Haze by Andrea Wolfe (best motivational books for students txt) 📕

me. "Effie, if I can't wake up next to you every morning, I don't know what I'll do with myself. I've never wanted anything more than I want you."

I was back at square one, furious at myself, furious at these walls I had constructed for no reason at all. I couldn't seem to shake them, couldn't seem to admit to myself that what Jack wanted was actually the same thing I wanted. Why couldn't I just say the fucking words?

Like an unwanted visitor, the tears arrived, spilling down my cheeks and settling on my lap. I started to sob, the chokes of agony the culmination of so many ups and downs, highs and lows, moments when the answer wasn't clear. I felt washed up, like a movie star past her prime, forced to confront a harsh reality head-on and deal with it.

By the time my crying peaked, Jack was there, his defenses down, his body cradling mine as if he'd just rescued me from a burning building. I felt safe in his arms as I always did, the feeling I tried to ignore when I had to make decisions like these. If it were up to my emotions alone, I would have said yes in seconds. Nothing could touch me when I was with him.

"It's okay, Effie." His words were like a plea, an instinctive, sympathetic response to my breakdown.

But something inside of me wanted to remain logical, to be the rational, sane, thinking person that I'd always strived to be. I was unfairly comparing the term emotional to the scene that Timothy had created in the coffee shop, trying to distance myself from that sort of unfiltered insanity that ruined lives and humiliated people.

Just because you made a plan didn't mean that you couldn't deviate from it. Just because you felt something didn't mean you should hide it.

"I'm not the enemy," Jack said as he peppered my forehead with gentle kisses. "I feel like you suspect me every step of the way of having some ulterior motive for what I do. But I don't."

He was right right right. The tears grew even worse; his hug tightened to compensate for the spike. I thought about all of the times I had worried, the things that had troubled me only because I had invented the idea that they were a problem. Our first meeting here, the gifts, the stuff with Stacy, his offer.

Everything was lined up and sorted in my mind, a list of misdeeds that I felt like I should burn. "I want to help you thrive," he said. "I want to take care of you, but I also want you to grow, to become better."

This was not unlike torture, I suspected. Everything he said made me feel better and better—but instead of getting happier, I just cried more and more. My lips tasted salty from the spillage of tears taking place along my skin.

Jack straightened up at once. "I want to say something."

"Please don't say that." It was purely a gut reaction. I already knew what was going to happen—and I knew how dangerous it felt.

"Why?" he asked, his beautiful green eyes burning into mine.

"If you say it, I won't be able to say no to you." He was unfazed.

"I love you, Effie. I do. I have since the beginning." He kissed my forehead as I cried even more. "Shh. Just relax. Don't say anything."

Yeah, I was right. Now, I didn't know what to do about all of this.

"Don't answer me. Just think, Effie. Be calm. Relax." He whispered the words into my ear and my brain accepted them like gospel. Jack stood and disappeared for a second, my body feeling like my bones had vanished when he wasn't supporting me.

He returned with tissue that I used up immediately, discarding it in a small trash bin that he had brought as well and left on the floor beside me. Jack held me again, my mental and physical support system that I had tried to deny.

"My... my... my phone is busted," I said miserably. I wasn't sure why I announced it, but I did.

"What happened?" He perked up, ready to act.

"I dropped it right after Sam fired me. I haven't been able to text anyone and I can barely make calls." In my depressed state, it all felt so utterly hopeless. "I was running out of money when you paid for my apartment." I felt so small, so tiny and helpless—and with him, it was okay.

"I'll take care of it tomorrow. Let's just relax. Are you hungry?"

My stomach growled in response to his inquiry. "I guess," I said, downplaying my organ's very bold input.

"I'll make you some eggs."

I groaned. "That's all I've been eating. Eggs."

"Not like these. Just sit down and chill out. Stop worrying so much. I don't want to hear you talk again until you're saying 'Wow, Jack, these are the best eggs I've ever had in my life!'"

I started laughing uncontrollably, my emotions strapped in on this wild rollercoaster that had just gone down another steep hill and then turned upside down.

I didn't feel like I needed to say anything just yet. For once, I was just going to do what he told me to do and not be such a control freak.

He finished the food a few minutes later, bringing a huge pan of eggs out and setting them on the monstrous, empty table. Two plates were out a couple seconds later, and then I was taking my first bite.

"It's eggs with goat cheese and fresh roma tomatoes," he declared proudly.

I chewed and swallowed, marveling at how tasty they were. "You're so predictable at being too good," I said. It was so very true.

"So that means they are the best eggs you've ever had?"

I laughed again, the feeling so therapeutic. "You narcissist. I don't know if I should be honest."

After I said it, he took a very long, drawn out, exaggerated bite where he pretended to be overwhelmed by flavor. "Wow, I can't believe someone actually