♫ I been tryin' to move on
And it's obvious that I can't
It was my fault we're broken ♪
(Jojo—Think about you)

No words formed in her mouth. None that would justify her conversation with Michael, and how she'd heavily implied she had no plans to break up with him any time soon. And against her promises to Ryan... who'd likely heard the entire chat and was waiting for her to fumble with yet another excuse to delay their full-blown relationship.

"RyRy..." She gulped away the acid bubbling over her tongue. "I was going to tell you about it, I—"

"—tell me what?" He remained in the doorway, refusing to move closer, but not backing away either, standing his ground. "That you had no intention of ending things with Michael, and you have been stringing me along, as I claimed weeks ago?"

"No." She waved her arms, sensing a frantic fluster flurrying through her veins as she hopped off the bed and hastened up to him. He didn't budge, gawking down at her from up high, proud and pissed. But she noticed his body inclining away from her, and a slight sneer swiping over his once soft expression. "No, not that. I do still intend to... end it." She cringed at her hesitation. "But I was referring to him moving here. To New York."

"Right." Ryan snorted. "Nice job telling him not to. Nice job keeping a distance between you two." He shoved past her and set the mugs on his dresser, then turned to her, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why didn't you stop him? Tell him the truth? I don't care for the guy, but fuck, Cora. You're going to destroy him if you don't prevent him from making such a drastic decision. I thought you didn't want to hurt him?"

Coralie's arms shook so greatly that they caused her to wobble side-to-side. She fell onto the edge of the mattress with a weak sigh and struggled to glance at Ryan, who was fuming, smoke evaporating from every inch of his bronze skin. "I didn't. I don't. But it's... this is something he has wanted for a while, so I... didn't know how to stop him."

Ryan pivoted to the mirror near the corner of the room; and in the reflection, Coralie caught him bunching his lips and sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils as he squeezed his eyes shut. "You do. You do. Yet you keep evading that discussion." He spun sideways, revealing his profile, but fixing his gaze ahead, on an abstract painting on the wall. An expensive purchase, he'd informed her; one he'd hoped to put up in their bedroom when they moved in together. Gemma had never liked it, and Coralie had found it fascinating.

At that moment, she had no interest in it, wishing Ryan would stop staring at it. "Ryan." She managed to get up, though her legs quaked. "Babe. I told you I would, but I also told you I needed time."

"Ha!" He scoffed and shook his head. "That seems to be running out. How long until he shows up and we have to hide again, like when I was with Gemma, huh? Aren't you tired of that life?" Arching a brow, he flipped to her. "Wait... do you have deeper feelings for him than what you claimed? Because you said you loved me. Me. Do you... love him, too?"

Her silence, her chin drooping, her eyelids fluttering—all were signs she had no means to ignore. Did she love Michael? She'd never quit her crazy lifestyle long enough to ponder that. She cared, she idolized him, she saw their relationship going far, really far... but Ryan had taken precedence, immersing into her life, picking things up where they'd left off. If she did love Michael... it appeared she loved Ryan more.

And yet she'd failed to figure that out. Failed to make him her one and only, as he'd done for her. She'd failed to ditch Michael, unable to separate from him, and now, unbeknownst to Ryan, she was cheating on him, too. Chester had dug a rift between her and Ryan, and an even darker hole between her and Michael.

Fucking Chester.

"Wow." Ryan let out a disheartened, almost cruel chuckle as he took his temples between his thumb and middle finger. "You can't even deny it. You can't even reply. This is... wow."

"Ryan." She motioned at him to approach her, to sit by her on the bed as she lowered onto it; but instead, he marched over to the window and ripped the curtains open. A blast of sunlight blared in and blinded her momentarily, but he didn't seem to care, keeping his back turned as he gaped outside. "Ryan, please. I told you how difficult this was. That Michael and I... we have a past, too, albeit not as serious as ours. You're angry, I get it—"

He growled, and she didn't need to see his face to know his cheeks were crimson, his eyes dark like a midnight sky, his teeth bared. "I'm livid, Coralie."

