His boots smack on the hardwood floor as he makes his way to me. And I don’t move. I don’t object. I even lean into him slightly when he sits down next to me. At first he’s angled away from me, his elbows on his knees but then he looks at me with a hurt in his eyes that makes me inch closer to him, and he does the same.

I may be angry about what he’s done. What I’ve done as well. But no amount of anger can outweigh the pain we both feel in this moment.

The pain from knowing we’re damaged beyond repair.

“Will you ever forgive me?” he questions and then takes a chance, moving his large hand to my thigh and gently rubbing his thumb back and forth.

“I already have,” I tell him and feel slightly less strong. Weak for being okay with what’s happened. Or at least for accepting it.

“Do you just not love me anymore then?” he asks me, his eyes piercing into mine and holding me captive. His words are raw, coming from a damaged man.

My lungs still and the words hang on the tip of my tongue. They’re too afraid to leave me. I’m so weak for him, so bendable and disposable. If I admit such a flaw, he may never give me a fighting chance for something more.

What’s worse, I may be content with that.

“Please just tell me you love me,” Evan whispers. “I know I fuck up, more than I should. But please don’t stop loving me.”

“I’ve never felt so alone.” It’s one thing to be left alone. It’s quite another to choose it. In this moment, I don’t want it. I don’t want to be alone another day, but I know I have to.

“I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be mad at you,” I tell him, wiping from under my eyes and leaning my body into his. He kisses my forehead before enveloping me in his arms. And I let him. My biggest flaw.

“Then don’t,” he whispers and then pulls away to look down at me, waiting for my eyes to meet his. “Forgive me, please,” he says and when I look to him, his dark hazel eyes beg me. His voice is raw and full of nothing but pain and remorse. “For everything. For being so stupid. For putting you through all this shit.”

The question is right there, right on the tip of my tongue. I should ask, I should know what he’s hiding. But the look in his eyes is so familiar.

“I meant what I said,” I tell him. “I need you to leave.”

“But you still love me?” he asks me even though it comes out as a statement.