Once I’m alone in the bathroom, I slam my shampoo and conditioner bottles around as loud as I can. I want Evan to know that I’m pissed. I want him to know that he can’t treat me like a little kid anymore. What the hell was all that shit? Telling me I’m playing games with him. Jesus Christ, all he ever does is give me those looks like he wants me, then turns around and yells at me. He’s got some major problems.

But the thing is, even though I want him to think I’m pissed, really I’m incredibly sad. I don’t understand him at all. But maybe it’s that I don’t understand anything anyone does. I’ve never known a single person that didn’t confuse the hell out of me.

But I swear to God, I'm not crazy. The way he looks at me sometimes … I mean, a person doesn’t have to have a ton of experience in life to know what those looks mean. He does that crap, gives me those damned bedroom eyes where he makes me feel like he really wants me; wants me in ways that I’ve only ever dreamed about. But then he turns around and pretends like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. He’s acting so much like my dad it makes me want to scream. 

But Evan’s not really like my dad at all. He may act like him sometimes, but he’s never treated me like I mean less to him than a bottle of vodka or night out with his friends.

After I get done with my shower, I decide to head out into the hotel room with just a towel around me. I just want to see what Evan does. I want to see that stupid look on his face when he pretends that he doesn't want to touch my half-naked body.  

I just wish I had the guts to jump his bones, because what I really want to do is go out there and straddle his lap. I want to grind my wet pussy into him and drop my towel and watch his reaction. I want to see it in his face when he can’t deny how he feels about me. I want to make him admit it.

Say it out loud, Evan. Tell me to my face that you don’t want me.

The thing is, I don’t actually know how he feels about me. Sometimes he has that look in his eyes and I swear I can practically see the testosterone oozing out of his pores. But a lot of the time he just seems mad. Almost like he can’t stand to be around me. I want to believe that he feels the way I do. But I’m terrified that if I tell him how I feel, he’ll just laugh and tell me to grow up. Or worse, tell me he never wants to see me again. And no matter how much I bitch about him making me go away with him, if Evan did tell me he didn’t want to see me again, I'd die. 

I mean, I know I’m not always the most mature person in the world when I’m around Evan. Sometimes I feel like everything I do is to get his attention and approval. But no matter what I do, my actions always seem to have the opposite effect on him. It’s like I’m doomed to disappoint every man who’s even remotely important to me.

The only time I ever felt close to Evan was that night he came and rescued me. 

My dad said he had a meeting with some business partners and told me he had to take me with him. My mom was off somewhere, probably spending his money on one of her shopping trips. I don’t know where she used to go. She never asked me to go with her.

So my dad drove to this creepy warehouse in a part of town I’d never been to, and wound up leaving the car in a dark parking lot. He told me to stay in the car and wait for him. He said he was only going to be a half hour and that he really needed me to stay there until he came back out. I waited for three hours, then finally took off. I was cold and starving and tired and I just wanted to go home. I was old enough to know that my dad was being a total dick, as usual, but I wasn’t quite old enough to have money in my purse for a cab.  

So I called Evan.  

By that point I’d been around him quite a bit. He didn’t come to the house much, but I always saw him for birthdays and holidays, and I trusted him. He was one of the only adults I always felt I could count on.

Evan came and picked me up and stayed with me at the house until Dad got home. The minute my dad walked in the door, Evan started in on him. And even though he was making excuses all over the place, I could tell my dad knew he’d really screwed up.

There was something going on between the two of them that I didn’t understand. Evan kept telling my dad that there was no way he was going to let me be part of any of this; that it was sick and he couldn’t fathom what was going through my dad’s head.

I had no idea what he meant and still don't. I asked him about it once, and he did what he always does; tells me it’s not something for me to worry about, then acts like I’m in his way. Like he’s mad at me for asking … for even existing.  

One of the reason that night sticks out so much in my mind is it was the first time I really saw Evan. Saw him the way I do now, I mean. It was the first time I noticed his insanely sexy, serious eyes and chiseled jawline. Before, I'd always thought of him as some man my dad knew. But of all the men that had ever come over to our house, Evan was different, and something inside me knew it.

After that night, I would dream about lying in bed with him, his arms wrapped around me tight. I would picture him looking down at me and smiling at me, wanting me to be there with him. Wanting to take care of me.

But that never happened.

Something in Evan changed that night too, and ever since then, I’ve had the feeling that, for whatever reason, he almost can’t stand to have me around him. And no matter what I try to do to get him to pay attention to me, all it ever seems to do is push him further away.

