Love Me Not

The last person I expect to see on my front porch is my boyfriend.

Correction: my ex-boyfriend.

I slam the front door, or at least I try, but he's too quick. Jonah sticks his foot out, so the door doesn't close all the way, then he wedges his shoulder and body before I can repeat my attempt to shut him out. Come to think of it, that's symbolic of our (former) relationship. I didn't want to date him, and I didn't even want to think about it, but he refused to let me push him out. One grudgingly granted date turned into two, then three, then before I knew it, I let him in my life and everything else.

"Candace, please," he pleads. It's dark outside, but the porch lights illuminate the desperation in his face, in his eyes. "Just hear me out."

My voice drips bitterness. "I don't think so. Why don't you just go back to fucking her?"

He winces ever so slightly. It's so fleeting that if I hadn't been watching him like a hawk, I wouldn't have noticed it, but it's there. A thin sliver of mean triumph slices through the shell I've built around myself. At least I can still hurt him. At least I still have that power over him.

"I'm not with her anymore," he says.

I stop myself before I can outwardly react to this piece of news. The gossip mill is usually on top of things like this - mostly because the vultures are curious about how I'll act when they tell me - but I haven't heard anything about this. So, then, the breakup must be recent, but then it dawns on me why he's here.

"She dumped your cheating ass, didn't she?" I say coldly. "And now you're crawling to me because you think I'll take you back? Is that it?"

He exhales. It's so sharp that I can actually hear the frustration in it. "No, I'm here because I want to talk to you."

Now I'm smiling, but even though I don't have a mirror with me, I know there's an edge of nastiness curving my lips. "Yeah, right." I rest my hip against the doorframe, all practiced insolence. My parents and my little brother are at my grandparents' house for dinner, so I've got the house all to myself. "You know what, Jonah? Why don't you come in, and we'll head upstairs? One quick fuck, and I figure that'll get rid of you."

Jonah's eyes flicker and I know I'm slicing him to ribbons. Then he does something that I didn't count on - he shakes his head and then laughs a little. "God, Candace," he says, his voice softening. "You're really something."

My heart flutters at the look in his eyes. It's the one I used to see when we were alone, just the two of us, and he'd press his lips to my forehead. He'd run his fingers across my ribcage as if he were trying to play xylophone. Sometimes, for the hell of it, he'd take me to the beach and buy me a double scoop of Rocky Road because he knew that was my favorite.

One by one, the memories do a number on me. My eyes sting, but I'll be damned if I cry in front of him. He's really good, I have to give him that. He lied to me by making me believe that I wasn't damaged, that I wasn't different.

He made me believe I could have it all.

"What do you want?" I say curtly.

"You."

Just one word, but it sets me off beyond reason. I'm stepping out of my house before I can think better of it, and I'm raining punches on him. Even more humiliating, they don't connect with his pretty face. No, I'm just whaling the hell out of his chest and shoulders. They don't even hurt him because he's built like an athlete.

"Liar!" I scream. I'm gasping and shuddering between the punches. "If you loved me, you wouldn't have gone with her!"

He grabs me and wraps me in a rough hug. I consider head-butting him, but he reads the thought in my face and grips me tighter. "I love you, Candace," he says intently. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

I turn my face away, but I can't escape his sincerity. It's all around me, enveloping me in the crook of his arms, but I'm standing upright because I don't want to rest my cheek against his shoulder. Somehow, this is even worse than the time I walked in on him and that girl. It's a pathetic cliche - the girlfriend/wife always being the last to know, but that's how it played out for me.

He takes a deep breath, and I have the absurd thought he's inhaling the scent of my shampoo because when he speaks, there's a catch in his voice. "I can't go in the shampoo aisle anymore," he says quietly. "It always makes me think of you."

My jaw trembles from suppressed tension. He's not supposed to be saying all of this to me. He should be on his knees begging for forgiveness and I should be laughing at him before drop-kicking him off my front porch. But here I am, being sucked into the trap he's laying out. My instincts were right on the money when I told him 'no' the first time he asked me out. And the second and the third ...

When will I ever learn?

"Go to hell," I whisper.

It's the only thing I can come up with, because I can't think straight. I'd almost forgotten how good it felt to be held, and now it's working against me because he's the only one who ever held me like this. My heart's pounding so loudly that I'm almost sure he can hear it, but the funny thing is, I can feel his heartbeat under my cheek. Somehow, without me realizing it, I'm leaning against him.

Jonah strokes my hair. "I'm already there."

My laugh is choked. "Screwing her was that bad, huh?"

He steps back just a little, so I have to look up into his face. "She was never you."

I spin away from him, and this time he lets me go. He steps in front of the door, barring my path, so I can't go inside the house, but I've already anticipated that move. I'm at the railing that runs around my porch. My hands clench around the railing, so that white paint flake under my nails. The air is heavy with the scent of an upcoming summer storm. I wish it'd rain right now, so it'd hide my tears, but thankfully, Jonah is standing behind me.

She was never you.

The words tumble in my mind over and over again. A girl always dreams of hearing that because she knows she's the best and the only one. It sure as hell isn't a competition between me and that girl, but sometimes I wonder about what she has that I don't have. Is she better looking? Is she smarter? Is she nicer? So many questions, but it basically comes down to this one: why?

