A/N: Sorry I missed updating for a few days! My internet has been sooooo spotty. It's my birthday tomorrow so hopefully I can surprise you all with a few updates! I just wanted to say thanks so much for your continued support for this story! I've had so much fun writing it and I hope you've enjoyed reading it thus far. Things are about to get pretty crazy so I can't wait for you to read the next few chapters!

Big thanks to Sally for being such a fast and efficient beta! You're the best!

18

The notebook was opened next to the cash register as I returned from my lunch. My stomach dropped as I, without even bothering to put my things away, moved behind the desk to peer down at the page. There was my handwriting, sickly new and without a smudge, spelling out the words, "What are we?"

He must have read this. What was he looking for? Was he trying to see context from our previous conversations or was he curious about what I was trying to hide earlier? Why would he do that?

Speaking was so easy. You could twist old words or recreate narratives, but once things were in writing, it was definite. You couldn't deny words once they were written down. I couldn't pretend that I had forgotten or that he had misremembered. There was evidence of my question, and I wanted to be swallowed up by the earth.

I gazed around the floor, wondering where he had gone. If he was going to snoop, he could have at least gone through the trouble of hiding the evidence. Then, we could both pretend that this never happened. Maybe this was for the best. God knew I was never good at being up front with my feelings. If everything were out in the open, I'd finally be able to discover the truth.

But was the truth something I even wanted? They said ignorance was bliss for a reason. If I didn't know the truth, I could so easily continue with therapeutic sex and self-discovery. I doubted I'd be able to do that if we knew how we really felt about each other.

Finally, my eyes landed on him. Next to a pile of books, he sat by a shelf, rearranging the new titles. His expression was neutral, giving nothing away about what he was thinking. Why did he have to be so stoic? If I could get a hint of what he was thinking, that would change everything. Now, I had to approach him knowing nothing.

I set my bag down behind the counter and moved toward him. As I crossed the floor, closing the distance between us, I barely breathed once. Would my face turn blue? Would I pass out from holding my breath?

I waved "hey," at him, and then cursed myself for not bringing that damned notebook with me.

Annie's words from moments before were still potent in my mind. "Go for it," I heard in her tone. She infiltrated my thoughts like a well-meaning fairy godmother. If only she were a real one, able to dress me up and give me a pumpkin-turned-carriage to ride away in.

"Hey."

His voice revealed nothing. It was just as expressionless as his face. Not knowing what else to do, I fished inside my bag for the pen and scrap receipt paper. Although it was nearly full, I folded over a corner that was free of writing and began to scroll out a message.

"Did you read the notebook's page for today?"

I handed the scrap receipt paper and waited, wanting to evaporate, as he read my writing. His brow furrowed as he read, and I choked on my breath as he lowered the paper and peered up at me. Now, he wore a pained expression that made me want to turn around and walk right out of the store.

Whatever he had to say couldn't be good. This wasn't the face of someone who was happy to tell me their truth. It was the face of a pain that didn't feel the same way. That much was obvious. Every inch of his body seemed like it was dying to leave that front door too.

Fuck.

Would it be possible to continue working with him? Would this become another job that I ghosted? Maybe it was just time for me to move on. The universe was screaming at me too anyway. The night on the roof should have made me leave. Now, ruining things with Edward … I couldn't stay here a second longer.

I hadn't a single tie to this place. I paid nightly at a motel that was mainly used for truckers and hook-ups and worked part-time without time-off or benefits. There was nothing here that I couldn't leave behind. With my accident in the news, word was going to spread eventually, if it hadn't already. Soon, Mike would look for me. He was as smart as he was deadly—it wouldn't be impossible for him to track where I was. What would I do if he found me? What would he do if he found me?

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. If he found me, I'd become another missing person. Maybe one day, my body would be found—decomposing somewhere with trauma to the head and pussy. My paranoia made it feel as if he were standing right next to me now. Just waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't mean to lead you on or think this was something different than what it really is …"

"What is it?" I wanted to ask and peered down at the receipt paper that he was still holding tightly in his hand.

His eyes locked with mine and my gaze was harsh, silently forcing him not to look away.

"It's not you. Bella, really, it's not you. I just … I just can't. Not now. Not yet. I can't … I can't put myself through that again."

Now, I couldn't help myself. I reached out and snatched the paper from his hand. Quickly, I began to write.

"I understand. I get what you've been through."

I held out the paper for a moment, giving him a chance to read it without handing it over to him. Would it be selfish of me to push this? I needed to know how he felt and where he stood. His past was tragic and so was mine. But should that stop us from having a future? There was a hesitancy that came with moving on. That would always be there—regardless of who you were or what you were doing. Still, to live in the past would only mean living through that pain over and over again.

Could I allow myself to be punished for my abuse forever? No. I had to move forward—even if it wasn't with him. For myself, I couldn't live in the past forever. Before he could utter another word, I moved the paper away and began to write again.

"You're a good person. You deserve to be happy. So do I. If you tell me the truth—about where we stand—I won't be mad. Even if it means continuing on like we have been, I'd love to do that with you."

This was the most honest I had ever been with myself about anything. Never had I been so open before or so raw with my emotions. Maybe the inability to speak had one benefit. Writing everything down felt like I could say so much more.

In the past, my words would get choked up in my throat before I could speak them into existence. So, there had always been a billion things that fell into the category of things left unsaid. There were so many things I wanted to cry or scream about that still lived uncomfortably inside of me. I didn't want this relationship with Edward now to be one of them.

I turned the paper toward him and watched him carefully as he read. Suddenly, he looked older than I had ever seen him. The wrinkles around his attractive copper eyes seemed to deepen. There was a tiredness about him too—as if he hadn't slept in weeks. He looked more sunken with every word he read until, finally, he pulled his gaze away to look at me.

"I … Bella … I … This is not about you. I just feel like … I can't. Last time … there was so much pain. If I gave into this … to this feeling … if anything happened, I don't know what I'd do. What if your feelings change? What if something happened to you? I just …"

His voice just stopped then as if the air had swallowed his words. Watching him, I felt almost guilty. It probably was selfish to push him like this. He wasn't ready, and it felt like I was forcing him to be. The worst thing was that I couldn't even guarantee nothing would happen to me.

After all, I was on the run. Not just taking a joy ride to see the country that I had spent all my life in. Mike was after me—I was sure of that. Eventually, he'd find a way to catch up to me, and then what? Technically, I was still his wife.

My stomach dropped as more guilt flowed through me. I shouldn't be doing this, should I? I was putting Edward at risk. I was still married, and I had run away from an abusive home. Trying to grow into a whole person—trying to be happy—was just selfish of me. If I cared for Edward, I should leave him. I should pack up right now and leave at night without so much as a goodbye.

No. I couldn't leave him hanging like that. I needed to be transparent. I needed to tell him the truth. Even if that truth was painful to say. When I left, I had to at least tell him that I was leaving. He deserved a proper goodbye. Within the short time I had known him, he had given me so much happiness. More than I probably deserved. If I could do anything for him, I could do this much.

Was this what love felt like? Leaving no matter how much it hurt?

"I'm sorry. I don't want to push you," I scribbled out. "Let me be anything for you. Anything you need."

My words were selfish, but I couldn't stop myself from writing them. Still, even after all the awkward words and refusals, I wanted to be in his life. Despite my better judgment—despite everything else—I couldn't pull myself away from him.

Did that make me a bad person? Did I care?