?” Sam calls.

“It’s over.” I say, swallowing hard. I’m over.