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“I said I KNOW!”

Wayne’s own anger reflected mine. He sighed in frustration and leap from the couch, pulling his clothes on piece by piece.

“Wayne look, Iamsorry,” I told him. “I called you here for all the wrong reasons.”

“There’s only one reason you call your ex-boyfriend at midnight,” he snarled.

“I know,” I admitted. “And you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just… it’s just that…”

It’s not what I want.

I frowned, thinking hard about the internalization.

No, that’s not right. It’s not WHO I want.

Wayne grumbled some more, cursing as his fingers stumbled through the buttons on his shirt. I got one last wistful look at his chest before it was put completely away, and then he was fumbling with his belt.

You would’ve been tied to him forever, you know that right?

Yeah, I knew. And it would’ve been a nightmare.

“You’re never happy with what you have, Juliana,” my ex-boyfriend barked abruptly. “You know that, right? That’s your problem.”

“I know,” I agreed. “It is.”

“No matter where you are or what you’re doing, your mind is always somewhere else.”

He fought his way into his shoes, as I contemplated what almost happened. It didn’t make sense. It just wasn’t me.

What were you going to do, wait until after he’d finished inside you? Let him know a few weeks afterward?

The voice in my head was mocking now. Harsh and merciless.

Or would you tell him right before? Let him know you haven’t been on birth control since—

I bit my lip, letting the pain obliterate everything else. Yes, what I almost did was pretty fucking despicable. Yes, I was a complete asshole for it.

But you didn’t actually do it,another more reasonable voice said.

Heavy footfalls indicated my ex-boyfriend was finally done. He stomped toward me, grabbing his jacket from the nearby rack as he headed in the direction of the door.

“Thanks for coming anyway, Wayne.”

“Coming?” he laughed harshly, pausing at the threshold. The sound of the slamming door coincided with his final two words: “Ifonly.”

Four

JULIANA

“Fine, then. If you won’t help me, get me someone who will.”

The man behind the desk shook his head slowly. He had the condescending look of someone about to explain something simple to a small child, and that part was maddening.

“It’s not that I won’t help you, Ican’thelp you,” the man said. “I’m sorry Ms. Emerson. I simply don’t have access to—”

“Get. Me. The. Director.”

I’d asked three times, and three times I’d been rebuffed. Now I stood up. I turned in the direction I knew the director’s office to be.