Fell In Love With My Roomy Chapter 42

"Julianna, you don't really know me."

"Is that so?" I inquire, raising an eyebrow. "The way you talk to others is vastly different from how you interact with me. You make it seem like being around me is a challenge, like I'm the one complicating our relationship," I assert, prompting him to exhale sharply and run his tongue over his teeth.

"Kent, what I'm saying is true, and I'm just being myself. I treat you in kind, but when I initially moved in, I made an effort to get along with you because I liked the room. I never would have chosen to live here had I known you'd treat me this way."

"How am I treating you?" He repeats, a tone of surprise in his voice. "I thought I did quite a few nice things for you, Julianna. Including last weekend—"

"Cut it out!" I snap at him, and he retreats a step. It's the first time I've spoken to him this way. Kent, you can't be pleasant to me for one day and then act as if you've done me a favor. When you're nice, it's not like you're showering me with "all sorts of nice things." You're merely meeting the basic standards."

He remains silent, and I can feel tears welling up. I've never experienced this kind of turmoil before, and his actions are making me feel miserable.

"I don't have time for your drama right now," I declare sternly, and he clenches his jaw, nodding. "I have a lot going on, and you're only making things worse."

"Julianna, I haven't done anything!" He protests. "I'm trying my best, okay? I don't even understand what this whole argument is about."

"Then I'll clarify it for you in simple terms," I assert forcefully. "I don't like that you refuse to acknowledge any positive moments between us. I don't appreciate the erratic behavior, like when you attempt to get closer to me, making me believe we're becoming friends or that we could get along, only to promptly disregard those moments afterward and ignore me again," I convey, and he raises his eyebrows.

"Are you upset because I don't want to spend time with you?" He sounds puzzled as he inquires, and I huff.

"No, I didn't say that," I remind him, my voice sharpening. "I'm frustrated because I never know what to expect when I'm around you. It's like playing Russian roulette, and I'm tired of getting the short end of the stick," I explain, and he remains silent, attentively listening. At last, I'm getting through to him. "You want to hang out? Fine. You want to coexist peacefully with your housemates? That's perfectly okay. But you need to choose, because I'm tired of trying to decipher your feelings toward me."

"You want to know what I think of you?" He says it abruptly, causing my heart to race. I'm not sure if I'm prepared to handle this right now. Kent, you make everything so complicated. When he breathes, I furrow my brow. What's the point? He's always been the one who's been difficult to deal with.

"I can't even shower without smelling your soap. I can't cook in the kitchen without noticing how you've rearranged everything on the countertops because you didn't like how it was. I can't even sleep in my own bed without thinking about you curled up next to me," I confess, and tears start streaming down my cheeks.

"You hate me," I mutter, and my emotions intensify.

"I think about you all the time," he replies, and a warmth washes over my body, causing the world around us to slow down. Our eyes lock, and it feels as though we're both in a trance. "Since the day I met you, I can't stop."

"W-what?" I stammer.

"I don't hate you, Julianna. I can't," he admits, his voice quiet. "I never have."

"S-so..." I begin, looking back at him. His face is turning red, and he appears embarrassed by his confession.

"But it doesn't matter, because I messed it up, like you said," he grumbles, shaking his head. "I ruined everything, and—"

"Don't say it doesn't matter," I interject, walking slowly around the bed to emphasize my point. "Kent—"

"It's not that simple," he states firmly, causing me to halt in front of him, blinking.

"I understand I may not be what you need, and I might not be right for you. I can't be with you."

"I'm uncertain about my desires," I whisper.

"But you just mentioned not wanting me to complicate your life," he reminds me, shaking his head gently. Slowly, he turns towards the door of my bedroom.

"Wait," I mutter, clutching his wrist to halt his movement. "Don't do this, and don't attempt to provide a rationale for the past, especially when I was unaware of it. You're only making things more difficult for yourself and for us."