I know I should be happy that he wants to take me with him, wherever the hell he’s going. But for some reason, I’m scared. I just can’t stop pushing him away. Even what I’m doing right now, walking out there to try to get him to notice my body, I know that this is going to make things even harder between us. But I can’t stop myself. I never seem to be able to stop myself from ruining everything.

I guess ruining this confusing relationship is better than finding out the truth, though. Because the thing I’m most afraid of in the world is that he really does hate me; that we’ll get to wherever we’re going and he’ll never look at me like he wants me again, because he’ll know that he’s stuck with me.

I wrap a towel around me and open the bathroom door, then walk out into the room like I couldn't care less where Evan is. But I know exactly where he’s sitting. I can feel his eyes follow me across the room, even though he has some CSI show playing on the TV.  

I sit down on the edge of the bed and start filing my nails. 

"Put some clothes on." 

I glance up and Evan isn’t even looking at me. He’s just sitting in that gross chair, staring at the TV.  

"Seriously?" I ask. "This bothers you? You never even look at me, so what’s the big deal?“ 

He still won’t look over at me, but I know he has; otherwise he wouldn't know I was only in a towel.  

"I said get dressed. We have to be at the airport early so you better hit the sack." 

I sit there and stare at him with my mouth hanging open. I can’t believe what a dick he’s being. "Why do you even want me to go with you?" I ask, almost yelling at him again. "You obviously don't want me anywhere near you! You can't even stand to look at me! Why do you hate me so much?" 

I jump up and run back into the bathroom, slamming the door again. Then I just sit on the toilet and cry for a long time. When I open the door again, almost all of the lights are off.  

The glow of the TV lights up the corner of the room where Evan is sitting, and I can see his eyes darting quickly back to the screen as I look over.  

"I don't hate you, Zoe. I care about you. A lot. I just … things have been going really badly for me lately and I need to get both of us the hell out of here." 

"But where? Where are we going? I don't understand, Evan. Maybe if you told me—“ 

"I already told you. Don't ask me that. I'm not going to talk about this again until we get to where we’re going. It's for your own good, Zoe. Now drop it!" 

“Fine,” I say as I slip under the covers. I’m not even remotely tired, so I wind up laying there staring at the ceiling and thinking about what I’m going to do. I don’t want to be here with him if he’s going to be mad at me all the time.  

At some point, Evan turns the volume on the TV way down, but he keeps it going and the constantly changing, silent glow lights up the room in unsettling ways. It creates strange, moving shadows in every corner and I’m almost afraid that there are other people in the room.

Evan has made me totally paranoid.

I turn on my side with my back to him, and I suck in my breath when I hear him snoring. It’s not loud, but it’s obvious that he’s fallen asleep.  

I get out of bed as quietly as I can and sneak over to where he’s sitting. He has that crappy chair planted right in front of the door and his legs are spread wide, taking up the whole path to get out of the room. I guess he wanted to be sure I didn't make my great escape out the door, but he conveniently forgot about the windows. They’re that kind that slide to the side and I’m pretty sure I should be able to squeeze myself through the gap.  

I leave my bag behind because I don’t want to make any more noise than necessary. I grab my phone off the table and stick it in the pocket of my yoga pants, slip on my sneakers, then make my way to the window. I push the heavy, insanely dusty drapes to the side and am totally surprised to see the sun is coming up already. I pull back on a metal bar on the window frame. I have to yank it a couple times and am terrified I’m going to wake Evan up, but eventually the window pops loose and slides along the track. I move it sideways about a foot and a half, then step halfway out onto the concrete walkway.  

The last thing I do is look back at Evan. I wish so badly that I could feel his arms around me right now. I want to be held and comforted, because right now I’m really scared. I don’t actually know what I’m doing. I’m heading to Max’s house because that’s the only place I can think to go.

He never really said he was going to take care of me; that’s just what I wanted him to say. In every one of our sessions, I hoped he would tell me that he’d decided that the best course of treatment for me would be for me to move in with him, but that never happened.

Max is older and incredibly sexy, with dark hair and a chiseled jaw that reminds me so much of Evan. And truthfully, that’s the only reason I’m going there right now.

I step my other foot out the window and I’m free. I can go anywhere I want and do anything I want. I don’t have to listen to what Evan says. I don’t have to worry about disappointing him. This is better. Leaving is the best thing to do. 

But if that’s the case, if leaving Evan behind is best for both of us, then why do I feel so sad?