"Candace?" he says softly. "Talk to me."

The pain in my fingers is almost unbearable. "I slept with two guys after you," I say abruptly. "And I enjoyed every single moment of it."

I don't tell him that I went home and threw up afterward and cried.

There's a long, long pause. Finally, I can't stand the suspense, so I glance over my shoulder ever so slightly, and he's looking back at me steadily. He has his hands in his pockets, but he's not standing as straight anymore.

"I know," he says, and in his voice I think I hear jealousy. Or maybe I'm just imagining it. "I'm not going to throw stones at you for it."

My eyes narrow in disappointment. Is it so much to ask for some name-calling, some cursing? Any sign that he even cares? But what's the point, really? He cheated on me, and that's the end of the story.

And yet ... he's here.

"What do you want?" I ask again.

He draws a deep breath. "I need to ask you something," he says finally. He holds up a hand before I can protest. "I'm not gonna ask you to take me back. I know you haven't forgiven me and ... well, I'm not gonna ask you to forgive me either."

"Then what the hell do you want?"

My sharp tone makes him smile a little, but even with the porch lights, his gaze is dark-eyed and sad. He looks as if he hasn't shaved in the last couple days either. I wonder if he's lost weight, but I stop myself before I can feel sorry for him. This is the least that he deserves, and this is all he gets from me.

"I need to know something, Candace," he says. "I need to know if you ever loved me."

It's like a lightning bolt because I literally can't speak or breathe. He wants to know if I ever loved him? What kind of sick joke is that? He's the only guy who ever broke my heart, and I think that says it all. It's been months since our breakup, but there's still that hollow feeling in my chest that hasn't dissipated with time. I wake up in the middle of the night aching because he's not there to hold me anymore.

And the bastard wants to know if I loved him?

"How can you ask me that?" I say at last.

A hint of temper flares in his voice. "Because you never told me! You always treated me as if I was your ... vibrator or something. I stayed anyway because I was so crazy about you that I couldn't see straight. I wanted to be there for the day you finally said the words to me. But the day never came, and I kept waiting ... and then she came."

My heart is hurting so much that I'm gasping. "So that's it?" I say with all the scorn I can muster. "That's how she got you? She just batted her eyelashes and she said she loved you? Was that all it took? Because if I had known-"

He rears back as if I've slapped him. "You would have told me you loved me, just to keep me away from her? I'm not your fucking little prize!"

"Why are you here then? Go back to her."

"Because she isn't you! How many times do I have to say it before you'll believe me?" Cursing, he rakes a hand through his disheveled hair. "You're a piece of work, Candace. I've lost track of how many times I said I loved you. You never really believed me, did you?"

My chin is quivering. "You cheated on me. That's all I need to know."

That stops him because his shoulders slump. "Yeah, I did," he says. "And there's nothing I can say that will ever justify it."

It takes the wind out of my sails because if he'd begged and provided any number of excuses, I could have gladly laughed in his face. But this ... he's not playing to the script, and I'm lost.

His eyes are roaming all over me. It's not lascivious or anything, but he's looking at me intently as if he'll never see me again. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I'm sorry for everything. I just ..." He shakes his head. "I just had to know if you ever loved me. Because that's the thing that keeps bothering me. But I think I got my answer anyway."

His mouth crooks into a smile, but it's not really successful because I can see the cracks around his smile. "God," he says. "I loved you, Candace. I still love you. I don't expect you to do anything about it. I just ... I just had to get that out there. And that's all."

He hurries toward the sidewalk. He's parked his car by the curb, so all I have to do is to watch him. He'll get in his car and then drive away from my life.

Forever.

My throat is so swollen that I don't think I can speak, but that doesn't matter because someone's speaking for me anyway. "I loved you," that person is whispering with my voice. "I knew you'd find someone better than me, so I didn't bother saying it. Because I knew you'd be gone sooner or later. Everyone always leaves, eventually. Even you."

It's as if time has slowed down because I see him stopping, then turning toward me. He's looking at me with such surprise - and something else, and I'm not sure what it is.

I don't know why, but my lips are still moving without my permission. Someone has taken over my body, an alien snatcher or something, but I can't seem to run away from the horror scene that is happening right in front of my eyes. My feet are stuck to the ground. Here I am, spilling all of my deepest fears.

"Don't leave me," that person is still whispering. "I love you."

And then I'm suddenly in his arms. I'm not sure who took the first step, but it doesn't matter anymore. He's breathing heavily as if he's just run a marathon, and to my astonishment, I realize he's shaking from head to feet. When I feel the wetness on my neck, I know he's crying, but trying to hide it.

"I love you, Candace," he says. "I love you so much. I'm sorry for everything. So sorry."

"Shh," I say.

I stroke his head and look out at the night. I don't know what the future holds for both of us ... but I know that I can't go through this again. He broke my heart, and it's still healing. Hell, it never healed. But when he draws back a little and looks at me with such love in his eyes, I'm not sure anymore. Am I strong enough to give us a second chance? Can I trust him again? Maybe. I'd like to think so.

It'll never be perfect again. That much I know.

But maybe it'll be better.