Page 98 of Closer

My face crumples and the tears come. “You cannot say things like that to me.”

“Why?”

“Because it hurts too much.”

“What should I say that will make you stay?” he whispers, searching my gaze.

“You can’t say anything.”

He frowns. “Then why did you come?”

“I don’t know. Because I had to.”

“Why?”

I steel my nerves. “Because I wanted to see what excuse you could possibly have for trying to kill yourself.”

“I don’t have any excuse. It was stupid, so fucking stupid, and I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I hurt me.”

“Are you?”

He smiles, and I have no clue what there is to be happy about. “I am. And I’m working on making it better.”

“How?”

“I gave up drinking, drugs, even weed.” He sighs. “Basically, everything fun.”

“And now you’re all better?”

“No, babe. I don’t know if I’ll ever be all better, but it helped me realise what I’ve been trying to mask for years. I’ve been fucked up for a long time, and too goddam wasted to see it.”

I can’t stop the tears from coming as I bury my head against his hard chest. “You ruined me, you broke my heart—”

“I know,” he says as he wraps me in his arms. At first, I stiffen. I don’t want the anger to melt like ice against his warmth. Not when he’s the reason I turned glacial in the first place, but it does melt, and I sob. “I didn’t think. I fucked up, Brie. I lost the best thing that ever happened to me. And I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”

“Do you love me?”

I lift my head. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer it.”

“Of course I love you. It’s because I love you, that I hate you.”

He searches my face, sliding his palm up to cup my cheek. “I love you, Brielle. I’m a fucking idiot.”

I laugh. “Oui.”

“I can’t promise loving me will be easy. I can’t promise you won’t want to stab me in my sleep. I’m selfish and prone to bouts of stupidity, and sometimes I hate myself so much that the only way to dull those feelings is to reach for a bottle, and I don’t know how to find other ways to distract me now that booze is no longer an option, but whatever it is, I’ll find it, and I’ll do it, for you.”

I must be the world’s biggest fool because I believe him, or at the very least I believe he will try, but what if I’m not enough? What if the lure of his drugs and booze and life on the road are greater than his self-control and his ability to say no ... for me.

You need to tell him, you at least owe him that. My mother’s words echo in my head. My gut twists, and nausea roils inside me.You owe him that, and a little bit more.

“And what about for abébé?”

His brow creases, and he searches my gaze, no doubt thinking that whatever I said was just lost in translation. “What?”