Trust (London Love #5)

“You need to leave.” He wouldn’t even look at me. Just sat there hugging himself. “It’s too much. I can’t deal with you.”

“Reubs?” I couldn’t stand the…horrible tone to his voice.

“Not right now, and not ever because I’m not that kind of person. I’m just me, and I’m…I’m not built for this. For all of this. I have no idea who you are, or how I’m supposed to handle you. I have no idea how to feel about this. How to deal with the…The Dieter. And I have even less of an idea of how to deal with you, Gray. This? This right here? Fucked up to the max. Are we just going to…be an item? Am I supposed to tell people at work that I live with you? And are you going to go out there and talk about me in interviews and end up in magazines with people hating on me all over social media and… What’s the plan here? Because I don’t see no fucking plan, and it’s too much. I can’t be your boyfriend. I can’t be anyone’s boyfriend. I’m sitting here, staring at your dick, and I don’t know what the hell has happened to me. I can’t even remember who I’m supposed to be anymore, and I forgot to take my meds and it’s just fucking messy, everything. Just fucking leave, Gray.”

Okay. Long rant.

And what did I do? I stayed put, like the entitled twat I was.

We sat there for what felt like ages. I stroked his arms, leaned my head against his shoulder. I tried to hug him, but he pushed me away.

I got it. Of course I did. But…

No. No but.

“I’ll go,” I said eventually, crawling out of his space and standing beside the bed. My hands shook as I dragged my clothes back on. I felt like he’d punched me in the chest.

What a bloody shitshow. As always.

Why couldn’t I just shut up and calm down and be a decent human being? This was why I couldn’t have nice things.

Nice people in my life.

People who cared.

I pulled my hoodie over my head. Walked out into the kitchen and grabbed my bag.

He’d overreacted a little, maybe, but fear did that to you. Fear did that to me too. Well, it made me do stupid things.

I stood in the doorway to his room. He’d pulled the duvet over his head, but I could hear him breathing under there.

I could admit it. I was scared. Really, really scared.

“Can we talk?”

I said I would leave. Yet here I was.

“NO!”

“I don’t want to leave you like this. Please. Reubs.”

“Stop being so bloody difficult. I’m not your boyfriend. I’m bloody nobody. I don’t know shit, and I just want to sleep and go to work in the morning like I always have. I want my life back. My easy normal life where I don’t have to deal with all of this. Just give me some space.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yeah, it is. The problem is you’re really spoilt. You just ask for things and expect them to materialise. You tell me you love me and that I’m your boyfriend, and I’m expected to what? Jump up and down with joy and suck your dick and move into your house and change my entire life? Just like that?”

He’d popped his head out of the duvet and glared at me for a few seconds. Then he pulled it over his head again.

He was right. I was spoilt. My mother told me all the time—but in a jokingly affectionate way.

“You’re absolutely right,” I said quietly. “But let me tell you this.”

I tried to breathe, but the air seemed to stick in my throat.

“You can’t say this is all on me. I don’t know how to deal with you either. That day outside the hotel, I was a mess. I hadn’t slept for weeks. I was sleepwalking all over the place and so bloody terrified of everything around me, I couldn’t see a way out. But you stepped in, helped me when nobody else did, and you fixed things. I haven’t taken any sleeping pills for ages, and I sleep now. I can see ways out. I have solutions for things I didn’t know how to fix before. I know I’m pushy, but don’t you get it? You changed…everything.”

He said nothing.