"Please, don't use 'we'," he implores, averting his gaze.

"So what?" I genuinely inquire. I'm unsure of what I truly want from this situation. I've admonished myself countless times not to engage with Kent because it's likely to lead to trouble. Yet, I can't help but be drawn to it.

"I can't," he replies. "Because you've told me numerous times that I infuriate you and that I'm indifferent to your feelings, I'm going to confide something."

"I concur," I reply with a nonchalant shrug, suppressing a sneeze. "You do anger me and drive me absolutely insane. You're unlike anyone I'm accustomed to. But for every action that infuriates me, you do something else that brings me joy," I beseech him. He shakes his head, taking a short, uneven breath. "Do you have any idea how long I've wished for you to simply be honest with me?"

"You don't have to make an effort to—" he starts to say.

"I'm not making an effort," I confess, despite the pain in my chest. "I'm furious with you, Kent. Why would you do all of that if you didn't mean it?"

"Are you angry with me?" he inquires. "I'm mad at you, Julianna, because you entered this room and upended everything. You can't alter the narrative this abruptly."

"Neither can you," I retort, and he puffs out his chest. "Kent, that's not fair." I'm so moved by our conversation that a tear escapes my eye.

"You're not treating me fairly," he murmurs, moving his hand up to use his thumb to wipe away my tears. I lean into his touch. "Don't look at me like that."

I purse my lips, and he sighs deeply. We both realize we can't continue down this path; Kent is averse to candid discussions and prefers secrecy over honesty. Moreover, we share living quarters and a common group of friends.

"I'm leaving, and we have to act as though nothing happened," he whispers, releasing my face. My heart sinks, and I shake my head.

"What?" I exclaim. "How on earth do you expect me to do that?"

"I don't know, Julianna, but if something changes between us, I can't continue living in this apartment," he mutters something, shakes his head, and begins to move away. I can't allow that; all I did was reach out and grab his T-shirt, preventing him from escaping.

My actions defied both our judgments, but the moment I pulled him back, we both knew it was over. One of us was about to cross a line that couldn't be retraced. He grabs the side of my face and kisses me forcefully, pulling me close to his body.

It had been more than three years since my last kiss, and I hadn't been this close to another guy since then. I wasn't accustomed to kissing and didn't know how to respond to Kent, who happened to be an exceptionally skilled kisser.

He whirls me around, and I collide with the bedroom door. This intensifies our kiss, and it becomes increasingly fervent. I struggle to keep pace; my head is swimming. His hands grip my waist, pressing me firmly against the door. Desperately, I wrap my arms around the back of his neck, attempting to draw him nearer.

He emits a low groan into our kiss, and his tongue tantalizingly grazes my lower lip, seeking entry. I'm unable to think coherently. His heavy breathing suggests he's been deprived of oxygen for an eternity. His pleasant scent lingers, and the realization that he'd been lying beside me all afternoon sends my stomach into an exhilarating spiral.

"Damn," he gasps, abruptly withdrawing, and leans his forehead against mine, our noses touching. He shifts one of his hands from my waist to the door above my head. I struggle to catch my breath, to regain composure, my cheeks burning, as though fireworks are erupting in my stomach.

"Kent," I murmur, and he groans softly in anguish, pulling away entirely. My knees feel as if they might give way, and I'm uncertain if I can support myself.

"That was a mistake on my part," he whispers, releasing me. I blink in confusion. What did he mean by that? It was incredible, and he was about to deny it. I can sense it.

I whisper, "Why?"

"Because, Julianna, this can't happen," he mutters. "I'm sorry, but it can't." He urges, "Quick!" and I step aside as he rushes out the door and down the hallway. I remain motionless, listening to the front door open and shut as he departs.

He left. He left after giving me the best kiss I've ever had. I was left with more questions than answers, which made me feel even more empty than when I thought he didn't like me. What do I do now?

I should try to forget him because he made it clear that he would forget me.