“Brooke?” Sylvie prompted. Realizing she was still waiting for an answer, I looked up and grimaced. Of course she wouldn’t let it go. For once, couldn’t she pretend she didn’t hear my foolish declaration of love to the one guy who didn’t deserve it?
“There is no off switch to make my heart complete, okay?” I snapped at her. “I thought that seeing his cheating with my own eyes would make me stop loving him. I thought all the pain and anger would erase my feelings for him.” I smirked. “But I was wrong. I still love him, and I can’t help it. You don’t like it. Well, I don’t like it either, but you know what? I can’t do anything about it.” To avoid her pitiful stare, I looked around and began to open drawers. “Where are my things anyway?”
“Uh-uh. I’ll never tell you.” She shook her head in what I assumed was mock disapproval. “According to various websites, I can’t leave you unsupervised with anything you might use to hurt yourself, not until I’m sure you’re over him.”
I snorted. “You Googled that?” I stared at her in disbelief. “Sylvie, I’m fine. No need to panic or turn my hair straightener into contraband.”
“People in forums warn that the person might be lying, pretending to be fine to mask the pain until they are alone.”
The masking part was true, but I certainly didn’t feel suicidal. “Do I look like I’m being irresponsible and ready to kill myself and leave you and my mother behind?” I snapped.
“No, but...” She hesitated.
“Then cut the bullshit.” I held out my hand. “My stuff, Sylvie. Please?”
She shook her head again.
I dropped my hand in mock annoyance. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll find it myself.” With one last glare at her, I headed for her bedroom, but Sylvie blocked my path.
I narrowed my eyes at her and then it dawned on me. She had stashed it all in there.
“I will return everything, under one condition.” She held up a manicured index finger.
“Which is?”
“You let me help you.”
I let out a short, irritated laugh. “I mean it, Sylvie. You don’t have to worry about me harming myself—or him,” I said sourly, deliberately avoiding saying Jett’s name. I knew I sounded bitter, but my emotions threatened to choke me. “I can accept my feelings for him and yet still not want to be with him. For that, I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“I hope so.” The doubt in her tone signaled that she wasn’t convinced. “Because if you don’t get over him, I’ll personally drag your ass to the best LAA group meeting in town.”
I raised my eyebrows in confusion. “LAA?”
“Love Addicts Anonymous,” she clarified. “If an intervention doesn’t help, LAA will solve any sort of obsession problem with any guy.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not obsessed with anyone.” In fact, I hated the sound of the word. Even though I had no doubt that LAA existed, the idea of joining some help organization and talking about Jett, then having to listen to other sob stories, was absurd.
“If you say so.” Sylvie shot me a skeptical look. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try.”
A pang of annoyance hit me at the realization that Sylvie didn’t believe me. Just because I was in love didn’t mean I was also obsessed.
Okay, maybe a little.
Still, Sylvie didn’t have to be so brutally honest about it.
Disappointment or not, what was wrong with being a little obsessed with the man you loved, thinking about him day and night—which was the result of a bruised ego and hopes that were destroyed?
“I don’t owe you an explanation, okay?” My voice trembled slightly as I glared at her. “I might still be in love with Jett, but I’m not crazy, and I’m certainly not bordering on obsessive or jumping-off-a-cliff-compulsive. It would take a lot more to make me jump off a bridge or start stalking him.”
“I’m just trying to help,” Sylvie said defensively. “I don’t want you to get hurt and make the same mistake again.”
I wanted to point out I had repeated the mistake before and survived, but I kept my mouth shut.
“No man is worth the pain or waiting for him to change,” she continued. “It’s easy to be in love with the idea of love rather than actually loving a person.”
God, Sylvie could be irritating sometimes.
“You’ve got it wrong. I’m not in love with the idea of love,” I said in a low tone. I sounded so defensive it was almost laughable. “If I were in love with the idea, we’d be married by now, probably horseback-riding on the beach.”