“You always fucking do this!”
Gus slammed the door behind him. Her flat, her scent, the muffled noise of the city outside—it all pissed him off. It all fucking hurt. “You turn your back like I’m some wanker off the street. I’m not just anyone, for fuck’s sake.”
“You’re shouting because I walked away?” she shot back, eyes bright with fury. “I told you, Gus. I warned you I didn’t want this half-arsed, in-between shit. Either you stay or you go.”
He laughed—bitter and sharp. “Fuck off with that speech. You think I want to feel like this? You think after everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve done, everything I’ve shoved into my bloodstream—anything ever hit me harder than the first time we fucking met?”
She didn’t say a word.
“I’ve travelled the world. Shagged whoever I bloody wanted. Got high until I forgot my own name. Got pissed until I couldn’t remember my dad’s face. But nothing—nothing, fuck me—ever touched what I felt when you looked at me that first bloody time.”
He stepped closer, chest rising and falling, eyes bloodshot.
“I crashed my car a week after you left. And do you know what went through my head when the fucking airbag went off? ‘She’ll never know I still love her.’”
Her voice faltered. “Gus…”
“Not even God gets me higher than you did, that night at the party. You showed up after three years and smiled like nothing had fucking changed. Nothing’s ever driven me madder. Not the acid. Not the grief. Not my old man looking at me like I’m some massive disappointment.”
She moved a step. So did he. Now they were face to face. Breath hot, hearts thudding.
“You leaving again?” he whispered, voice low and wrecked. She hesitated. Then answered.
“Only if you let me.” He let out a breath. Quiet. Shaky. “Then you’re fucked, love. Because I’d never let you go again.”