Her face turns red—lips pressed as she tries to contain her sob. Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t let them fall. “Stop it, Ky.” She’s almost begging now.

And I almost cave.

Almost give in to her.

Again.

“No, Maddy, I’m not going—”

She stands up, picks up her frame, holds it to her chest, and then looks right at me.

And my heart stops.

I’ve seen that same look too many times before.

From Jackson.

From Christine.

She’s pissed.

But beyond that, she’s disappointed.

She opens her mouth, I assume to speak, but nothing comes out. I watch as she makes her way to the door.

I sit on the coffee table, my elbows resting on my knees and my head lowered. Then I hear the door click.

“Madison.”

“What?”

I don’t look up. “If you walk out right now—because you’re too damn scared to open up to me—then don’t bother coming back.” I sniff, trying to keep it together. “I’m done chasing you.”

17

KY

“DO YOU THINK these sessions help you at all?” Doctor Aroma asks.

“No.”

“Yet you keep coming back.”

“What?” I sit up straighter. “I have a choice?”

She flips open a folder—my file—and skims the pages. “Oh yeah. You have to be here.”

I sigh and roll my eyes at the same time. “Trust you to get my hopes up over nothing.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?” I ask, the irritation in my voice clear as day.

She doesn’t skip a beat. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Do you trust anyone?”

I press my lips tighter.

“Do you think you have trust issues?”

“Shouldn’t you be the judge of that? I’ve been sitting here for how many sessions now and you’re still asking me things that you should be working out.”

“You don’t give off much, Ky.”

“Maybe that’s my choice.”

“So you choose to be closed off and not trust anyone?”

Tapping my foot impatiently, I shrug and look out her window.

“Sucks for anyone that tries to get close to you, Ky. Especially if they love you. Or plan on loving you one of these days.”

“Are you talking about Madison?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m talking about a certain detective that feels your pain enough to make you talk to someone about it.”

“So I don’t I have to be here?”

“I didn’t say that.”

***

You know what sucks? Being mad at the world and not having an outlet. I’m too injured to train, and too pissed at myself to care.

I sleep on the couch, or attempt to, anyway. I don’t want to miss it when those three knocks sound at my door. The quiet timid knocks that let me know that Madison’s on the other side. I’ve imagined it so many times—the way she’d smile when I opened the door wide. Her smile was always shy—like she wasn’t expecting me to be on the other side, happily accepting her company. I’d even get up occasionally and peek through the peephole, eying the hallway, hoping she’d be there.

For two days, I didn’t leave my apartment, just wishing to god I’d hear that sound.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Nothing.

It never came. And by the third day of nothing, I’d given up hope. I know. I should’ve just taken the two steps from my apartment to hers and be the one to deliver the knocks, but that would mean me giving in to her again.

I gave her an opening, and I gave her an out.

She chose the out.

And the worst part—she left me thinking about Ashlee. The girl I held on such a high pedestal. Just like I did with Madison. Maybe it was my fault—the way I let girls treat me.

What Ashlee and I had—I thought was easy. There was no effort to be together. We didn’t fuck with each other’s heads. Maybe that was the reason she decided to fuck some other guy, but until that happened, I thought we were perfect.

When Madison and I were together—we were far, far, from perfect.

We weren’t even really that good.

Or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. It was the only way I could be convinced she wasn’t worth it.

I’m still convincing myself of her worth a good half hour after I’d hung up with Debbie from the flower shop. She told me the Madison was ready to be collected and that she couldn’t wait to see us. I didn’t have the heart to tell her. What was I going to say? It was over before it even began? We just didn’t work well together? She checked my Facebook? I scoff at myself, then finally collect my balls and the remainder of my courage and knock on her damn door.

After a moment, the knob turns and she opens it, just enough to peek out.

I square my shoulders. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she squeaks, opening the door wider. She stands a little taller, with her hair a mess, eyes red, and cheeks wet. It’s obvious she’d been crying.

For a second, I lose the ability to speak.

To think.

To breathe.

“Ky?” It’s one word. My name. But it holds a hundred different meanings. A thousand different questions. She opens the door fully and stands in front of me, her gaze penetrating mine. “Did you need something?”