“Thank you.” Finally. She was seeing it from my side.
“But, Mia...” She sighed and looked at me. “I don't think it matters. I think that if you really want him, that stuff won't matter. It's only time, and time flies. If two people are meant to be together, neither time nor distance will keep them apart. If two people are meant to be together, then they will be, no matter what distractions or issues or disagreements rock their world. I love you, and I know you're beating yourself up something mad right now, but, babe, he's right when he says you need to think.”
Jaz glanced at her then leaned forward, more serious than I'd maybe ever seen her. “Don't think whether or not you can do it. Don't think about how badly you want him or how hard it'll be to make it work. That won't give you the answers you need.”
“She's right,” Lucie added, her tone gentle and soothing. “You need to think about how you'll feel if you don't try. You need to think about how West makes you feel, and if you can live without feeling that way ever again. If you can, then you can't do it. But if you think even a day without it will be too hard... Then you might have to take the risk.”
I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth and looked down at my wine glass as they paused just a second before they changed the subject to Allie and her family, making her groan in exasperation. The pink alcohol swirled as I twisted it, desperately trying to occupy my hands. There was too much sense in what they'd just said, and I both loved and hated them for making sense of the situation when I couldn't.
That was the sign of the best friends a girl could have. They could make sense of every mess in your life in less time than it'd take you to get into the mess, and they'd sure as hell give you the answers you needed, even if you didn't think you had any questions.
They'd given me the answers I didn't know I needed, but the new problem was that I now had more questions than I knew what to do with. It wasn't even that I had a lot, it was that the questions I had to answer were bigger and more important than I'd thought.
How did West make me feel?
That was an easy one—like everything. He had the craziest power over my emotions and my body, able to set me alive with only the barest glance. His touch burned me in the best way, exciting me and soothing me simultaneously. Each time he held me it felt like I could fly, and every kiss had me drowning, losing myself within the beautiful chaos that we were.
He made me feel like I was the most beautiful—and only—girl in the world. Like I was the center of my own universe and the entirety of his.
And he did it all without trying. He only had to be. It was thrilling and terrifying and completely insane, but it was, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I couldn't change it or stop it. I could only live it and breathe it and allow myself to be consumed by everything that he was.
He consumed me even when I didn't allow it.
If we weren't meant to be, why did we feel so good? Why did my fingers fit perfectly between his? Why did my face tuck into his neck just right?
If we weren't meant to be, why did the thought of not touching my palm to his or laying my head on his chest or watching him sleep or coming apart beneath me make me feel like I wanted to throw up?
Why did that hurt so badly? Like I was tearing a piece of me out of myself?
I couldn't help but doubt my feelings, still, I swallowed hard and beat them back. The girls were right—the irrational feelings were ruling me. But West wasn't a boy. He was a man, older and better than any of the other guys I'd dated. He'd taken all my issues in his stride until this afternoon.
Then he'd put his foot down, told me to decide, and left me to do just that.
“Okay?” Allie asked as I stepped off my stool.
“Yeah.” I gave her a small smile. “I'm just going to the bathroom.”
I wove my way through the tables to the back of the bar where the restrooms were, then pushed into the women's. It was mercifully empty. Apparently everyone else had something to do on a Friday at three p.m.
I locked myself into a stall, put the toilet lid down, and sat on it. It was silent minus the air condition lightly blowing, and I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, and propped my chin on my hands. The plain white door was the best blank canvas for my thoughts as I played them out.
How would I feel if I couldn't hear West's voice every day?
How would I feel if I couldn't feel his skin against mine?
How would I feel if I couldn't curl myself into his arms?
How would I feel if I couldn't hear his dirty whispers in my ear?
How would I feel if I couldn't tease him only to give in?
How would I feel if I couldn't lie my naked body against his and have him kiss the top of my head?
How would I feel if West Rykman wasn't one of the most important parts of my life?
Incomplete.