It was totally pathetic, but Elodie thought she might actually cry.
It wasn’t Heath’s fault, obviously. He wasn’t to blame for her complete fucking lack of grasp on sanity these days. Maybe it was the head injury to blame, or maybe it was the fact that her life and sense of self-worth had been spiraling slowly out of control since the moment they’d touched down in New York. Maybe it was all of the above, who could say.
She remained stood in front of Heath’s sofa, practically offering herself up on a silver platter, her heart beating overtime in her chest. She could see the pained look in his eyes and even found herself stupidly wanting to trace the lines of his face with her fingers, the dips and creases as he grimaced in the face of her question.
The way he shook his head was more than enough for her, Elodie’s lower lip wobbling uselessly as fresh tears prickled behind her eyes. It was as though all she’d endured these past months was rejection after rejection. Once a fun-loving girl with a high sex drive and an affinity for picking up strangers in bars and having her wicked way with them, Elodie had found herself stumbling through her life in New York, seemingly unappealing to just about anybody with eyes. Even Théo seemed to battling with the affections of a handful of people where Elodie couldn’t even catch the eye of one. First Charlie had rejected her, waving her off as just a friend, and now Heath was doing the same. He had a girlfriend, she knew that, but it didn’t make it smart any less.
Elodie had known her entire life that she would amount to very little. She didn’t have Théo’s eye for fashion and art, nor did she have the same skill required for the incredible carvings he was always pulling together in his workshop. She wasn’t smart or educated enough to do anything worthwhile, but she’d always had her beauty. That was what her father had told her and countless teachers and men over the years since. She’d learned from a young age that her body could get her anything that she wanted, and that her skills in the bedroom were her best defining feature. If she didn’t have that, then what did she have?
“I should go,” Elodie muttered, suddenly feeling stupid.
She turned on the spot, searching her close surroundings for her shoes. Had she even been wearing shoes when she’d shown up on Heath’s doorstep? She couldn’t remember. Her mind was spinning, the soft brush of his t-shirt sliding along her bottom as she twisted and turned, this way and that, desperate for any sort of distraction. She stumbled, her knee knocking against the coffee table, jolting the glasses of coke and causing one to spill over, just a fraction. Pain seared down from her knee and through to her calf and she hissed, embarrassment engulfing her from head to toe.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Is it really so awful to wish that someone might want me?” Elodie sighed, wrapping her arms around her torso, hugging herself as tight as could be. If nobody else would hold her, she’d simply have to do it herself. “Is it so awful to want to stop feeling so lonely?”
Heath knew that he’d done the wrong thing if the look on Elodie’s face was anything to go by. She looked devastated by his quiet rejection, but he had to shut down whatever was happening right now. Upsetting her was wrong, he knew that, but encouraging this would only be ten times worse. At least this way, he could still retain a semblance of a grasp on his moral standing, although he wasn’t sure if the way Elodie was looking at him right now made that worth it.
“You don’t have to go,” he said a little helplessly.
He didn’t want her to leave, not knowing where she would end up in the city at this time of night, barefoot and shivering. He hadn’t meant to chase her off.
“You can stay. Take my bed, I’ll sleep here,” he offered, gesturing to the sofa, but she wasn’t even looking at him, too busy frantically darting around the living room.
He winced as soon as she knocked into his coffee table, one of the Cokes falling over and spilling off the side.
“Shit,” he hissed, making a half-aborted move to go clean it up. Did it really matter though? It was already dripping onto his wooden floor, something that could be easily cleaned later when it had gone from a wet mess to a sticky wet mess.
Instead, Heath lifted his head to watch Elodie carefully, his heart twisting painfully when he caught the look of devastation on her face. Certain that he’d just made her night worse, he raked a hand through his hair, at a loss for what to do.
“Elodie…” he said softly, taking a cautious step towards her.
When she didn’t immediately flinch away, he sighed and closed the distance between them, resting a hand on her shoulder to gently pull her in so he could wrap his arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised, his chin resting on the top of her head. He couldn’t give her what she wanted, and only hoped this could be the next best thing. “We just- we can’t. You know we can’t. That doesn’t mean nobody is ever going to want you.”
He tilted his head, nosing gently at her hairline.
“Someone will want you,” he reassured her. “And the loneliness will go away.”
It felt like a rich thing to say from a man who had been lonely for his whole life.