"I... I don't blame you." Coralie blew out a breath that whipped through her tangled tresses, and she hunched over, grabbing her head between her hands. "But it's you I care about the most, I... I mean that." Again with that hesitation—she'd been so certain in her own mind, but when it came to speaking out loud, she couldn't get her story straight. Was Ryan her number one choice? Or had she imagined that, fantasized it all, dramatized her feelings for him?

No. Those emotions were real, powerful, incredible. She remembered her genuine smile when reconnecting with him online, and her glowing heart when in Paris, before their big argument. She remembered his sincere apology months later, and the flapping butterfly wings in her gut when she chose to listen to his excuses, chose to accept them. That smirk he had in the morning, upon seeing her naked in his arms; that poke in her thigh when he became aroused and bit his lip and slid a finger between her legs. His laugh, his goofy nature, his playfulness, his hard work ethic. He was, and always would be, her one that got away... but she'd gotten him back. And now, she had to fight for him, even if that meant ruining her chances at stability with Michael.

"I'll call him. I'll finish it, right now," she said, crawling across the mattress to pick up her phone from the nightstand. And she was committed, clear on her intentions, until she seized her cell and saw Michael's profile picture still displayed over the screen. His happy hazel eyes, his gorgeous grin, how his hand shyly shrugged through his dark curls. His boyish, cute pose that she'd melted at, upon receiving the snapshot a few weeks prior.

And there she was hesitating once more. Ryan and his rugged boldness, his passion, his knowledge of her inside and out, his ease at seducing her, soothing her, slithering into her heart. And Michael, tender and sweet, cautious but willing to be daring for the right reasons and preparing to move across the country for his dreams. And... for her.

Shit. Shit! What do I do?

"Don't." Ryan squared his shoulders as he rotated to her. He crossed his arms over his chiseled chest and wrinkled his nostrils. "I need time to process this, Coralie. Yeah, you were with him when I returned to your life, and yeah, I knew you liked him, but... this is more than I anticipated. More than I can handle. I thought it'd be easier to convince you that I'm the right choice, but... looks like you've got a lot of thinking to do." He peered at her, flinched, then took a few steps towards the doorway. "You need to figure out who you want. I switched my life around for you, and this isn't fair to me or him."

She released her phone and joined her hands in her lap, cramming her fingers together as she gritted her teeth. "So... we both need time, then? You... you'd rather be alone? Should I... go?" She grimaced and glimpsed at her knees, bouncing them up and down in nervousness.

Ryan rubbed the back of his head. "I won't shoo you out, but... it might be for the best. For now."

She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "No matter what... don't forget that I... I love you, Ryan. Always have, always will."

He chortled. "Sounds like a prelude to a goodbye, to me, but... yes, I love you too, Coralie."

So that was that. After a few more awkward minutes of confessions and courtesies, she and Ryan were on a break, or so she supposed. They agreed to take some space while she wracked her brain and interrogated her soul and heart to understand her truest desires. They hugged, he kissed her temple, issued a flimsy but polite smile, and she got dressed. He ordered her a cab, wished her luck, but didn't wave as he closed his front door, as he usually would.

In the car, she pressed her forehead to the window and watched other vehicles passing by. She glared at pedestrians skipping merrily on the sidewalk and grunted at the peppy melodies playing on the radio. She held back tears as she worried that half-hearted hug, that barely there kiss, were the last touches she'd receive from Ryan for a while. And whose fault was that?

Mine. All mine. Because I'm an idiot who bit off way more than she could chew.

Three men at once? Who did she think she was? How did she expect to keep composed, to not lose her mind, to not trample all over her chances at a healthy relationship? She'd wanted so badly to not harm anyone, but she'd already wounded two people in a matter of seconds—Ryan, and herself. Michael would be next, she had no doubt; he'd call, she'd be in a mood, he'd push, and she'd cough up the truth, or spit out a few mean comments that would make him rethink his reasons for wanting to be with her. And then Chester—

"Ugh." She fished her phone out of her pocket and glowered at the screen. Chester had texted her as she waited for the driver to pick her up, and she'd avoided reading the message. But now, alone in the backseat, unsure who would remain in the aftermath of her impulsive stupidity, she opened the text.

Chess: I freaked you out, didn't I?

She hissed at the words, too similar to those Michael had uttered earlier, then resumed reading.

Chess: You didn't expect me to say that stuff. And less so after what we did, I understand. But I meant it, all of it. And I'm sure you're not ready to choose, to consider me. But... if you need me—and I have a feeling you will—I'm here for you. No judgment, yeah? I know the truth, that there are two other dudes. I'm aware of the competition, they're not. So that gives me a smidgen of an advantage... and I'll take it. Call me, text me, whatever. Take care, hun.

Hun. He hadn't called her that in ages, and it animated flashes of memories that sped through her brain, rendering her dizzy. Their drinking games, their innocent—though not as much as she'd believed—hugs, their walks in the evenings after work, their shopping sprees. They were friends, above all else, and before the near-rape incident, and when they weren't partying, he had been a great confidante, a wonderful advisor. He'd helped her through confusing situations with other guys without batting a lash and talked her out of silly choices without ever mocking her. He, of all the people in her life at that moment, was the best placed to be her shoulder to cry on and her soundboard to bounce her ideas off of.

And she hated it. She hated him, hated herself, hated Ryan and Michael and Delilah. She hated Nikita, and the label; hated New York City and Central Park and the Hudson River. Anything she thought of made her want to hurl things, break things, stomp on things.

And yet of all those things she hated, the one that didn't make her as irritated, the one that somehow settled the nausea and the bloating and the pain... was Chester. She had no idea why, as he'd been frustrating her for weeks now, awakening a lust for him that she'd buried deep. He'd interfered with her already complicated predicament, ambushed her in elevators, kissed her against her will, titillated her sensitive spots by leaving her craving more. But he'd also reminded her of their good times, urged her to open up and have fun, like she used to, and had offered her the ridiculous adventure of a lifetime she'd have been a moron to refuse.

Chester had popped into her world at the worst possible time, filling her with angst and annoyance... but providing her with a comfort that neither Ryan nor Michael could muster. They knew her, but not like Chester.

Something prodded her to begin typing a message to him, and she sent it before she had a chance to persuade herself to wait. To show it to Delilah, or to stuff her phone back into her pocket and pretend like she'd never seen his initial text.

Coralie Amber Watson: Hey. Sorry for the silence. I'm in a tight spot. A bad spot. I can't seem to break up with Michael, he might be moving to NYC, and Ryan found out. He confronted me, I fucked up, he wants space, and I need it too, but... shit, dude. I'm not okay. And it's not your problem, because you want me to drop them, huh? But you're the only one who... understands.

She regretted her sentences immediately and thought about sending another message to beg him to ignore that one, to go on with his life and let her figure out her own. But the phone's vibration, the response, halted her overworked mind and stilled her in the middle of the sidewalk, after exiting the car in front of her building.

Chess: I do understand. I've been in tight spots too, Cora. What can I do? What do you need?

She typed in her door code and slipped into the building. One step at a time, she climbed, reviewing her options. Isolation? Call Michael, end things? Call Ryan, end things? Get drunk? Feign illness and stay home from work? Or...

Coralie Amber Watson: Are you free tonight? I mean late tonight, after I'm off at the bar. This isn't a booty call, I don't need sex, Chess. I'm asking for... a safe space to think. Somewhere away from the judgmental people in my life.

As she crept into her apartment—luckily Delilah was gone—she tumbled onto the couch, and her cell buzzed again.

Chess: I'll be at home. Alone this time, I promise. Swing by any time, ring the bell downstairs. I meant what I said. I'm here for you.

Disgusting as it made her feel, she agreed. Chester was there for her, and lately, she loathed the fact that regardless of Michael's kindness and Ryan's attention, he might have been the only one.

♥♥♥